Boston

Dear Bono,

I saw you in Boston.  I drove 2 hours to get to Akron, OH to catch a direct flight to Boston on Friday, and despite the airline's best effort to make me miss beginning of the show, I made it with 10 minutes to spare.  I was in one of those expensive seats, corner back from Adam.  The energy was indescribable.  It was one of the greatest shows I have been to.  I cried during Iris.  It has always been a powerful song, but for some reason on Friday I just felt all the feelings of the song.  And when you sand "shine like stars...."

But Saturday was even better.  I was on the front row on the rail on Adam's side.  Did you notice me?  You glanced at me.  I went for that spot because Adam interacts with the crowd.  I didn't go for the E stage.  I dream of being pulled up on stage, but I know that I am not the beauty you look for.

But Bono, I want to tell you that when you talked about performing Bad at Live Aid 30 years ago, and you touched Lou Reed, and you learned about the world around you and started on your quest to alleviate some of the suffering, you were telling my story.  I became a U2 fan at age 14.  PopMart was the toughest ticket to get since you hadn't been to Utah for 14 years.  Someone put a "2" next to the "U" on the mountain to welcome you.  But my mom was overprotective.  She did not want me to go to the big stadium to see you, though it was only 20 minutes from my house.  The night of the show, my older sister and her friend somehow convinced my mom to let us drive to the stadium.  I don't recall the make of my sister's friend's car, but her older brother had stolen that sticker from the airplane that said "use bottom seat for flotation" and that was on the back seat.  The windows were down.  We could hear the music.  Tickets were long gone, but we parked and walked up.  There were hundered of people sitting outside listening.  Did you know that?  I walked around the stadium and I could see Larry's hands beating the music out, but nothing else.  Yet I could feel the magic.

I babysat so I could afford your albums.  I hated babysitting.  As I listened to the music, I read the liners, wondering what Greenpeace and Amnesty International were about, loving the music.  I would go through phases where I would listen to songs on repeat.  "Like a Song."  "Angel of Harlem." "Running to Stand Still." "Ultraviolet."  "Bad."  Bono, I loved the music.

I went to college and spent hours and hours downloading music, listening to music, chatting with fellow U2 friends I met through Napster or through eBay when I tried to figure out the best way to get around Ireland with my most desirable Slane Castle night 1 ticket.  Again, mom was overprotective and I couldn't go.  The biggest regret of my life along with not driving to Denver by myself to see David Bowie after a friend backed out.  But mom always had a gift of telling me know by making me feel like the worst daughter on the planet.  It's hard to argue though, my older sister never disobeyed while I stayed out in high school until 2 am cruising the city pre-cell phone days while I knew my mom was sitting at home thinking I was dead.

But in college I realized my passion was for healing the world.  I long pictured myself as a doctor, but in discussing my plans with my best friend growing up, this involved working for rich people.  Now I pictured myself working in Africa, living in a yurt.  And Bono, this was thanks to you.  Did you know you had that effect on me?  I signed every Amnesty petition. I got good grades and then went to medical school.  I became a doctor, and then have spent the past 6 years of my life in training to be a pediatric urologist.  But then I fulfilled the dream you instilled in me: I went to Africa.  I healed children that otherwise would have been shunned.  I saw African wells.  I look forward until my next chance to go back.  Bono, do you realize that your time at Live Aid shaped not only your life but mine?

I wanted to let you know.

xoxo

JP

Nothing Changes on New Year's Day

Dear Bono,

I hear you played "Gloria" a few nights ago.  I wish I was there.  I had big plans to get some tickets in the late drop but then realized that I am 6 hours from Chicago and had to work at 6am the next day and it just wouldn't work out.  Please play it for me next week?

Bono, it is New Year's Day.  Happy New Year!  July 1st.  The day all the hospital changes over.  The new trainees start and the old trainees move up the ranks.  Truly, a terrifying day to be sick.  And to be a new trainee.

I remember my first day.  July 1st, 2009.  I was started on vascular surgery.  I walked into the hospital at 5am, knowing that I was on call that night, covering vascular, cardiac, and thoracic surgery patients, in other words, really really sick patients.  Like 90 of them.  I did my work as best I could during the day-asking the vascular surgery fellow for help and mostly getting either no help or not useful information.  It was my first day!  What do I do when a patient goes into a fib with RVR?  What does that even mean??  I didn't eat that day.  Or that night.  I finally ate the next day, at a conference, where our nutritionists brought samples of Ensure so we could taste the filth we were making our patients drink.  It was nectar of the Gods to me. And then I had to do all sorts of work and discharge people and I remember 3:30pm that day; after working 34.5 hours thinking I could not do it.

Somehow I did.

Yesterday, I finished my clinical fellow year. 6 years of training in, this year is supposed to be about me and research and my interests.  Today, though, was basically the same as yesterday.

Maybe next week I can write and research?

xoxo
JP