Tracey Franco

playing dress up in a white coat

[franklytracey]

I stopped writing for a while because I had started to believe that there were two kinds of people in the world: the ones who did the things and the ones who wrote about the ones who did the things.

 I wanted to be part of the latter. So I stopped writing. Started doing.

 But I’ve realized that I need it – the clarity that writing affords. The understanding is as, if not more, important as the doing.

 So I’m back. For clarity. For understanding of everything that has happened since and everything that has yet to pass.

 We have a lot to catch up on.

[franklytracey]

twenty-five.

I’m twenty-five today.

Twenty-four was a big year for me. It was the year that I started medical school. The year that I lost my grandmother. The year that I found out that my brand of bravery is to be the person who cares more, who loves freely and openly.

These past few weeks, I couldn’t help but think of the man who couldn’t see me. But this man is still one of my good friends. Because I genuinely enjoy being with him. And because he let me down gently. As gently as he knew how. Even though he said yes. And then he said no. And I still don’t know why. I don’t know if he changed his mind or if signals got crossed. Maybe I asked too much of him. A man with no furniture has a fear of something. And he is a man with only a mattress and a desk. But the point is not the rejection, the point is — I asked. I left him for the day, I drove away in my car and then turned around and drove back. I ran upstairs to the room we were studying in and breathlessly told him exactly what I wanted. Dinner. A date. A testing of the waters.  

And he said “Yes, we will do it but later.”

And then, I swear he smiled. 

And then I left the room. Braver than I’d ever felt. Liberated from all the maybes and what-ifs.

Asking for what you want rather than hoping for it is a powerful, heady thing.

And then hours later he texted me, “Do we need to have a talk?” And then my heart sank. Because I knew then that something changed or there was a terrible misunderstanding. And I asked him, “You did say ‘Yes, we will do it but later.’ right?”

And he said, “um. I did say that.”

Then my mind flashed to his bedroom. To his desk. His mattress on the floor. The conversations we had at 3 am on a Sunday lying on that mattress. A man with no furniture.

So we talked the next day and he delivered the usual line: I don’t see you in that way.

All I could hear was, I don’t see you. I don’t see you. I don’t see you.

All I could say was, Okay. Okay. Okay.

All I wanted was to get out. To breathe. To call Shailee.

I’m fine now. Because I don’t want a man who doesn’t want me. A man who doesn’t see me, who doesn’t see how good I could be for his life. I think that I asked too much. But I think that I was brave. And I think that his bravery couldn’t meet mine. Because he said yes. And then he said no. Either he always wanted to say no and was too afraid to hurt me. Or he said yes and then became too afraid of getting hurt himself. 

So tonight, I can’t help but think of the little divots on my grandmother’s bedroom floor. Indentions left by her high heels when she sat in her green armchair by the window saying her morning prayers or pacing while talking for hours on the phone. She traveled constantly always wearing heels, red lipstick, and perfume. My grandmother was a woman who lived deeply, fully, and bravely. A woman who received the best because she asked for the best. She never compromised. She never settled. I can only hope to follow in her footsteps, a road map to become the woman that I’d always adored, always looked up to.

twenty-five is the year of bravery. the year of asking.

[franklytracey]

Hi, it’s been a while.

My grandmother died. At 1:05 pm on Christmas Day in her own bed, in the house that she and Papa built.

I flew to the Philippines as soon as I was done with my oral exam for Host Defense and landed at Ninoy Aquino International Airport on the 21st of December at 11:15 pm.  We discharged her from the hospital and took her home the next day.

And she died on Christmas. In her bedroom with the faded, velvet wallpaper and her collection of perfume bottles. The same room that Papa died in. The windows were open, the smells from her garden mixing with the smell of cedar wood from her closets, and the Dove soap that she always used . The radio on her bedside table was playing an old song called, “Cuando Cuando Cuando”.

Tell me when will you be mine

Tell me cuando cuando cuando

We can share a love divine

Please don't make me wait again

And all of us had been around her bedside for almost 12 hours. Waiting for the inevitable. We heard her breathing change at 2:20 am. We saw her eyes close at 4:00 am. Her fingertips and toes turned blue at 8:00 am. We took turns holding her hands. Telling her we loved her. Thinking of a million things that we should’ve asked and should’ve said and should’ve done.

When will you say yes to me

Tell me cuando cuando cuando

You mean happiness to me

Oh my love please tell me when

All I could think of was how my grandmother used to comb my hair. She hated that I always went to bed with wet hair. She told me that I would get pneumonia. So she would sit on the sofa and watch TV. And then, I would get the comb, rest my head in her lap, and fall asleep as she combed my hair. And I had never felt so loved.

And now I was the one combing her hair, and telling her stories, and hoping that some small part of her could understand, could feel my love, my gratitude.

And then at 1:05 pm on Christmas day,  she died. We were all standing in a circle around her bed, holding her hands and her feet, stroking her hair and her face, telling her that we would be fine. That it was her time to go. And so she did.

Every moments a day

Every day seems a lifetime

Let me show you the way

To a joy beyond compare

I was filled with a deep, profound sadness unlike anything that I’d ever felt before. But also a kind of giddiness, a lightness that I didn’t understand. Shock, maybe. But I had the strangest sense that if I only turned around, I would see Mama and Papa dancing on the wood parquet floor, with the sunlight streaming through the open windows, to the song playing on the radio.

I can't wait a moment more

Tell me quando quando quando

Say its me that you adore

And then darling tell me when

Till we meet again, Mama and Papa. Thank you for always, always making me feel your love.

[franklytracey]

don’t be a parasite.

One of my medical school friends broke up with her boyfriend of 6 years. The day after they broke up she said, “And now I have to start dating people again. And I hate dating.” 

Immediately, I was like “Wait. Who says you have to start dating right away?”

And then she tells me that she’s never been single more than a few weeks at a time her whole life. She says that she’s always “needed” a boyfriend.  Because she’s a very “dependent” person.

And if you know me in real life, you would know that I do not have a poker face. And in that moment, I knew my face was on full-on judgement mode. Because if you knew me, you would also know that I’m a big believer in independence. In standing on your own two feet. In figuring out who you are and what you’re about before finding someone to fall in love with. I believe in not being dependent on anyone but yourself. Most of all, I believe that love has nothing to do with need but everything to do with want. True, honest love (to me at least) is not needing someone but wanting them anyway.

Love is not a desperate thing. It’s a slow, deliberate, conscious choice. This is the person that I choose to love because he reflects values that I reflect myself. As opposed to, I need you in my life because there’s a piece of me that’s empty and I need you to fill it in and prop me up.

That kind of love is just…dishonest. And unfair. And cheap.

A person is not made to fill in anyone else’s emptiness. We have to find it and fill it in ourselves.

Even when I was a kid, it always bothered me whenever someone said that someone else was their “better half” or that they’re two halves of a whole. Why settle for 0.5 + 0.5 = 1 when you could be 1+1 = 2?

Like Ayn Rand said, “To say ‘I love you’ one must first know how to say the ‘I.’ The meaning of the ‘I’ is an independent, self-sufficient entity that does not exist for the sake of any other person. A person who exists only for the sake of his loved one is not an independent entity, but a spiritual parasite. The love of a parasite is worth nothing.”

[baffle-them-with-bullshit]

And so you have to lead.

[franklytracey]

Updates

This past week’s been so crazy so I haven’t been able to post but some highlights: 

~ started Clinical Skills and learned how to take a patient’s history. CSkills is kind of a huge time thing that no one ever told us about when we were doing interviews/touring. But it’s one of those things I can’t control so there’s no point crying about it. 

~ I started having abdominal pain on Tuesday. Went to the hospital for some labs and an ultrasound on Friday. It turns out I may have an ulcer. Two months into medical school, guys! That’s got to be some record right? I’m literally so stressed out, I’m eating myself from the inside out. 

~I went to the state fair after the hospital and it was really fun. I rode the ferris wheel (which I’m scared to death of because heights) and saw: a woman who was “living” even though she was “beheaded”, a half-woman/half-snake, and a half-woman/half-spider. And yes, I paid roughly 3 dollars for tickets to see all those things. What can I say? I’m a sucker for kitsch. I also saw some sea lions do tricks and petted exotic animals. 

~Had some adventures in the ghetto after dinner on Friday because my friend’s car broke down and she was driving everyone back to school. (We had dinner in my town). So I drove back to get them, waited for the tow truck with them, and drove them back up to Macon. 

~Saw “The Intern” and “The Visit”. The former was meh (except for Robert de Niro, who carried the entire thing). The latter, I surprisingly liked. It wasn’t what I expected. It was better. Not your typical mindless jump-scare type horror movie.

So yeah, this week was less about studying and more about me. Trying to make more space for things and people and trying to take better care of myself. Because self-love is so, so important, you guys. Or else you get an ulcer. 

I’ll try and post some pictures of the fair later.  

[franklytracey]

Medical school dementia is too real, you guys.

Yesterday, I drove right past my subdivision. I drove about five minutes before I realized I’d already passed it. 

This morning, I got up, showered, and studied for about an hour until I realized that I was still wrapped in my towel/naked. 

I’m not alone in this, am I? 

[franklytracey]

[franklytracey]

It’s The End of the World

Five days into Phase B and the realization that I chose this has never weighed more heavily on me than tonight. You know that episode in Grey’s Anatomy where a guy has live ammo in his chest and Meredith sticks her hand in the cavity after Christina Ricci (aka Hannah, frightened baby paramedic) runs out? And Meredith’s all, “What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?”.

That’s me. I’m Meredith. With my hand wrapped around a bomb. Wondering why I even stuck my hand in a body cavity in the first place.

Right now, in this moment, it all feels so overwhelming, so undoable. Eight-hundred and fifty pages of primary references, group, clinical skills. And beyond that, the harder upcoming phases where I have absolutely no background knowledge (Endocrine, Heme, Cardio), and then the little thing called Step One, and then past that - you know, when actual peoples’ actual lives are in my hands.

It’s too much. And tonight, I feel so inadequate, so not enough.

I know, I know: “Take it step by step.” “Self-love.” “Handle it as it comes.” “Thousands of people become doctors, why not me too?”

But I’m allowed this, I think. Just a little bit of self-pity and self-doubt. Feel it out, and then burn it up, and use it as fuel for tomorrow. The work’s only ever going to get harder from here. I guess I’ll have to get a little harder, too.  

[franklytracey]

Post Phase A Weekend

This past weekend was much needed and so perfect. The kind of weekend where I was too busy laughing to take a decent picture. The kind of weekend where the world is on the brink of autumn and change and everything feels new again, myself included. I hiked the Ocmulgee Indian Mounds with my med school friends, we explored downtown Macon, went to the Hay House and for once, talked about non-science things. Instead, we talked of trees, and our families, and got to know the heart of one another. It was a beautiful weekend, with some of the best people and I’m so full of gratitude, and so refreshed, and ready for Phase B. Let’s go.

[franklytracey]

When you can't motivate yourself to study for your oral exam after a 3.5 hour exam the day before so you cram in the parking lot. Update: I passed though!

[franklytracey]

I passed my first MDE, guys!!! I think it's my lucky shoes ☺️

[franklytracey]

Gone my entire undergraduate and graduate career without memorizing the amino acids and I refuse to start now. *continues to make more notecards*

[franklytracey]

Too Long for Twitter, Too Short for a Solo Post

(1) I think the worst thing to say to someone is, “I love you because you make me happy.” Say instead, “ I love you because you’re intelligent and kind, and the tip of your nose moves up and down when you talk, and your laugh sounds like church bells on Christmas Eve, and your hair smells like spring and all of that - everything that you are, makes me happy.” 

The former implies that she’s only worthy of love if she makes him happy. We shouldn’t live for anyone but ourselves. We shouldn’t exist solely to make other people happy. I think love (or at least the kind of love I want) is finding someone who you like living alongside and who likes living alongside you, forever, and ever. As long as you both shall live. 

(2) I wish I was one of those women who could say what she wants to say right when she wants to say it. Not in a quippy way. But in a genuine, earnest way. To be honest, and bright, and brave. 

It’s something that I’m working on, something I’m trying to grow into. The honesty thing, I mean. The not hiding behind witticisms thing. 

Maybe this type of bravery comes with age. Or a stubborn rejection of our current culture of “cool” and “detached”. Because we do live in a world of one night stands, and not being the first one to call, and meaningless hookups. But why? Why are we so afraid to plant our feet in the ground and get invested? 

Maybe we doubt our worth so we don’t demand that we receive it in kind. We don’t ask for the courtesy of commitment. We take what we can get and walk away with our pride. 

But who wins really? And at what game? Pride’s a lonely thing to come home to night after night. Some days, I’m ready to plant my feet and stand my ground. Ready to make a home and be a home. And other days, I’m classic April Ludgate. 

[thatboynotjustanyboy]

[franklytracey]

Typical Saturday night rager

[franklytracey]

on beauty.

This past Saturday morning, I was rushing around the house, trying to gather my things to get to study group on time. My dad stopped me and said, “You’re getting prettier. It must be because you’re getting smarter.” I rolled my eyes and continued searching for my phone. (It ended up being in the refrigerator.) 

Truth is, I’ve noticed it too. The prettier thing. I know that this is not a popular thing to say. As a woman, I’m apparently bound by some code that says, “If you have a vagina, you must be consumed by self-loathing, plagued by self-doubt and feel like you’re never good enough 99.2% of the time.” Yet here I am, sans makeup, and with more bags under my eyes than you’re allowed on an international flight, telling you (quite unabashedly) that I’ve never felt more beautiful. 

This past month, this first month of my medical journey has made me feel powerful, and capable, and hopeful, and hopeless, and unsure, and lonely, and a little sad, and a whole lot of grateful, and a good amount of happy — I’ve felt almost everything that I think a human being could possibly feel without breaking into a million pieces. And as much as I complain about sitting and reading for +6 hours each day, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more fulfilled in my entire life as I have this past month alone. I move with purpose. Everything I do now is a promise to the woman that I will become and to the patients who will be my responsibility. And that makes me feel powerful, and afraid, and capable — and yes, beautiful.