It's early spring. During an otherwise ordinary day, I meet an elderly Korean woman at work. My coworkers turn to look at me, as if to say, "Go ahead."

I don't know how to say "inflamed gallbladder" in Korean. I can manage to say, "Does it hurt here?" which earns me more gratitude from her than I deserve. I've done nothing.

The next day I meet her family. I explain her condition, and again I hear thanks. They tell me about their son, who is an orthopedic surgeon. "You must be very proud," I say.

For a brief moment, I wonder how my grandmother is doing. She seems smaller and more frail every time I see her. Occasionally I hear from my parents about her being in the hospital. She always seems to recover from these bouts of ... old age? I don't know. I haven't seen her in months.

But it only takes a face, and a few words, and I'm back sitting in her home, bop and ban chan spread in front of me, and her hand squeezing mine with a $20 bill, keeping me from letting go.

It's hard to explain the feeling of walking out of Christ Hospital at the end of the Trauma rotation. For the first time in six weeks, I felt like a normal person.

During one of the many miserable days on the service, one of the med students said she had just put up her Christmas tree and it made her feel a little cheerier. I told her I was taking vitamin D tablets. She suggested that I should get myself a tree, too.

I brought this up during Joseph and Joanna's annual Thanksgiving dinner, and heard nothing but discouragement. Myung and Mike's recommendation: a Christmas tree screensaver. Scrooges.

Well, it didn't matter because at that point I was getting a tree no matter what. I stopped by at Target after work and strolled around the Christmas section. I ruled out the full-sized trees because of the lack of room in my place. I ruled out the mini desktop-sized trees because come on. I eventually found my Charlie Brown tree in the back. It's plastic, it's about a foot-and-a-half tall, and it's got little lights built in that light up the dark corner of my living room and heart.