mood: cardiological music: Clint Mansell - Together We Will Live Forever

I have a stethoscope.

This one is a blue model, made by MDF Instruments. It's the second I've owned in my life. The first was a gray Littmann Classic model. It belonged to my grandmother, a nurse. It used to ride around in a clear plastic box with other medical things in it - a sphygmomanometer, a chrome and rubber reflex hammer, a box of latex gloves, a surgeon's mask, some plastic syringes. I'm not sure where it went.

Back then, I was going to be a doctor. I was very sure of this. In my head, the whole thing was mapped out, as inevitable as the sunrise.

By and by, I found out I was good with computers. Really good. So I took some classes at the local community college, eventually landed a job working at, coincidentally, a hospital, in the IT department. It was fun - I was doing something I was very good at, but somewhere along the way I forgot about being a doctor. Soon, opportunities came knocking, and I turned my attention to the world of production, wherein another of my passions lay. Now I'm a full-time lighting designer.

But I've never been far from a hospital. I've been a children's hospital volunteer for almost five years. I'm still fascinated by medicine. I have a skeleton in my room, and a copy of Gray's Anatomy. I still have that desire to get the training needed to go out and help sick people. I wanted to go to Haiti when the earthquake hit, but the Red Cross wasn't sending volunteers with job skills like "lighting designer" or "computer technician". Doctors Without Borders has a strange appeal to me.

So last month, I bought another stethoscope. It's a reminder, and maybe, a promise to myself. My childhood dreams may have been delayed, but they have not been forgotten. There is, perhaps, always time.

Exit, stage left. Sparks