Candle, Lamp, Octopus

Today, Joe and I had to go visit our senior mentor to administer a mental status exam. This, we decided, was fairly hilarious, as there was a better chance of our senior mentor being able to pass the exam than we did. As expected, he passed with flying colors, and we went on to have more than an hour of conversation.

Our conversations with Mr. B usually go in the same direction. One, he regales us with tales [that may or may not be true] from his time in the service. Two, he recounts fights he has been in, reminding us that he is a gentle man, but that he will defend himself if provoked. Three, he and Joe talk about neuroscience.

The last in the sequence of events is my favorite. It usually requires little to no input from me. Mr. B has lost the part of his hearing that allows him to hear the female register of sounds; therefore, if any real conversation is to be had, it must come from Joe. Second, Joe is the neuroscience guy, and though I am in the class right now, I'm not breaking any amazing records as far as academic achievement goes.

Part of the fun in watching stems from the coincidence that they both enjoy the same parts of neuro: the part where you take brain physiology and chemistry and extrapolate it to human behavior. Why we smile and why we get angry and why people like me exist.

Mr. B has the basics down--axons and neurons and synapses and chemicals. "Why do you suppose," he'll say, "this thing happens?" Joe will launch into some explanation, starts gesticulating with a look on his face. It's a look I don't get to see often, because we're in medical school, and there's not always time for it: the look you get on your face when you are talking about the thing you are most interested in, the thing you could do for the rest of your life without getting bored, the one place where you aren't out of your depth.

I recognize this face because I get it every once in a while--when I return to my lab, and Ryan wants me to hash something over with him or when my dad calls me and tells me that he is getting two free GCs for me to hack apart and rebuild. The look on my face when I know what I'm doing, when I can explain what I want to explain without searching for and losing the words
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Mr. B hangs onto every word, and this is a place where I cannot follow the two of them. I am becoming increasingly interested in neuro and in the possibilities of neuro-psych in my future professional life, but in this case, it's better to sit back. To watch Mr. B lean in and to watch Joe light up, to catch his eye every once in a while, as if to say, "I know. I understand. I know."