Linus

"It's reassuring to believe that circumstances are against you and that you would write a lot if only your schedule had a few more big chunks of time to devote to writing," says Paul J. Silvia, one of the psychologists who received the Berlyne Award. In How to Write a Lot: A Practical Guide to Productive Academic Writing, Silvia helps me see that this barrier, like most false beliefs, persists because it's comforting. I opened this book at random during my recent visit to City Hall Public Library, and could not stop myself turning page after page.

Why do I find this book nifty? A good question. Not that I aspire to be prolific in publication, but that I am writing less productively.

That admitted, I must further confess the shame I feel when caught napping (and with the dream of a big block of time such as spring break). Admit it – we've all indulged in the dream of waiting for the spring break, waiting for inspiration, and on and on and on. Put simply, there is a good chance that my manuscripts, study proposals, book chapters, manuscript reviews, and even reference letters for my interns, will never be finished because of the time wasted in the cozy dreams. The way we bask in such oddly soothing dreams is difficult to quit, much in the way that Peanuts character Linus clings to his security blanket.

Teaching

Ever had a bad luck that dooms your day? And as if that's not enough, your friends or classmates are highflying, and that can demoralize you indeed. After recent discussion among our colleagues and students, I'm convinced that taking a look at these bad luck theories can help.

The bad luck theory is one all-important law of human destiny. If we obey the bad luck theory, we shall almost be sure to get into endless trouble. The bad luck theory goes like this: "If I am assigned to a superb teacher like KL, I'll have the advantages that I didn't have." Or: "If I don't get the chance to listen to the heart sound of that patient with atrial septal defect, I won't be able to pick it up at the final examination..." I can hear the sigh already.

When we perceive ourselves at a disadvantage in our school or workplace (that is, most of the time) we tend to get anxious and picture the worst thing that could keep us struck. We sat there and imagined the worst lives that would be without the luck, playing out the consequences or self-fulfilling prophecy.

I'm sure the bad luck theory is too devastating and should be got rid of. There's going to be a completely different story if we remember the modern Pygmalion story of the musical My Fair Lady – I know this makes me sound optimistic, but I am – and accept ourselves who we are and what we have. To draw upon my student experience, I still remember the autodidact days when we didn't have a whiff of teaching on blood diseases. I ended up reading a textbook of Essential Haematology from cover to cover (but not other subjects within the area of medicine) by the time I graduated from medical school. Of course, I have better knowledge on this topic than other subjects for which I received tons of lectures.

Insane or In Synch

A man was about to stand up from his chair near the end of clinic consultation, when he asked me about his kidney problem. It's around lunch time on a rainy Monday, and after seeing 16 patients, I was wondering if I missed to make abundantly clear that his diabetes mellitus hasn't caused any complications.

"No, not at all. Not even a trace of protein in your urine. Let me repeat: your kidney function is perfectly fine," I explained in a professional manner after looking back at his blood test and urine results. I had a hunch (and it later proved to be pretty accurate) that this patient didn't believe in what his doctor – hell, a doctor with special interest in kidney disease – had said.

Yet, I saw no reason for the worry as to the odds of having kidney problems. He didn't even recall a single family member who had developed kidney disease. So our discussion went on and on and on. I told him it isn't possible. He told me it is. I told him it isn't. He told me it is. I was beginning to conclude that this guy must be insane until he told me about his weak kidneys taking a toll on his sex life. Bank on it. My patient was talking from the perspective of traditional Chinese medicine, wherein our kidneys take care of the sexual function.

There's a lot of this going around. The two of us were simply not in synch when we spoke to each other. There is a story about a five-year-old girl who was chatting with Daniel Gottlieb when they went for a trip in his van. Just as they pulled up to a traffic light, the girl asked this famous psychologist from the back of the van, "Uncle Danny, what does having sex mean?" Needless to say, this is not a question you and I want to answer. Finally Gottlieb took a deep breath, and whispered, "Having sex is what grown-ups do when they want to have a baby."

The older sister of that five-year-old girl wasn't impressed, though. "Uncle Danny, what are you talking about? My sister just asked you, 'What does heaven's sakes mean?'"

Facebook

It has been two years since I joined Facebook. I still remembered my reluctance to accept my friend's invitation to join this social-networking site at the very beginning. Why? One reason – one of the big ones – is the anxiety of my space being invaded.

It's a thorny question. We're looking for ways to link with our distant friends. And yet, we might not want certain people (oh, say, our parents) to access our profile page. No matter how many times we hear the stories of Facebook users being caught as a result of their online pictures (for possession of alcohol, defacing a national monument, or any monkey business you can imagine), most of us keep on publishing our personal lives and tastes without a second thought.

Which brings me to a recent New England Journal of Medicine Perspective article about practicing medicine in the age of Facebook. That, in itself, is a remarkable essay of Facebook etiquette, reminding us the possibility of posting items on networking sites that might reflect poorly on us and the medical profession. In practice, doctors and medical students have been taught to be discreet in disclosing information. Matters aren't so straightforward when we surf the social-networking sites. We might simply assume that we're wearing Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak in front of a computer screen. The next thing we know - God forbid - we're naked.

Forgetful

I was reading a short medical review about memory problems in older people. There are, I suppose, good tips for doctors who often come across patients with memory loss.

The article teaches us to ask if the forgetful patient is paying his bills. Does he forget his way and get lost? A quick assessment of the severity of cognitive impairment, I was told, should include orientation to place, recall of three items and general knowledge such as news headlines. And something like that.

"Oops, are they talking about me?" I read with trepidation as I went over the list of questions. "It certainly has happened to me recently." A week ago, I found an insurance payment notice in my bag and simply couldn't remember if I had settled the bill. And then, I lost my way when I traveled on the train to Tsim Sha Tsui. Alas, I forgot the news of opening new rail line. By the time I realized my failing to change train at the new interchange station, I had been sent back on the same train – all the way to my place of departure.

I was in for yet another surprise when I quickly finished that wonderful checklist. If the doctor has the chance to see his patient in his own house, they said, it’s worth looking at the state of his fridge – is it empty or full of decaying food? "Good gracious! How on earth do they know everything about my fridge?" I was dumbfounded. Before the arrival of my baby I took efforts to clean up my home last weekend. And, ah - I found, inside my fridge, zillions of foodstuff already expired.

Wasabi

There are only two kinds of people in this world: those who believe that the earth revolves around the sun and those who act as if their babies are the centre of the universe.

Having said that, I find myself morphing inevitably from the former into someone who will monopolize conversations with boring baby topics. Simply put, "baby talk" is similar to wasabi: a little at the right time feels good, but we often overdo it. Oh, yeah, isn't this a normal reaction of becoming a father-to-be? My friends start to say that I have changed, and they're right. I have become more interested in childcare, nursery necessities, parenting, and so on.

Again, the point here is not to discourage us from seeing the world differently. There's plenty to learn how to share our joy and yet without boring the friends, in particular those without kids. It would be hard for a new parent not to talk about his or her newcomer. Still, it would be even harder for us to look from another angle before we're in other people's shoes. That's why I had never thought of freeing our mom-to-be doctors from the action-packed duty of admitting patients from the emergency department in the middle of the night. Nope – not until my wife's becoming pregnant.

Conformist

Not long ago, my wife and I had a dinner in a Chinese restaurant. It wasn't a particularly big one, but it served great dishes. But when I caught my wife's eye, I could see she was feeling tired. Then I started to notice that we were sitting beneath a noisy television, and right next to a busy corridor. You can't think of better way to make people throw a fit. Plus an epileptic fit - if you happen to be sensitive to the flicker of the television.

I wondered what prevented me from protesting when I was led to the table. Was it courtesy? An absent-minded faux pas?

I don't think either answer quite fits.

Looking back, it seems now that I have been shaped by my childhood history of making peace. If everyone has a narrative, mine is a tale to conform. Ever since my childhood, I've found it more disturbing to say "no" than to face the real threats to my well-being. Or as Robert Fulghum puts it, "All I really need to know I learned in kindergarten." And I have learned to say yes since I was a little boy. Which means being an easy-going buddy, an amicable student, a peacemaking brother, and on and on and on.

Being a profound believer in the I-do-so-because-I-had-been-taught-so myth, I have occasionally ruminated on whether I am clinging to a romanticized version of the past.