Chinese New Year started off just like any other day for me, at hospital. I was incredibly excited because that night, I would be heading to Madison Square Garden, to watch Yao Ming and the Houston Rockets take on the New York Knicks. Trust the NBA schedule makers to have Yao in New York on Chinese New Year.

The day went by pretty normally. The action picked up when I heard rumours here and there that there were a couple of organ donors. After asking around, this was confirmed - there were two donors, and we would be procuring their organs that evening. This was exciting, as I was the last student on my team to attend a procurement. I reassured myself over and over that it would take place through the night, and that I would be able to attend the game before I went to the procurement. I was extremely disappointed when my fellow let me know we would meet at the ER at 8pm. I reasoned to myself that I did not really have a choice, as a future doctor, I would have to learn to make sacrifices, and this would have to be one f them.

You can imagine my surprise when my fellow called me at 645pm telling me the following: "Hello Gaston, good news man, our procurement has been delayed until 11pm so you can go to the game." I would have been extremely excited, except for two things, one, was I too late to get there by 730pm, and two, would I be able to get another ticket, since I had just sold mine? I thought that, well, I'm in New York on vacation, I may as well go hard. I ran as fast as I could whenever I could, faster and with more urgency than I had ever run before. I was so happy when I made it, and when the person I had sold my ticket to saw how desparate I was to go and let me have my ticket back.


The game itself was absolutely incredible. We had seats right at the back ($15 tickets) but it didn't matter, because we had a great view anyway. I have always been told that Madison Square Garden is one of the very few venues that actually lives up to the hype, and well, I have to say that it far exceeded any expectations I had. The atmosphere was electric. WIthin two minutes I found myself cheering raucously for the Knicks, much to the dismay of my Rockets fan friend. The game was tight throughout. Right after halftime the Rockets pulled ahead by 9, and I thought to myself, well, this is where the Knicks get blown out. I was extremely happy to see the Knicks fight back and eventually win the game. I, along with the swarms of Asians in the crowd, was disappointed at Yao's no-show, but really enjoyed the balanced uptempo attack of the Knicks, and also the off-nights from Tmac and RonRon. I told my friend numerous times that we should have thrown a beer can at Artest's head, hopefully rehashing the night of the Malice and the Palace.

The game finished at 10pm, and before long, I was waiting at the ER for my fellow. We took the ambulance (sirens and all) through New York to Queens. Transplant surgery is an extremely tough profession, you spend your life hoping that someone will die, so that you can get yourself some organs. Sometimes, you feel sick. This was driven into me with this case, a 35 year old man who had passed away after his vehicle crushed him while he was changing the tire. I thought about how young and healthy he was, how devastated his family would have been, and I felt so dirty that I had previously been so excited at the idea of attending the procurement. I then started to think of the lives of the patients back at Mount Sinai, how this man's kidneys and pancreas could potentially save three patients. 

The other issue that I feel describes the state of the American Health Care System was regarding the hospital we were visiting. There were flyers everywhere organising a rally - "help to save our hospital!" After asking around we found out that just one week prior, the entire hospital's staff had been told that the institute was bankrupt, and that it would be closing in a few weeks. I felt for the staff, the doctors, the nurses, the janitors, who would all be out of a job. I felt for the patients, particularly since this was a charity hospital, and would charge based on the patient's salary. This hospital was one of the only hospitals that would help the poor. Who was going to help them now?

The procurement went well, although by the fourth or fifth hour I began to get very sleepy. The procedure itself was medically incredible. I could not help having my hand resting on the heart for most of the procedure, feeling its regular, unchanging, strong beat. I was most impressed with the cross-clamping of the aorta and the cutting of a hole into the heart. It was at this point, with blood gushing out everywhere and myself frantically suctioning away, the ECG monitors blaring out fibrillation and then asystole, that I finally realised that this man had passed away. We then retrieved the pancreas with what seemed to me like a Whipples, and finally the kidneys. We returned back to Mount Sinai, and soon after, at 6am in the morning, I was fast asleep, very satisfied with my Chinese New Year.

Today I pull up predictably hungover, after a night involving much beer, Canadian whiskey and copious amounts of tequila from my now infamous friend, Mauricio. I spend most of the day in a stupor, completely uninterested in the Montreal bus tour guide that stands before me speaking about something or other. I am lucky that most of the day is spent in the bus travelling to Quebec. I begin to doubt whether I am going to be able to match my friend Leo in his quest for a big night.


These feelings all disappear as soon as I set off the bus in Quebec. The (very) cold air re-energizes me, and sooner rather than later, I find myself walking the streets of Quebec, as always, without a map or any destination. This is something that I find much more enjoyable, as I truly feel as though I am exploring a new territory, and getting completely lost and finding your way back is just part of the fun. I came across many things here, including cannons, the only souveneirs I have bought in my time overseas, and of course, escargot. This however, is not the focus of the little story I am writing.


One might say that I was pumped about our visit to the Dagobert, a 3-storey club offering rock, trance and hiphop. We arrived at 11pm and it was still kind of dead. Many of my friends headed to the trance level and after a couple of drinks were proceeding to get freaky on the dancefloor. I however, was not willing to reenact my exploits from the previous night, so I wandered around the club, in search of people who seemed receptive for a chat.

I had trouble gauging how interested you were in me, and so, as some sort of test, I said that I was going to go upstairs as I was sure my friends would be getting up to all sorts of shenanigans that I would like to join in on, and that, yes, if you would like, you should come upstairs with me too.