Having a Dog Is Wonderful—But It Takes Daily Care

 Yesterday, I attended a dog-care seminar with Ann, our Flat-Coated Retriever. It was both enjoyable and surprisingly educational.

Yesterday, there was a dog-care seminar organized by the breeder of Ann, our Flat-Coated Retriever, for owners of dogs from her kennel.

Of course, it was not free.

Still, it was a very worthwhile experience. We listened to excellent instructors, including a veteran handler, a retriever specialist, a canine nutrition expert, and an animal aromatherapist. There were also hands-on training sessions, which made the day even more rewarding.

We learned many practical things about daily dog care. For example, why Ann walks so well with my wife but not quite as well with me, what preparations are necessary for dog shows, and the important points of grooming a Flat-Coated Retriever. Every topic was interesting and useful.

Ann was even chosen as a model dog for grooming, and afterward she looked more beautiful than ever.

 

During the animal aromatherapy session, not only the dogs but the people felt relaxed as well.

It was a day full of eye-opening lessons. I learned a great deal about how carefully and lovingly a dog should be treated. Of course, I cannot remember everything, so I wrote these thoughts down. From now on, I will simply try to practice them little by little each day.

Having a dog is enjoyable, but it also takes effort. Yet that effort is nothing more than thinking every day about how to give love and care.

As we drove home, the lights of the tents near the campsite looked like a peaceful night scene from Moominvalley.

 

Having a dog may take daily effort, but that effort itself is one form of love. 

 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• worthwhile：やる価値のある、有意義な
• hands-on：実地の、体験型の
• rewarding：やりがいのある、満足感のある
• eye-opening：目から鱗の、視野を広げる
• effort：努力、手間
• little by little：少しずつ
• care for ~：〜の世話をする、大切にする
• more beautiful than ever：これまで以上に美しい

 

Why Can’t We Build Flexible Organizations?

Every April, Japanese workplaces welcome new employees and reshuffle staff. But behind these seasonal changes lies a deeper issue: many organizations operate with no room to absorb maternity leave, parental leave, or illness. That rigidity may be one hidden cause of Japan’s declining birthrate.

 

With April came a major reshuffling of doctors at my hospital.

From full-time physicians to residents, many new faces arrived, and at our departmental meeting the newcomers introduced themselves.

The meeting is usually held in a hybrid format, and I normally attend online from my desk. But at the beginning of each fiscal year, I make a point of going in person to see the faces of the new members joining our department.

Many new clinical laboratory technologists also joined the laboratory division.

Our organizational structure changed this year, and recruitment was larger than usual.

I imagine the nursing department, administration, and many other sections also experienced their own turnover.

It has been nearly a month now. I wonder whether everyone has settled in.

Leaving aside new hiring, one issue that often causes headaches is how to manage when staff members take maternity leave, parental leave, or sick leave.

Even if staffing cannot be doubled, I often think that if there were a little extra capacity from the start, covering for absent staff would be far easier.

Any organization probably begins with some room to spare. But once its work is recognized and operations become established, demand grows, workloads increase, and staff shortages appear.

Of course, in a shrinking Japan, labor shortages are often discussed as inevitable. But one cause has also been the long delay in properly addressing maternity and parental leave.

Having children is increasingly seen as a burden. Yet many people still want children.

Even those who still wish to have children despite difficult circumstances may find it hard to do so because support systems remain inadequate.

If it is impossible to prepare twice as many workers simply because demand may someday reach full capacity, then perhaps organizations must also learn not to pursue maximum capacity at all times.

From the perspective of the laboratory department, if we tried to meet every request coming from clinical services without limit, collapse would only be a matter of time.

Doctors, after all, can be demanding, and some behave as though medical resources simply fall from the sky.

As a result, more and more tests are ordered, and patients become buried in examinations.

I am not arguing against the tests themselves. But unless requests are kept to what is truly necessary, the laboratory inevitably reaches its limits.

Then when someone takes maternity leave, parental leave, or sick leave, the whole system quickly begins to fail.

Yes, people can be reassigned from elsewhere. But then the department losing those people suffers in turn.

To avoid this, organizations must be able to expand and contract with changing realities.

Why have we failed to build such organizations?

One reason, I believe, is the long dominance of a male-centered way of thinking.

If society had better understood the wishes of women who want to have children and raise them, we might have built a happier society in which people supported one another more naturally.

Flexible organizations with a little room to breathe are the true foundation of a society that can nurture both people and children.

 

Organizations with a little room to breathe are the true foundation of a society that can nurture both people and children. 

 ・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• reshuffling = 人員の入れ替え、配置転換
• newcomers = 新しく入った人たち
• hybrid format = 対面とオンライン併用形式
• maternity leave = 産休
• parental leave = 育休
• extra capacity = 余力、余剰能力
• workload = 業務量
• inevitable = 避けられない、必然的な
• reach full capacity = 最大処理能力に達する
• a matter of time = 時間の問題
• reassigned = 配置転換される
• male-centered = 男性中心の
• room to breathe = 余白、ゆとり（比喩表現）

 

Before a Slightly Longer Timeout

 Next week will already be May, and Golden Week is just around the corner.
A holiday break can be refreshing, but it can also interrupt the rhythm we have worked hard to build. As I prepare for this slightly longer timeout, I find myself thinking about time, balance, and strategy.

 

Next week is already May, and Golden Week begins.

Although May has thirty-one days on the calendar, once the holidays are taken into account, it often feels even shorter than February.

Still, a long holiday is not a bad thing. It comes during one of the most pleasant and stable seasons of the year, making it an excellent time to rest.

Since the New Year, many people have been busy with end-of-year duties, followed immediately by the intense start of a new fiscal year. In that sense, this short pause is welcome.

The difficulty is that breaks can loosen our discipline. They interrupt the steady routines we have built day by day.

In my case, that includes daily diagnostic work, preparation for study meetings, lecture planning, and many other ongoing responsibilities.

Time never stops, not even for a moment.

It moves forward with almost cruel speed.

As long as I am still in the game, I need to think carefully about strategy before time runs out.

Even so, there are moments when I want to say, “Time out!”

Golden Week, for me, is exactly that—a slightly longer timeout.

Halftime is something different. Summer vacation and the year-end holidays are true halftimes, when both body and mind need complete rest. But this slightly longer timeout is a chance to review plans and make small adjustments.

Of course, I cannot suddenly change direction. And since halftime is still some distance away, the real question is how to use this brief pause wisely.

First, I should bring the current situation back to even before calling timeout. After all, it is usually the team that is losing that asks for one.

Last week I was away on several business trips, and since the weekend my colleague has been overseas for training in pediatric and perinatal pathology. I have been managing everything alone.

I used to do that before he joined us. But once work became too much for one person, having two pathologists helped greatly. Returning to one again is not easy.

Without academic meetings or lectures, it might still be manageable. But those duties remain.

I sometimes think about making a to-do list, but most things are already organized in my head.

Deadlines exist, of course, but I already understand how time and priorities must be distributed.

So first, I should bring things back to even, and then wait for the whistle that signals timeout.

 

Before taking a break, it is best to restore balance and be ready for the game ahead. 

 

・・・

Vocabulary for Learners

• just around the corner = もうすぐそこに
• interrupt the rhythm = 調子・流れを中断する
• taken into account = 考慮に入れて
• steady routine = 安定した日課・習慣
• time runs out = 時間切れになる
• make small adjustments = 小さな調整をする
• bring back to even = 五分五分の状態に戻す
• manageable = 何とか対処できる
• distributed = 配分される
• signals timeout = タイムアウトを告げる

 

Being Allowed to Stay in the Game Is a Blessing

 Some days, fatigue feels heavier than usual.
Travel, unfamiliar places, and the passing of time all leave their marks.
Yet even near the end of the game, being allowed to remain on the court is something to be grateful for.

For the past couple of days, my writing has felt somewhat lacking in energy.
Perhaps that is because I drafted it on the way home the night before

I usually add the opening lines the next morning, while the rest was written the previous evening.
The energy of morning and the melancholy of night—human emotions move in ways that are surprisingly easy to recognize.

Perhaps because of my recent business trips, fatigue has been building up.

Traveling to unfamiliar places takes physical strength, and visiting somewhere new brings its own tension.
That alone can deepen one’s exhaustion.

Meeting people I do not know is tiring in another way.
When you have no idea what kind of person the other side may be, that cannot be helped.

Traveling by Shinkansen can also be draining.

Recently, with many visitors coming to Japan, there are moments when differences in manners or customs inside the train feel noticeable.
At the same time, adapting to systems designed mainly for Japanese travelers must be difficult for them as well.

Academic conferences leave me tired too.

In earlier years, hearing new ideas filled me with joy.
I wanted to absorb what I did not know and make it part of myself.

Now, however, I feel there is not much room left in my mind for new things.

That may be why conferences exhaust me each time I attend one.
Sometimes I wonder whether it is nearly enough.

My body may be trying, little by little, to fade from the front stage of society.

Then again, it is difficult to define what the front stage really means.
It is not simply having a title, nor standing before others in visible roles.

I no longer feel much attachment to surviving in the place where I once stood by relying only on what I built in the past.

Even so, I still have one more effort to make.

If I compare life to the basketball games I once loved, perhaps this is the final two minutes.

And yet, being able to spend this time on the court itself is possible only because I have been fortunate enough to be allowed to play.

 

If I am grateful for that fortune, then I should keep running until the final whistle. 

 

・・・ 

Vocabulary for Learners

• fatigue = 疲労
• melancholy = 物悲しさ、憂鬱
• unfamiliar = 見慣れない、不慣れな
• exhaustion = 消耗、極度の疲れ
• attachment = 執着、愛着
• fortunate enough to... = ～できるほど幸運である
• final whistle = 試合終了の笛（人生の比喩としても使える）

 

The Needless Worries of an Awkward Position

 Watching the news the other day, I saw a man of fifty-seven who had just become the head of one of Japan’s major banks. He looked thoughtful, distinguished, and perfectly suited for the role. Seeing someone younger than myself in such a position made me reflect, once again, on what place a man in his sixties is supposed to occupy.

 

When I am working on diagnostic cases, life is simple enough. I only need to concentrate on the task in front of me. But outside that work, I sometimes wonder how I am expected to conduct myself.

Ten years ago, the senior doctors one generation above me seemed deeply authoritative. Now I have reached the age they were then.

The difference is that I grew older without acquiring the level of mastery they appeared to possess. So I know very well that I am not nearly as impressive as my age might suggest.

Even so, I try to be careful when communicating with younger colleagues.

They are probably seeing an imagined version of me rather than the real person, and I do not want to say anything careless that might make them unnecessarily hesitant.

The truth is that many of the younger people I admire know far more than I do in many areas. There is much I would gladly learn from them. Yet somehow, even saying so feels awkward.

 

I started this blog years ago in the hope of making the profession of pathology better known.

Recently, however, pathologists have become far more visible to the public, so that original purpose has largely been fulfilled.

Now I would like to write more about my own specialty.

The trouble is that my field is extremely narrow. If I described it too clearly, people would quickly say, “Ah, so it’s him.”

I doubt being identified would do much harm in itself.

Still, I work within an organization. If I were to write something foolish without realizing it and cause unnecessary trouble, it could reflect badly on my workplace. It might also disappoint younger people who have placed too much faith in me.

So, at least outwardly, I remain anonymous and continue writing under the name “Colo-ken.”

 

Perhaps all this is nothing more than needless worry.

Still, the more one thinks, the more troublesome life can become.

When I was young, I believed growing older would make life easier.

Instead, it seems that every age simply brings its own complications.

The thought of spending yet another day in this awkward position feels a little heavy.

And yet, it is somehow different from the gloom I felt when I was young.

Perhaps this is what needless worry truly is.

 

Every stage of life has its burdens, but some become lighter simply because we know them better. 

 

・・・ 

Vocabulary for Learners

• awkward position = 微妙でややこしい立場
• needless worry = 取り越し苦労
• authoritative = 威厳がある、重みのある
• conduct myself = 振る舞う
• reflect badly on = ～の評判を悪くする
• fulfilled = 達成された
• complications = 面倒ごと、ややこしさ
• gloom = 憂鬱、気の重さ

 

Hard to Outrun Nature’s Fury

A large earthquake struck northeastern Japan yesterday, reminding many of us how close natural disaster always is. We prepare as best we can, yet unease often arrives long before any shaking begins.

 

Yesterday, a major earthquake struck off the coast of northeastern Japan.

Warnings were issued across a wide region advising people to remain alert for the possibility of another large quake in the days ahead.

It may take some time before this uneasy feeling fades.

Tokyo and Kanagawa are not necessarily safe either, and needless to say, we all need to stay prepared.

The other day, I watched an NHK program that simulated what would happen if Mount Fuji were to erupt.

The damage caused by volcanic ash alone would be immense, and if lava flows were added to that, the consequences could be devastating.

Whenever I hear or see such reports, I am reminded of the importance of preparation.

Yet even more than that, I am overcome by a quiet fear.

Disasters that come once in years, decades, or centuries will surely come again someday, but no one can say exactly when.

All we can do is wait, while doing what little we can to prepare.

At the very least, I hope nothing happens while I am still alive.

But life rarely follows our wishes so neatly.

It would be troubling if it came tomorrow or the day after, and troubling as well if it came when my body no longer moved as it once did.

Because this planet Earth is still alive and active, humanity has long benefited from its power and abundance.

Yet there is no way for us to know its moods in advance.

Natural upheaval is always near.

We must live with that awareness, and keep ourselves prepared.

 

We cannot control the earth beneath our feet, but we can choose how calmly and wisely we live upon it. 

 

・・・ 

Vocabulary for Learners

• outrun = 振り切る、逃げ切る
• remain alert = 警戒を続ける
• uneasy feeling = 不安な気持ち
• immense = 莫大な、甚大な
• devastating = 壊滅的な
• overcome by fear = 恐れに襲われる
• rarely follows our wishes = 思い通りにはめったにならない
• abundance = 豊かさ、恵み
• natural upheaval = 天変地異、自然の激変
• beneath our feet = 私たちの足元にある大地

 

I Always Want to Have Dreams

People often say that having dreams is a good thing.
I am still not entirely sure why. Yet perhaps dreams give us something valuable: the joy of imagining what life could become.

 

People say that having dreams is a good thing.

Why it is good, I am still not entirely sure.

Dreams may become a source of energy for living, but even without dreams, we still possess the instinct to survive. In that sense, they may not be essential.

Then why are dreams considered valuable? Perhaps because there is pleasure in imagining the moment when they finally come true.

The clearest example of a dream may be a lottery ticket.

People buy the dream of sudden wealth while thinking, If I win, I’ll do this… I’ll do that.

There are dreams that can be bought in this way, but there are also dreams that cannot be bought so easily.

Those are the dreams that can only be achieved through one’s own effort.

When such dreams come true, the joy is naturally greater.

Even if they cannot be replaced by money or material things, if they are something we truly longed for, the satisfaction of achieving them must be immense.

In that sense, perhaps people are more likely to feel fulfilled when they always carry some dream within them.

If we begin defining satisfaction itself, we may never finish, so I will leave that for another time. Still, having dreams seems to make people feel considerably happier.

And age has nothing to do with it.

As long as we stand somewhere on the single number line called time, for human beings and all things alike, this very moment is the starting line.

Young people may dream because they have many years ahead of them. But older people may dream about the years that remain as well.

As for me, I still have dreams of completing things left unfinished in the rest of my life.

Each of them, for me, is steeper than it may appear.

Without losing focus, I want to achieve them one by one.

And when they are done, I hope to dream again and continue walking through life.

 

 As long as life continues, there is always room for another dream.

 

・・・ 

Vocabulary for Learners

• dreams come true = 夢がかなう
• instinct to survive = 生存本能
• source of energy = 活力の源
• sudden wealth = 一攫千金
• through one’s own effort = 自らの努力によって
• longed for = 切望していた、憧れていた
• fulfilled = 満たされた
• starting line = スタートライン
• years that remain = 残された年月
• unfinished = 未完了の、やり残した
• one by one = 一つ一つ
• continue walking through life = 人生を歩み続ける

 

An Ordinary Sunday, Yet Not Quite

 ome Sundays pass quietly, almost unnoticed. Yet sometimes, beneath their ordinary surface, they hold memories, gratitude, and the quiet weight of years shared together.

 

A peaceful day.

These are the kinds of days I should value most and feel grateful for, yet I let it pass somewhat aimlessly, and when it was over, I felt I had wasted something precious.

At Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, yabusame horseback archery was being held.

But now that we have Anne, I cannot easily go off to watch such things whenever I please.

This morning, I thought I might at least watch the practice, so I went there, but perhaps it had already been canceled, for there were neither people nor horses.

After walking for about an hour, I had brunch with my wife. We shared a striped Atka mackerel that we had bought in Sapporo.

Today is the anniversary of our marriage registration, marking thirty-five years since my wife changed her surname.

There is much debate about allowing married couples to keep separate surnames. It seems to me that an optional system would be enough. Those who wish to do so should be free to choose it, and those who do not should be free not to.

Why is something so simple so difficult to achieve?

 

Come to think of it, the day we registered our marriage was also a Sunday, though unlike today, it was pouring rain.

That evening, when we went to the city office in Musashino, where we were living at the time, to submit our marriage papers, an older staff member who was apparently on duty congratulated us. I can still remember his voice.

We received a congratulatory phone call from our daughter, who is now working alone in New York City.

When I think that I have lived with my wife longer than the years it took for our son and daughter to grow into the fine adults they are today, thirty-five years feels like a remarkably long span of time.

An ordinary Sunday, perhaps—but for the two of us, not an ordinary Sunday at all.

 

What looked like an ordinary Sunday was, for us, a day quietly illuminated by thirty-five years of life together. 

Maybe I’ll think about it when the time comes.

 Some decisions do not need to be made today.
We often waste energy worrying about a future that has not arrived yet. Sometimes, the wisest answer is simple: think about it when the time comes.

 

There is a difference between planning and worrying. Planning helps us prepare, but worrying only steals today’s peace. Many people try to solve tomorrow’s problems before tomorrow even begins.

A calmer approach is to focus on what is in front of us now. Future choices can wait until they become real choices. Until then, we can continue our work, take care of ourselves, and keep moving steadily.

“I’ll think about it when the time comes” is not laziness. It is often maturity. It means knowing that not every question needs an immediate answer.

For today, what is in front of you is enough. 

 

 

The 115th Annual Meeting of the Japanese Society of Pathology in Sapporo: Autopsy and Dissection

 At the 115th Annual Meeting of the Japanese Society of Pathology in Sapporo, amid discussions on cutting-edge spatial and transcriptomic analysis, I found myself reflecting on something more fundamental: the changing language surrounding autopsy and dissection.

I came to Sapporo a little intimidated by the forecast low of 5°C, and as expected, last night was quite cold. My spring-summer suit was not enough, so I was glad I had packed a cardigan to wear underneath.

Gloves too.

I drank a bit too much at a gathering with my close research group, but early this morning there was a lecture by one of the “great senior” professors from our department. I hurried through breakfast and rushed out, but managed to arrive in time.

Yesterday and today were full of presentations, leaving both my stomach and my head completely full.

 

Spatial and transcriptomic analysis were the main themes, and I found it difficult to keep up. It felt as though the savings from the research knowledge I accumulated in my younger days had finally run out.

This trip also serves as preparation for two academic meetings next year.

I was able to thank the professors who had already agreed to give lectures, and for sessions still in planning, I identified several promising candidates. Yesterday, two of them gave tentative acceptance.

 

Research methods continue to evolve rapidly, but their foundation remains the human body.

This is true not only in pathology, but in all medical research. Everything ultimately returns to human beings.

One topic frequently discussed these days is the decline in the number of hospital autopsies.

Even yesterday’s general assembly meeting saw a lengthy discussion on the matter.

By the way, I have often found myself wondering how best to express the term autopsy in Japanese.

A pathological autopsy is performed to determine the cause of death and to clarify the mechanisms of disease, but in Japanese it may also be called boken (剖検).

Autopsy (= autopsy / postmortem examination) refers to an examination after death to investigate the cause of death or pathological lesions.

Dissection (= dissection / anatomy) refers to cutting apart the body to study its structure, or to the academic discipline of anatomy itself.

In everyday conversation, people may say “dissect the body to determine the cause of death,” but in English, autopsy would be the natural word in that context.

That being so, the proper Japanese term should be boken (剖検), and in fact I often use it.

The word “dissection” feels somewhat blunt, while boken sounds more specialized and refined.

However, perhaps because it is less familiar to the general public, it seems that the official terminology is being standardized as pathological autopsy (病理解剖).

Since Japan historically had no native custom corresponding to autopsy, I suspect the term was coined in parallel with anatomy. If so, I worry that the word itself may gradually disappear.

 

Still, as long as I am alive, it will survive so long as I continue to use it. What happens afterward is for the next generation to decide.

There is also a practical need to distinguish it clearly from forensic autopsy.

In that sense, when performed by pathologists, the unified term pathological autopsy is probably where matters will settle.

Language changes with the times.

 

Methods advance, terminology shifts, yet medicine always returns to the human body—and language, too, changes with the times. 

Everyone Has Their Own Reasons

 Every day, we hear about incidents and conflicts.
Behind each one lies a set of personal circumstances—unique, complex, and often impossible to fully understand.

 

Every day, incidents fill the news.

Each of them is caused by the circumstances carried by the people involved.

These “circumstances” can range from minor stress to money, relationships, or work. If we break them down further, no two are ever exactly the same.

Even now, I find myself irritated by someone with a large suitcase blocking the doorway on a crowded train.

If I were to lose my temper here, it could escalate into trouble, and I might even put myself at risk.

It should not be allowed to turn into an incident so easily.

If this were a machine, once a goal is set, it would simply pursue the optimal solution and choose the same method every time. It would not intentionally cause harm to humans.

To be precise, it is not about harm or benefit—machines do not concern themselves with human life or death. They simply follow their programming.

If they were programmed never to kill a human, they might even become unable to act at all.

And yet, in war, a machine would carry a bomb to its destination and drop it, exactly as instructed.

Whether people are there or not would not matter.

If wars were conducted by AI, they might become somewhat more restrained toward humans. But if it were a conflict between AI and humans, AI would likely have the advantage.

This is because humans have too many “circumstances,” while AI has none of that complexity.

Even if we try to program human circumstances into AI, what we are really encoding is not “circumstances” themselves, but the biases and assumptions of those who design the system. And those can never be absolutely correct.

If AI were to make autonomous decisions, could it truly arrive at the optimal solution for humanity?

Probably not.

Because satisfying one side inevitably means failing another. Human desires are not unified, and there is no single truth that applies to everyone.

In the end, AI might simply stop functioning altogether.

Perhaps one day, some method will bring about the greatest common happiness for humanity.

But there will always be those left behind.

For those people, the world may feel like darkness, and from there, new and complex circumstances will arise.

Are humans simply selfish, or is this just what it means to be human?

In any case, each person carries their own circumstances—many of them urgent, unavoidable, and demanding immediate resolution.

Call it selfish if you like, but it is undeniably complicated.

 

Too many circumstances—perhaps that is both the weakness and the essence of being human.