Bumfuzzled in a hospital near you

On flight

2011-08-18T19:39:00.000-07:00

I did, in fact survive my first aviation experience this week. I know that a couple of you were probably a tad concerned at the thought of me operating an aircraft... To be truthful, so was I.

But fly, I did. My vessel was the Cirrus SR-22:

My mission? Not to die or kill my very sweet co-pilot/instructor, Mr C (who was probably nearing seventy.)

The day began with what I have experienced for the past two weeks consistently - death by powerpoint. This is the favorite way of the Force to lull and disable their members into a stupor and submission (after which they show videos of stuff getting blown up to remind us that we have a reason for having sold our souls to the US government. By the bye, the one second the clip of the 'heavy' (read: big girl) plane shooting off the "angel" flares - that's my new baby, the Hercules C130 - be ready to hear more about her for many moons.) The slide production was punctuated with bursts of free powerade, diet pepsi, cheese cubes, and one subway sandwich. (For once, good job to the Force for feeding and hydrating us appropriately.) I then proceeded to the flight simulator where I crashed EVERY airplane I managed to get off of the ground (I also crashed the 2 the instructor had to take off for me.) Needless to say, my career as a functional member of the flightline was looking grim and I was feeling more than nervous about operating a real plane.

I was nervously pawing though my attaché case for my water bottle when Mr. C, my flight instructor, cornered me and said it was time to go. I nervously followed him onto the airpad. I climbed and strapped into the plane. I put on my head set. I prayed that Mr. C could not hear how loud and fast my heart was beating. We taxied around what seemed like the longest taxi-way on earth and were on the runway. I followed my hand on the tandem controls as Mr C calmly accelerated, pulled back on the stick, and we were airborne.

"The plane is yours."

"No, sir. Not yet it isn't." This was not the anticipated reply. (I was supposed to say, "The plane is mine", after which he would reiterate, "The plane is yours.") But I was petrified, eyes like dinner plates, staring out the windows at the land of Ohio growing smaller below me. It was both breathtaking and harrowing all at once. A few moments later I regained some composure... and Mr C threw both hands off of the controls and into the air and suggested I had better fly the plane. I grabbed my stick and flew for the next hour.

The scene and feel was near idyllic. Cruising at 2-4 thousand feet over a vast green, rolling landscape. A smooth touch-and-go landing on an airstrip 15 miles from our home airport was followed by a return following the graceful curves of highway 35. I would lie to say the entire landing was my own doing, but about 85% was, with some tweaking from Mr C. All in all, it was a successful and life-changing flight. I was ecstatic upon taxing in to the gate:

Finally, I started to feel connected with my new job as the Squadron Medical Element for an airlift group of the Force. This has not been an easy transition time for me, moving into this new job. I have had a hard time bringing it up with everyone who is near and dear to me, and thus have been hiding many of the things I know that are coming changes in my life. Once I am credentialed, I will be spending alternating 4 month periods of time in a "sandbox" very far from home. This will be a continuing progression - 4 months there, 4 months home, 4 months there, 4 months home... you get the picture. Needless to say, this adjustment has been a hard one - for me - for K - for my parents. Few other people know what is going on (even still with the 4 of you included.)

You who read this know me. You know I will stand up to anyone, anytime, any place for what I believe in. But for the first time in my life, standing up and doing my job scares me out of my wits. I have a man I love more than life itself, a wonderful family, and so many wonderful friends who would love and support me to the end of time, and I am supposed to just up and leave these people at home? Excuse my french, but 'Whisky tango foxtrot'?!?

But then I look at the faces of my airmen, my pilots, my clinic staff. And I look at K, my family, and my dear friends, and I understand why I am doing this. This is not going to be an easy 4 years. I am not going to like a lot of it. It is going to put heavy pressure on every relationship I hold dear. It is going to push me to the bounds of my scope of ethics, sanity, and sanctity of life. I am going to walk with my men/women onto a war zone and will support them there as one of their own. In many ways, intern year has nothing on this. Few things ever will. But as I learned in my origianl Force training:

" I am an American fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense."

I'm not sure this actually meant what it was supposed to in my life until now, and I have a feeling it will mean far more to me before this phase of my life has come to an end.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark, or even eagle flew —
And, while with silent lifting mind I have trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
- Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

~High Flight, J.G. Magee, Jr

St. Abilene

2011-08-14T17:49:00.000-07:00

Greetings to all four of you (my devoted fans)! I am not, in fact, dead - as many of you might have, thought. Yes, I know I have not posted in an embarrassingly lengthy length of time.

As you might imagine, I did finally arrive in Abilene, despite that it will be a little out of order, the travel saga may need to wait until a later date. (There will be laughable stories to be had, I assure you!)

But yes, on the 1st of July, K and I pulled into Abilene and drove for the first of (hopefully) millions of times up to our first home.

The first walking though it was a truly strange experience. I was both in love with the place and petrified. Luckily, we stayed in a hotel for the next 2 nights until I adjusted to the place. K was amazing though it all and bent over backwards to make sure i was comfortable as possible in the place. We spent our first 4th of July together cleaning up the jungle-like yard (I only wish I had pictures of him hand-cutting the front yard with a sickle.) In summation, we cooked an amazing burger dinner on our new grill. It finally was starting to feel like home. K then left to go back to work.

After 4 nights of the air mattress, the AF decided to let me now that while my household goods had arrived in TX, there would not a be a crew available for over TWO WEEKS to actually deliver said goods from a warehouse in Abilene to my home. Since those of you that read this tend to know me better than most, you can imagine the fit I pitched in my SUV after getting off of that phone call. I promptly then went home to Houston and proceeded to stay there for 10 days enjoying family, friends, and my darling man.

I drove back to Abilene alone. As soon as I left Houston, it began to rain. As soon as I hit Washington county, I hit deadlock traffic. Thirty minutes later, my dad calls to tell me that he and my mother will not be coming to help me move in because the dog died. This was, needless to say, one of the lower points of the moving experience.

The movers arrived the next day, as did the parents, who decided that the grief of canine death should not, perhaps, preclude the moving of their eldest daughter into her first real house. Things were finally starting to fall somewhat into place.

Sears was supposed to deliver the washer and dryer we bought the next day. I never received my confirmation delivery call. (Let's just mention now that Sears is my new archenemy of retail.) I spent the next 24 hours fighting on the phone with various Sears personnel in my master bathroom (out of earshot of my very conservative parents, should worse come to worst and i have to use my surgeon words). After verbally expressing extreme disappointment in them ("I expected better than this - you are freaking Sears-Roebuck, for crying out loud!") and threatening to completely cancel my order ("You can just take off the washer, dryer, two pedestals, and the dryer connection from my bill, and I will be coming in to pay off the balance and cancel my card in your store tomorrow"), they finally decided to find a truck and deliver to me the following morning. My washer and dryer arrived in a red pickup truck, but I didn't care. I beat the corporate beast (and without using my surgeon words!)

Speaking of surgeon words and surgery, every day I get further from the profession, I become happier and more myself again than I have been in a very, very long time. I don't have a real answer right now as to my future in medicine, however I can tell you all, it is unlikely to be surgery.

As of now, I am up in Ohio, getting my flight surgeon training done. Tomorrow I will fly an airplane for the first time - as in, the stick will be in my tiny little hands. It's going to be interesting, Avoid the friendly skies. If I survive, you will hear more stories to come soon.

St. Abilene, watch over me
Keep me safe, make me strong, help me see
May you keep me company when company I need
Watch over me, St. Abilene
~Drew Kennedy

Pulling up roots

2011-06-11T18:21:00.000-07:00

Hard to believe I officially moved to CA a year ago, nearly to the week. It has truly been quite the year.

Sitting here with less than 2 weeks of actual intern year remaining, I'm musing into my wine and perusing the memories the past year has brought. I'm thinking of all of the great food I have tasted, the wines I have savored, the hands I have held, the incisions I've made, the beds I have stood/paced/slept beside, the necks I have hugged, the nights that I've cried alone, the sinks full of dirty dishes, the road trips, the laughter, the long walks, the moments of complete bliss, the moments when I doubted everything, the lectures, the pats on the back, the fights, the apologies, the blessings, the love, the fears, and the growth I have seen in both myself and others. I'm not sure I could tell you that a single other year of my life has been more life-changing.

Here are some honest truths:

I serve a God who is faithful and true. That's the singular driving way I've actually survived this year, for certain.
I may never be a surgeon again. I might be okay with that, but am not completely sure.
I love this house, but have never been so ready to leave a place when my time to move had come
There are a few distinct things and a handful of people that I will truly miss when I leave CA, bot otherwise, I am fairly ready to return to the best county (er.. state) in the union.
No matter what field I choose, I will be a better doctor because of this year.
I have found and am loved deeply by my soul's mate.
Life is too short for fair-weather friends, bad wine, or floppy bacon.

Here are a few things NOT to take at face value:

Surgeons are all type-A machines with no feelings or family lives. (That said, they do not get this rap for no reason. But there are many, many exceptions to this norm.)
California is full of liberal hippies. (While I haven't found a ton of Bush fans out here, I've been pleased with a level of conservatism and realism that I otherwise would not have expected.)
If you don't conduct a relationship, or love, or marriage the exact same way as everyone else in the Western world, there is something horribly wrong. (This is not as easy to figure out or convey to others as one might think.)
A true best friend always finds time to call. (If this is true, I have no friends entirely. Thank Christ they few truly kindred friends I have know I'm just not going to call for a possibly long time, and that's okay because I still love them.)

Today I have been tidying up my house so that my landlord could show it to potential renters. It's an odd feeling, but a strangely good one. Within a few days, I should have plans for the military-contracted movers to come and take all of my things. Then it is just me, the car full of necessities (and things the movers won't touch like wine and windex), and the lonely hotel room on base until K arrives to drive with me to our new "home".

Yes, I am moving to Abilene, TX. The return to the "promised land is a favorable one, however Abilene is about as remote and isolated as we could have chosen. (Needless to say, the choice for Abilene stemmed from a selection list with such winners as: Montana, northeastern Washington, New Jersey, Nebraska, Arkansas, small island south of Japan, and Guam. Yeah, so Abilene.) Strangely, I have adjusted to the idea and am fairly pleased with this. We have a rent home lined up, and I am looking forward to a job where I can come home and sleep in my bed every night - most of which being without a pager at my side. True, K has yet to find a job there, so for the time being he will stay put in the big H and only fly in for alternating weekends (we hope.) True, I will be working in a clinic every day. True, there is no massage envy in a 30 mile radius. Nonetheless, I have faith that this new step, like all the rest, will be a fruitful one, full of adventures and stories to share.

Knowing how I blog, you can bet the next post will be from Abilene ;-)

Twenty-seven

2011-03-04T18:37:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again... time to celebrate my entry into the world as we know it. I am swirling a glass of cabernet and blankly staring at my laptop trying to think of something clever or wise to say about the whole mess, but nothing comes to mind.

Yarf.

I'm turning 27 years old the day after tomorrow. 27. that's starting to look like a large number. It looks like a number for a person who has started to figure things out. I'm not sure that's really happening to me yet, but maybe it's one of those things you don't really notice coming on until it's full-blown - like PMS or something.

I'd say I feel old, but most people I work with are already in their thirties or beyond, so I still feel like a kid all of the time. I have a doctorate and am working as a surgeon in one of the larger hospitals in California. I own my own car. I pay my own rent and all of my bills. I am becoming a bit of a wine connoisseur. One of my best friends is getting married next month, one of the others is undoubtedly to have a ring creeping her direction in the coming year, and even I've got serious plans brewing in the name of matrimony. We ARE actually grown-ups, I just don't feel like I'm there.

Anytime I do something blatantly stupid and then have to go through the awkward "Gosh-that-was-stupid" moments afterward, K always asks the same question:

What'd ya learn?

So without further prattling, here's a few nuggets of truth that I've learned over year twenty-seven:

Cheap wine is not always bad, and expensive wine is not always good. That being said, I have made the official move toward keeping $12-15 bottles around versus the $7-9 of yesteryear.
True friends, though hard to come by, are worth their weight in gold.
Love really does win.
Steaks are really meant for grills, not ovens.
Hotwings and beer will cover a multitude of sorrows.
Regular self care - including haircuts, pedicures, brow waxing, etc. - is actually really important. When you know you look your best, you just pain function and present yourself better.
The decision to marry the right person really is as easy as everybody says.
You can tell a lot about the general health and well-being of a person by examining their toes and their teeth. That can usually tell you 70% of what you need to know.
"Yes sir", "no sir", yes, ma'am", no ma'am", "please", and "thank you" will get you really far in the world. Mom wasn't kidding.
Fresh flowers, however frivolous, are worth it and then some.
Good bedding is a good investment. You spend a good chunk of your life in bed. Unless, of course you are a surgeon, and even then it's even more appreciated I think.
Tip well. People who should be tipped excessively well? Hairdresser, manicurist, and a good bartender at a regular watering hole.
Don't go to bed angry.
Hold tight to the things you know to be true and real and important. Let everything else slide.
Nurses have two functions: making the resident look good or making the resident look like a complete idiot. You want them the only do their first because they're reeeeally good at the second.
Happiness has no price tag.
Don't leave for a 36 hour shift without taking out the kitchen trash - especially if it is full.
Laughter really is the best medicine.
Enjoy the little things daily.
Leave work at work. Ruining your home life is easy when you don't. It will also get you thumped upside the head with the broad side of a butter knife.
Learn to love your body. It may not be perfect, but it's the one you got and after some real looking around you, you might find you got a pretty good deal, love-handles and all.
Be confident. Be brave. Go there.
Leftover fish just really never works out well. the exception? Leftover shark. This works.
Take your vitamins or your hair will fall out.
Call Momma at least once a week. You need it - even if you are a grown-up.
Don't be afraid to initiate hugs or grab a hand of someone who hurts.
It's okay to have ice cream for breakfast sometimes. Those days just happen.
Always eat breakfast - there will inevitably be hell to pay if you don't.
Nothing beats a good pair of boots
You are not in charge. Get over it.
Make time to do the things you love.
Write love letters. They're as good to write as they are to receive.
Enjoy the past, dream for the future, but mostly, live in the moment. Drink it in.

Cheers to you all. Bring on year #28.

Reevaluation

2011-01-09T23:45:00.000-08:00

I will admit to you now, this is going to be an annoyingly and inappropriately short post on what should be a lengthy and heavy subject of discussion. My apologies up front.

I am sitting in the quiet solitude of my trauma call room, overlooking the lights of Sacramento, trying to wind down for a nap, and praying that the pager keeps silent. I complete the half-way point of my intern year of general surgery with this shift. I am not, at present, incredibly tired, incredibly stressed, hungry, sick, upset or worried about anything in particular, and yet - something inside of me feels misplaced. For the first time in nearly 4 years of swearing that it could only be a surgeon's life for me, I am having real and serious second thoughts. Having spent my entire life as a resolute, staunch Type-A, go-getter - clearly, this terrifies me.

It is not that I have had bad experiences this past 7 months, in fact, I feel that I have learned more in them than perhaps in my entire last 8 years of education combined in many ways. I have not been mistreated or unnecessarily roughed by the faculty, staff, or other residents. I know that surgeons (not to mention ICU nurses) can be a gruff breed, but I truly have loved and admired most of the people I have worked with here. It's not that I do not love the surgeries. I love getting my hands dirty and being in the thick of things - literally. In so many ways, surgery just fits.

Still, there is something in me saying that this is not where my life is headed. I can't fully explain or put a finger on all of the reasoning or subconscious muck behind it, but I do know that the voice has been getting louder and more clear over the past couple months. I might have been wrong.

Truly, I think that a large part of this comes with part of the growing up I have done this year. I have finally really been on my own, thousands of miles away from everyone and everything I hold dear. I have found the man I am going to marry and have a family with. Suddenly, I have been stripped out of this self-centered (not in a bad way) universe of my own, and have started to think of things in a wider sense of just how they affect my goals for life. In fact, I think my goals themselves have even shifted about.

As I look at my future, I loathe the idea of being the wife and mother who is never home, or the daughter, granddaughter, and sister who isn't able to visit more than maybe once a year. I don't want to continue life as the friend who is always to busy or too tired to call back. I don't want to spend the next thirty years missing or sleeping through every birthday, holiday, weekend adventure, or just plain old Saturday. I want to be an active and present participant in my marriage, my family, my church, my friendships, and my community. All of this and more has risen to the forefront of my mind and can no longer be pushed to the back.

I don't know where this is going. In 6 months I'm going to move to an unknown location and start working at the complete opposite end of medicine from surgery - clinical primary care. I'm not sure what to expect, and in fact, I like that prospect rather well at present. What I do know is that changes are a'comin'.

The goose is getting fat

2010-12-21T22:44:00.000-08:00

Christmas is coming. Like soon. Like Saturday. Good grief.

Funny how it feels so different this year. True, I have been playing Christmas records for 5 weeks now, and the tree has been up and trimmed for nearly 3, but somehow it just doesn't really feel like Christmas always has. For all of my usual holiday cheer, somehow it still feels like another work week, except that now I just have a really large, lighted houseplant to remember to water.

I guess I never realized how much I associated Christmas with being home with my family. I think that's why everything feels so foreign and unreal. It can't be Christmas because I am here and not in The Swamp (where it was a balmy 84 today, I hear) trying not to pick fights with Momma and helping Dad fry a turkey.

It really has set in that Christmas morning will come, and they will all go to the living room, drink their coffee, and have Christmas without me. It's not that I am so self-centered that I feel that the world stops turning when I'm not there (well, mostly), I think more it's a worry that I might be in some way forgotten among the presents and the crazy family antics. I know in my heart that these fears are totally unfounded, but it's a strange ache all the same.

However, this year is the beginning for new Christmas traditions. For the first time, I cut down and then decorated my very own live tree (a Herculean task to be sure - 5 foot woman vs 9.5 foot tree)

I am officially done with fake trees from now on, though next year I will be looking for a little help when I go head to trunk with nature!

This was the first year of a non-photo Christmas card. I am vastly unsatisfied with this tradition and will be not upholding it in coming years. Waaaay less fun.

While I may still be working though the holiday season (hello trauma team Christmas day!), what is truly wonderful is that K is going to be here though the whole thing. It is our first real Christmas together where we can start some of our own traditions that we will carry for years with our own family. For this I am very, very excited.

One of said traditions to be formed is our Christmas dinner. As I will be working 0600-1800, the meal preparation is being left entirely to K ( danger, Will Robinson!) This makes the control freak in me twitch a little. However, he has promised me that he will make anything that I want. I've actually put a lot of thought into this. I do love the traditional turkey dinner that my family has generally enjoyed through the years, but I'm not sold on it (especially since I can't deep fry one.) K's family has always done Mexican food on Christmas eve, and while I think this idea sounds amazing (see last post re: fajitas), I have yet to find a quality margarita and Mexican food place in this town. Chinese food is a little too A Christmas Story for me. So after much deliberation, I have decided that nothing in the world could be better than (at least one of my readers (S) has probably already said it) - STEAK. Christmas dinner with our family is going to be steak. I just hope none of out future kids decide to become vegetarians!

As to other traditions to come, well, we'll have to see what comes to us over the next week (did I mention that K will be here in 24 hours?! Who has two thumbs and is excited? This girl!) While I am not in TX, and am not doing the things I have done for 26 years worth of Christmases so far, I do have hope that this one will be truly joyous, merry, and one that I will remember for the rest of my life.

Merry Christmas to you and yours, y'all.

525,600 Minutes

2010-12-20T00:20:00.001-08:00

I classically and vehemently abhor Christmas letters.

Call it laziness, grinchiness, or what you will, but I really have never been a fan of the sending of un-personalized greetings that take more than a moment's glance to read. I mean truly, I love my friends and family, but not usually enough to scour a full page of size 10 Times New Roman just to hear about how such-and-such got braces and whats-his-face finally finished the 7-year plan at t.u.

All the same, as December is upon us (how the heck did that happen already?!) I find myself glancing back on the year and all of the moments that have filled it. (I also happened to watch the DVD version of RENT last week and have been humming 'Seasons of Love' ever since.) How will I measure this year? What can I say to cover the joys and turmoils? When in the name of everything holy will I have the time and presence of mind to actually write this "Christmas Letter"?

As my jabbering is not a forced thing here (because you come here by choice to hear it), I feel okay unloading the piddly moments and magic of my year that make me smile upon you. So without ado, here is my year in review...

Resolution status:
I swore years ago that I would not make New Years resolutions (it was actually my 1993 New Year's resolution, if you must know.) I just can't wrap my brain around choosing one specific start point as the moment to change my whole life. Life doesn't happen that way - at least not to me. I did however try to accomplish many of the things on my 101 in 1001. Keep on haggling me about how bad I have been at not accomplishing more.

Seriously though, my weight has changed little. I still eat out more than I should. I don't exercise nearly enough. I have a profound adoration for wine. My savings account attests to the fact that a move to CA has done my finances no favors. So much for my average American life goals.

Location, location, location:
Obviously a HUGE change over this year has been the move from the golden gulf coast of TX to northern CA. I found out right about this time last year that the move would occur. The following 6 months were spent in harried preparations, worrying, and wondering how it would all come together.

Where would I live? How much would CA really cost to live in? What was my new hospital going to be like? Was there to be an attempt at a long-distance relationship? Would I get to come home for Christmas next year?

My mind was aboggle. Then came the move itself. I was excited, but dreadfully alone-feeling a lot of the time. Thank goodness I have great co-workers and work in a great hospital - that has been a true blessing. My super-landlord, L, has ruined me for all other landlords with his kindness and attentiveness. My house is fantastic. The hospital (my other house) is nice enough.
All in all, I have melded pretty well into my little niche in CA. (This by no means means I'm going to live here forever or that I'm thinking of reneging my status as a full-blooded, boot-stompin' Texan. Just so we're clear here.)

Tunes:
I've found several new music loves this year to add to my ever-expanding collection. Favorite newbie among the pack? Drew Kennedy. K introduced me to this one (and many others this year, but this one really has my by the heartstrings.) This guy is your every-day kinda Texas fella with an amazing talent for writing and playing. He can be seen in rowdy and/or run-down establishments across the great state (and we're not talking about CA here.) Take a listen to: 'Love and Rain', 'Caroline', and 'St Abeline' to get a good taste.

In addition I've picked up a bit more on my classic rock love and significantly more on my 80's rock infatuation. Sadly, Nashville country has put out little this past year, save perhaps the new release by Zac Brown Band (Favorite: 'Let it Go'). Nothing on pop radio seems to have much to offer, though I will admit I do own at least one Katy Perry song and sing and dance along...

Jimmy Kaiser was my concert favorite of the year - we saw him both in Crystal Beach ("Nothing good ever happens in Crystal Beach" ~ Bill Mileski) and at the Armadillo Ballroom in H-town. Hits in my book? - 'Galveston Lights', 'Psycho', 'Best Times', 'Always Searchin'. Beside him and Drew, we also saw Steel Panther at House of Blues this past fall. It was a unique cultural experience - to say the least - but good times were had by all.

Love-life:
This has been a real growing year in this department. January dawned on K first calling me his girlfriend - sending me into a tailspin of "where is this going and how could it ever work?" This is, after all, the man who swore to me not 8 months prior that he would never do long distance (and he was referring to me living a 3 hour drive away.) Then there was monster trucks for Valentines, knives and handbags, some crazy trips (in the car, not on LSD!), and the list goes on. There have been some wonderful and some truly awful moments between the two of us this past year, but I cannot say that I regret any of them. It is all of those moments, those individual victories and tragedies, the days spent together and the many spent apart, that have truly brought us to where we stand today. I still can't believe how great it is to have found the person created just crazy enough to deal with me for the rest of my life!

Culinary excitement:
It's always about the food with me. You know that. This year, I have taken an exceptional shine to the world of cheese (turns out there's more than just cheddar - who knew?!) Living on the west coast has only fostered this as there is a lot of exceptional cheese to be eaten out here. (With wine. Of course.)

I broke the age old J-tradition of being vehemently anti-pizza and have now been known to fancy a slice (or 3 or 4 depending on my sobriety) from time to time. It's still not anywhere close to my top 10 meals list by any means. Other J pickiness boundaries came down with meatloaf, spaghetti, pork (including bacon), fried eggs (still not my favorite), and actually putting more than chicken in my fajita taco or Chipotle burrito (the mind boggles, I know.)

My cooking has trailed off a touch, what with the busy surgeon lifestyle, and I haven't found too many new recipes I have loved. The tried and true favorite will be keeping the top spots - Momma's mushroom roast, 'Cassaroley (tuna) cassarole', and chicken tetrazinni are still comfort food at it's best.

And no, I still don't like fruit.

Family:
The fam is well. The parental units still live in The Swamp and are trucking along with their lives. The General has officially become a permanent resident of 'Camp Grandma' and has adjusted well. The other cats are less certain as to how they like it, but all in all every one lives in harmony.
The sister is *choke* turning 21 in a couple of weeks and is half-way through with her junior year at A&M. I now feel gosh-awful old. My grandparents have decided again to build a new house and move into it (because that's normal for people in their 80's...) so the family is enjoying the roller-coaster ride o'drama that entails. Once cousin is getting married, one is pregnant, and one had a baby - all of which leaves me off the hook for being in the 'need to settle down and reproduce' spotlight.

Purchases:
For being the former most-miserly-kid ever, I have bought a lot of new things this year. This ranged everywhere from a new laptop, to a new car, and to a new phone, on the large scale. I have also been making an concerted effort to clean out my wardrobe and try to start purchasing clothes befitting a doctor in her mid-to-late 20s. I have purchased more plane tickets this one year than I had probably in all of my life put together before that point. It's been a real spending year for sure, and if I could hope for anything, it might be to do a better job with saving next year...

Trips:
When I calculated back, I had not been on a real, old-fashioned car-trip vacation since I was in 8th grade. This was a frightening prospect before embarking on a cross country trek with K this past spring. It was one we will laugh about for years, I'm sure. I think he's already dreading the one to come this summer. I also got to enjoy a wonderful hosuehunting trip to CA (complete with a day-long winery excursion and some wonderful times with my drear friends K and P.) This fall, I enjoyed a wonderful trip home to TX for 3 glorious weeks of vacation. In between, there were a few bed-n-breakfast stays (not all due to my AC being out, either) and some fun day trips here and there. It's been a great year for travel adventure, and I know the coming year will yield still more!

Growing up:
Med school graduation came a lot faster than I ever thought it would. Most days, I'm still rater shocked and amazed when I remember that I have a doctorate degree. Sometimes I wonder if they've just started handing these things out! It was really hard to transition my thought process from being a student to really working a real grown-up job. Harder still was leaving the camaraderie of my dear classmates and to comfort of my dirty little island behind me.

All in all though, it has been a good thing. Never would I have guessed that not getting my way with matching residencies and the Air Force would have led me down this path to where I am now (which specifically is in the basement of one of the best known CA hospitals.)

Go figure the difference a year really can make.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand

Moments so dear.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand

Six hundred minutes

How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights

In cups of coffee

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In five hundred twenty-five thousand

Six hundred minutes

How do you measure

A year in the life?

I've got plenty to be thankful for

2010-11-27T16:12:00.000-08:00

Greetings from the 'Batcave' (my affectionate name for my call room in the hospital basement.) I am on call (yet again), but the Lord has been gracious toward this little intern today (I even went home for a 2.5 hour lunch break! Shh! Don't tell people!)

While I did not, in fact, get a Thanksgiving-themed post up before the day actually occurred, I think that getting one up within the weekend should count for something - right? By the bye - for the three of you that read this and might have wondered, I did have an enjoyable Thanksgiving - despite being post-call and miles from the vast majority of my loved ones. Because I wasn't at home, I missed my Aunt K's yearly log of what we are thankful for, thus you are getting it here. So without further ado and in no particular order (and most certainly with one or two glaring exceptions), here is:

J's Thankfulness List 2010

A gracious and loving God who keeps putting air in my lungs every morning and thus facilitating my life full of wonderful (and a few sub-optimal) things. I am especially thankful that he answers prayers for the small things (like for the pager not to go off for a full straight hour so that I can get some half-way decent sleep!)
A healthy body. I may have my share of aches and pains and quirks, but you don't have to live long in a hospital to truly appreciate that that irritable tummy and the weak ankles are the only issues you have going on.
New mattresses in the resident call rooms. While we may not spend much time in them, I can't tell you how nice it is to have a soft surface to pass out on for those precious minutes of beautiful sleep. (I am not thankful however for the hospital detergent which makes my skin red and itchy and makes my eyes look like Free Willy when he was about to die in captivity.)
Cellular phones. Mine is my lifeline. It keeps the texts, pictures, calls, and even videos of my crazy family coming so that I can make it though some of these hard days.
The Marquis II. Dirtiest bar in Houston, I'd bet. Also the place I often go in my minds eye to escape for a moment to hear great songs from the old jukebox, enjoy a tasty beverage, and play darts with the love of my life and some of the best men I've ever met.
Hot wings. They are seriously one of the world's most perfect foods. I keep a supply in a baggie in the fridge and eat them regularly on post-call mornings with a morning beer. Yes, judge away.
Amazing friends. It's so great to know that there are people I can pick up the phone and call no matter what or when and they will have my back 110%. (They also all know I will probably not ever pick up the phone to do this, so they prophylactically call me instead.)
Wintry weather. I finally have a use for all of those hats and scarves I crocheted over the years (and not just for 2-3 occasions out of the whole year.) It feels like Christmas when I walk to and from work. I love it!
Jobst stockings. Only a surgery resident would be thankful for support hose - I know.
Great co-workers. My boss invited me over for a Thanksgiving feast with his family. He also self-indoctrinated himself and his family into being Aggie fans and they all watched the game and cheered along with me as we beat the ever lovin' hell outta t.u. (WHOOP!)
Being a Fightin' Texas Aggie.
Having a job that I (generally) love. The more I live, the more I realize that this is not the case for most people.
Tex Mex food. I never craved fajitas and margaritas so much until moving to CA. I want them all the time.
The US Military and troops. Never have I been so proud to be a part of something in my life. God bless America.
My crazy family. They have seen me at my best and worse. They stand by me when I don't make decisions they like. They love me unconditionally. They are a huge reason I am where I am.
Diet soda. The nectar of the gods when you're walking to work at dark-thirty. And on your midmorning break. And for lunch. You get my drift.
Five hour energy shots. For when the diet cola can't hack it.
K. He is, without questions, the best and most amazing part of my life. I can't even begin to describe how incredibly blessed I am by the love of this man. I truly am the luckiest girl in the world.

Okay. Thanksgiving post - DONE. Time to go bother some patients - yeehaw!

Return to the motherland

2010-10-25T14:59:00.002-07:00

At long last, my much-anticipated month of vacation has arrived. After the self-inflicted torture of kicking off my vacation with a two day standardized national medical board examination and a day-long physical with the military to step me in the right direction for my next job promotion, finally it was time to board a jet-liner and head eastward for some much needed Texas-therapy.

As I have always been a frugal (read penny-pinching, miserly) gal, I had never flown first class. As this has been a trying few months as that this flight back home is my only vacation for the entire year, I decided to splurge a little on myself. It would seem that I am historically a magnet for all of the worst of humanity when on board aircraft. I always am next to that "average american" who's bodily excess oozes into my bought and paid for personal space, more often than not accompanied by striking body odor or strikingly overdone cologne/perfume. Additionally, I am always seated in front of the octogenarian mexican woman who most assuredly has tuberculosis and spends the entire flight couching violently on the back of my head. Also, should there be any small children on board that day, they are always either the world's most petulant toddler or a screamer who's parents' do not have the common decency to drug their own children before placing them in an enclosed space with unsuspecting strangers. If not children, then I am most certainly surrounded by teeny-boppers (known generally to be the scourge of the earth.)

Needless to say, I was all kinds of excited to board the flight. The catch that I had not realized? U.S. Airways is the skeaziest airline ever. The planes were dirty and old, and while I was in a wider, further distanced seat from the nearest person, it was still possibly the least pleasant of my flying experiences for the past five years. On the first flight, my seat partner was apparently a heavy smoker, and despite federal law regarding smoking on aircraft, sadly the general populous is still exposed to smokers on aircraft. To say he reeked would be to put it nicely. Flight number two lacked an aromatic seat partner, but it was punctuated by delays due to a putrid, overflowed plane lavatory (I had only thought those couldn't get worse), passengers bitching about flight attendants and vice versa, and the flight attendant refusing to allow me to keep my purse with me in my seat during takeoff (really? is that really going to mess something up?) Needless to say, I have no future interest in first class rickets OR U.S. Airways. Even free booze was not enough to have made this flight remotely worth the cost.

The grand news though? My feet are back on good old Texas soil. As soon as I stepped out to the airport, my hair grew thee sizes and my antiperspirant has ceased to adequately work since that time. Ah, Texas.

What was truly wonderful was to walk out of that airport and run (in heels with a 60 pound suitcase in tow, mind you) directly into the arms of my darling K. I have already danced in the Armadillo Palace, consumed glorious amounts of Shiner beers, visited the College Town and the grandparents there, hung out with the sissy and by fabulous friend L, and have even finally caught up on my sleep. I will venture down to the Swamp this week to see the folks for a few days, and then will spend most of my remaining trip in Houston. I cannot wait. I am the happiest of all girls. It is good to be home.

Back in black

2010-09-15T18:43:00.000-07:00

It's officially fall.

Okay, not officially. I am more than aware that the first official day of autumn is next week. But as far as I'm concerned it's already here. Actually, by weather alone, it's been here all week in Sacramento. I am still floored every time I walk outside in the morning and it's in the 50s, or even - astonishingly- the 40s. It's September, people. Where I come from, this is Christmas-weather (when we're lucky!)

One good indication of the onset of a new season - I have dyed my hair again. As it is no longer spring or sumer, I have gone back to my roots (literally) for my typical darker fall/winter color. Truth is, my natural hair is almost black, but not quite. However I needed something with a little spice, so I went black. Reeeally black. It's a pretty stark change, but I do, in fact like it. I'm interested to see what comments I get at work tomorrow.

Speaking of work, I am a few days short of being 1/4 done with my intern year. It boggles the mind that I've been practicing medicine for 3 months now. I'm starting to feel a little more like I know what's going on, but am daily reminded how little I know.

Sadly, I don't have any really funny work stories from late. I really have been just keeping my head-down and trying to plow though this last month. I promise to try and do better soon. Cheers.

Answering machine messages I'd like to leave today

2010-09-06T20:06:00.000-07:00

Hello - Miss Katy Perry? This is J. I really, really want to hate both you and your music, but it's so darn catchy. I hate you. K-thanks-bye.

***

Hi - Nurse-who-left-my-patient-alone-too-long? Having to deal with patients using hunting knives to cut off their IV tubes is NOT my job. It is ridiculous that you even had to call me at 0330 this morning so that I could take care of your irresponsibility. Grow a pair and do your job please. And please stop paging me for stupid crap. That is all.

***

Excuse me - if you are the people who broke into my boyfriend's apartment and stole his stuff, you should know that this means war. If you get near my boyfriend or his stuff again, I will call out the Air Force and a legion of surgeons with sharp objects on you. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

***

Howdy, old friend. I'm sorry I never call. I rarely write. I basically suck at being a good friend this year. It's not that I don't love you or think about you often, but my life is generally just completely overrun these days and it's all that I can do to stay afloat in my own puddle of troubles. Know that you are still important to me. Know that I care what's going on in your life. One day I might be more normal again. Hope we get to talk again soon. Take care of yourself. Bye.

***

Hi, this is the tenant in 3512. Please try to mow my lawn on some other day besides the one out of every 8 that I get to sleep in every week. You're killing me smalls.

***

Hello, my dearest. I just called to say I love you. Thanks for picking me. I can't wait to see you again soon. Always and forever yours.

***

(In fluent Spanish) Hello, ma'am. I am so sorry about your baby girl. I wanted to comfort you so badly when I had to tell you that she had died. It killed me in side to not be able to do anything more than sit with you and hold your hand. Please know that I cared and I was honored to stay with you in that moment that changed your life forever. Please be strong, I know that life will get better one day. I hope that day is soon.

The pages I love

2010-08-03T12:01:00.001-07:00

Pages from nursing staff are the bane of my existence on call days. They send me into a sort of seizure - batting at my own waist with such force as to try and beat off a swarm of flesh-devouring flies (when really it's just an attempt to quickly hit all electronic devices clipped to me simultaneously as to stop the errant beeping one.) I have already been conditioned to occasionally even shout "No! THe answer is NO!" as soon as the tone sounds. Pavlov much?

Don't get me wrong here - nursing is one of the professions I respect most in the world. It is a true calling and requires more patience and love for one's patient in all of the little things than I think I could ever be capable of. That being said, sometimes I wonder at what the intellectual requirements are for some of these individuals to earn the title 'nurse'. I worry that reading comprehension was not stressed enough (at least in the English language) and that knowledge of common medical practice might have been replace with one too many courses in 'Farmville' or some equally silly facebook pastime. With some I am convinced that there might have been a sign put out asking for people with no common sense who like to wear scrubs.

All this to say - here is a more entertaining sampling of some of the conversations that have actually gone on in the past 6 weeks. I am sure this will become a repeated theme in future blogs as more pages inevitably come in...

Nurse

Doctor

Censored thoughts of doctor

1130

Um, yes, doctor? You just ordered fluids on Mr. X and his orders say NPO [nothing to eat or drink] after midnight. Do you want me to start fluids?

Doesn't my order say that I want the fluids started at midnight when he goes NPO?

Oh, I didn't look.

Of course you didn't. Paging me is so much easier than reading the administration instructions line.

Oh, it does say that.

Good.

So, do you want me to start his fluids after midnight?

Was I speaking French to her the first time without realizing?

Yes. Please. Thank you.

0125

Hi - Doctor?

I am going to kill you if someone is not dying right now.

Mgrhphth-yes?

Mrs. G said her bottom was sore, so I put some lotion on it.

You're really waking me up for lotion on a butt?

Yes... and...

Oh, I don't need you to do anything - I just wanted to let you know.

Hail Mary, mother of grace... I am going to commit murder in a hospital...

Oh, well thanks I guess. Goodnight.

2250

This is Doctor, I was paged?

Yes. Doctor, Mr Y's blood sugar is 298 - do you want me to give him the insulin you wrote for?

Reeeally? Are you really asking me this?

I did write him an order for sliding-scale insulin this morning, right?

Yes, but I just wanted to check.

Yes, please give him his insulin then to bring his sugar down. Thank you.

Sweet mother of Nancy, I am so glad it's not midnight and I'm not asleep...

0030

(thick Asian accent) Ummm, Doctor?

Yeeees?

Umm... Mr. E seems to be a little agitated. I was hoping you could give him something.

Oh, great. This could be really something.

What's going on?

Umm... He's pulled out all of his IVs, ripped off the monitor, taken of his gown and is roaming the hals in his underwear demanding his clothes and saying he's going home.

Dear Baby Jesus my vascular cath patient is running the halls like a naked, crazed maniac.

Oh, lovely.

Can you please write him for something?

I'll do you one better, I'll be right up. Thank you.

More to come soon. Happy trails.

Maggots, munchies, and my first slice

2010-07-20T17:53:00.003-07:00

So intern year has not yet killed me. I know all three of you were worried. And, oh, what a way to start a year. Here are the highlights of week numero uno.

- Maggots: It's my first day of work. I am terrified (see last blog.) I have been in a clinic all day - completely bumfuzzled and convinced that I am the worst intern of all time. I survive the first chunk of the day, and head back over to the hospital for afternoon/evening rounds. (Sidenote: No one bothered to tell me that there is a free shuttle for docs between the main hospital and the ambulatory clinic which lies about half a mile away. So I have hoofed this distance twice already and am even more sweaty than my nervousness has already had me.)

I find my fellow intern, M (technically a pseudo-intern because he's finishing his intern year, as I am just beginning mine.) He says we have a consult that I need to come see with him. I dutifully and ignorantly agree.

Little did I know what I had waiting...

The patient was what I would learn to know as our standard vascular surgery patients - fat, ignorant about the general concepts of personal health or hygiene, and lounging on this hospital bed eating some form of junk food that I family member had snuck in to them. I ascertain from the conversation between she and M that she has a sore on her heel ("From my di-uh-beetus.") Mike and I glove up and unwrap the foot. The wound is brimming full and spilling over with waves upon waves of

MAGGOTS.

Splendid. Nothing like wildlife wound care on your first real day as a surgeon. I had seen maggots before, but usually on dead wildlife on the side of a highway. In the foot of a 50-something year old woman is not on the family feud list of top places to find maggots. We researched and found that pouring alcohol directly into the maggots would kill them and a plan was made to commence the slaughter as soon as our chief resident say the show. Luckily, I was released from work before the maggot extermination exercises commensed. Nonetheless, it was an exciting and interesting start to my medical career.

(Side note: I really have a problem with people who let themselves go so far as to not be able to know whether there are other visible living creatures living in/on them. Parasites should be an easy one to catch. This woman wasn't homeless - she was fat and slovenly. Sometimes, I really wonder about America.)

- Munchies: I have discovered that the hospital cafeteria sells gummy bears in bulk. Danger, Will Robinson! I have already had to outlaw myself from them.

- My first slice: Several days into first year, I was invited to "ride along" into the OR for my first real case as a Dr. - a below the knee amputation on a little old lady. Yeah, not that glamorous Grey's Anatomy stuff. Real intern year is hacking a leg off someone's grandma. Food for thought.

All the same, I was stoked! That surgeon fire in me took hold before I could get too upset about who or what it was that I was doing. Of course, I was operating under Dr. P, the most notoriously difficult attending in the hospital - known for outbursts, extreme pimping, and general torture. Standing at the operating table, I had a hand tremor that could have registered on a Richter scale. When he said, "Please hand the scalpel to young Dr. Funk", I thought I might fall over. I did the entire incision, but through the calf muscles, scored the tibia, filed down the tibia, tied off the arteries, clipped down the fibula, and then helped close the flap. to a non-surgeon, that may not sound all that exciting, but for me it was a little piece of (scary) heaven. Dr. P even told me I did a wonderful job and bragged on me the next day in conference. I glowed for about 72 hours post-op.

(In good news, my pt went home 5 days later and is doing well.)

So yes, I survived my first week. (Actually, as I have been to lazy/tired to blog, I have survived the first 3 and a half weeks.) I promise more stories soon.

Calm before the storm

2010-06-23T21:38:00.001-07:00

I begin my career as a doctor in about 36 hours.

I am terrified.

This is huge. And, so what am I doing? I'm drinking a great red zinfandel that I got on sale at Costco, watching dumb television, and trying to pretend that this all isn't really happening. No, I don't wish it wasn't happening - I just am not feeling ready. K got a text-spelled earful from me today as I randomly cried in the bookstore. Yes - it's been that kind of stressed out day.

So I have decided to make a moment of lightness. I finally have figured out the google analytic function and have started to get monthly emails about people visiting my site (all by mistake - obviously!) Thus, here is my list of random searches that can apparently bring you to me:

More pleasing to me then all: Well yes, I might well be, but I'm betting that I was not that pleasing thing they were seeking.
Bumfuzzled: No doubt looking up the word for to find the definition
Butt boil: Never had one and pray to God I never will. I am now officially a semi-medical reference - congrats to me!
Letter from lackland captain: I was not a Captain when I was there, but I am now. This still helps this person NONE.
Monstertruck rally on: Hell yes. I can't wait til my next chance to do this. It is still the best St. Valentines day gift/dinner I have ever had.
Boil: Yes, I drain them. No, I am not going to explain them to you unless you first sign the paperwork to enter the emergency department... or a personal check and I might do it at the house.
Cupid angel tattoo: Really? This would be a poor choice. To whoever you are - JUST SAY NO!!!
Depp: I like him too. Good for you. Search engine FAIL.
Gravedigger monster trucks: I am officially a redneck for having two separate monster truck references, aren't I?
Small boils on chest: No doubt this is from shaving one's chest and getting ingrown hairs in the aftermath. Just say no to shaving, people! If you must de-hair, do so in a more effective and less infection prone manner.

It's true, none of that was earth-shattering or brilliant, but I feel better just having stopped thinking and worrying about the start of my surgical career for just a few minutes - even if it was to think about monster trucks and boils.

Reply to my California welcome

2010-06-19T15:07:00.000-07:00

19 June 2010

To whom it may concern,

While by including my payment, I am, in fact, agreeing to pay this parking citation, I would like to bring to attention that the City of Sacramento should make sure to keep foliage trimmed away from warning signs if they plan to enforce the warnings from said signs.

Having just moved to the area from Texas less than 2 weeks ago (where we don’t have weird day/hour/side of street paring regulations), and being completely unable to see any visible warning signs posted from where I had parked, one could imagine my irritation and dismay when I was ticketed for parking in an inappropriate (albeit poorly marked zone.) It was not until post-citation that I walked down the block a ways to move some tree branches that were – sure enough – entirely covering the sign posting that I could not park there during certain hours.

For the sake of future California-ignorant and ‘foreign’ drivers, please make sure all signs are visible for fair citation purposes.

Kindest and best regards,

JMF, M.D.

Captain, U.S. Air Force

An end and a start

2010-06-13T20:20:00.003-07:00

It has been an eventful week and spare change - so eventful, that I have obviously been too busy, too tired, too overwhelmed, and/or too lazy to actually record any of the goings on. Here is the short version.

I graduated from medical school, finally. So, now you can call me doctor. Be afraid - very, very afraid.
I got commissioned as a Captain in the US Air Force. This makes me very afraid. My wonderful friend and pastor, C, as well as the Surgeon general of the US, pinned my bars on me. K made sure to point out to me that one of the primary people in the federal government who could be held responsible for royally screwing the healthcare system was such a big part of my special day. Oh, the insane irony.
My amazing bf threw me my first real surprise party on graduation day. Seriously almost made me cry I was so happy. I am the luckiest girl in the whole entire world

I officially moved for real to CA. Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap. Hellooooo land of fruits and nuts. I cried intermittently for the first 48 hours of the experience, but am getting better daily.
Orientation at Travis AFB began. I was way more afraid of it than I should have been. remarkably, I have already made friends. First day was the classic Monday disaster though. Think: 40 mile commute each way + getting lost + arriving 40 min early + being the kid who had no files in the record system (despite having been in the military for more than 4 years already) + failing the ID badge program three times + getting lost again + lunch in a gas station alone + menstrual disaster or EPIC proportions + over 3 hours of equal opportunity lectures. It was definitely a Monday.

Tomorrow will prove to be even more excitement with my first PT test in 4 years. Pray that I pass. Pray that I live to tell the tale.

K and J take CA

2010-06-02T20:08:00.000-07:00

It’s a funny thing how men and women tend to view things so completely differently sometimes. My wonderful boyfriend, K, recently accompanied me on the grand adventure of driving my car and possessions from Houston, Texas to Sacramento, California. As fate would have it, he has been given the unrestrained laptop alone time necessary to already regale the world with his rendition of the trip. As one would surmise (being it that he is, first an foremost, a man, and secondly that he write to entertain his man-friends) the story he tells is not exactly how it happened, R-rated, and it is certainly not privy to or in consideration of any of my rather important views on several anecdotes. Thus, it is left to me to set the record straight and tell the world the real story of how K and J took CA.

It stands to be mentioned that before we had even left on this grand escapade, there had already been mixed reviews from our family and friends on how the trip would turn out for the two of us. Neither of us is known for our patience, to be sure (understatement of the year.) Frankly, I wasn’t sure that anyone could be a suitable companion for a week’s trip with 24/7 constant contact. As I told many people before hand, I had a really hard time thinking of any family or friends who would not start to grate on me enough for me to ‘accidentally’ leave them in a gas station in nowhere, New Mexico. K was the only plausible choice, however risky. A few friends were still (overly, and idiotically) optimistic and cheerfully assured us it would be a great time all around. There were subtle whispers from some that if we were ever going to break up, that this would be it. Less subtly, K’s best friend J point blank told me that he was convinced “Y’all are going to kill each other. I’m serious.” (Needless to say, what J actually meant by this was “He’s going to kill you. I’ve seen how good you are at pissing him off.”) All of this to say, I started off the trip a little nervous as to how well the relationship might survive.

Day #1: We started out the road trip on a Tuesday night (translation: J has been awaky and fretting a huge ulcer into her pylorus all morning just waiting to get this darn show on the road!) As if the fates were already tempting me, my first leg of the journey was to battle Houston’s highway 59 in order to just pick up the boy from his stinking work. As those of you who have spent even five minutes in Houston traffic well know, 59 is rather equivalent to Dante’s 5^th circle of hell (brushing in just below the evil swirl of craft stores at Christmastime.) This charming trip across the city did little to settle my nervous indigestion. I did finally find the office, collect K, and we were able to get on the road toward Austin before too much of rush hour kicked in (relatively speaking).

It is within the first hour that K starts to make comments and looks about my driving. (K, of course, thinks that I can’t tell he’s rolling his eyes when he has his Oakley’s on. Yeah. Riiight.) I restrain annoyance and take a Zantac. In Austin, we had a lovely dinner and then adjourned to neighboring Spicewood, TX where K’s folks have a beautiful home that we were able to stay in that night.

Sidebar: We had visited with K’s folks in Houston the night before to pick up the house keys and take last minute parental instructions. One of the major instructions from Dr. Dad was not to touch the Magellan locks onto the back veranda. These locks are hellacious to relock once opened, and besides, there was a perfectly normal dead bolting door leading onto the very same veranda. So what is it that my precious, brilliant boyfriend does within the first ten minutes of being inside the house? He opens one of the Magellan locks. And then he could not get it to close. And I could not get it to close. Two stoli and tonics, one glass of red wine, one phone call to Dr. Dad, lots of cursing, and 45 minutes later, the door was finally re-locked. I barely resisted the urge to say, ‘I told you so” or something to that effect, but I decided I had better not. After all, we had almost a week of trip to go.

Day #2: After the mandatory morning trip to Starbucks, we set out across what K calls “God’s country”, a.k.a. the God-forsaken wiles and miles of west Texas. I was more than pleased when he agreed to drive first shift of the day, despite my usual desire to be the one driving on long trips (read: need for controlling everything). So I buckled in with my breakfast of leftover chicken and mashed potatoes with a peppermint latte and settled in for the morning ride. The landscape held much to be desired, as did the long stretches of no decent bathrooms. The high point of the day was seeing tumbleweeds somewhere near Lubbock. The only thing that made the day more passable was our serendipitous discovery of the magic of audio books. Today’s goldmine was “Sh*t My Dad Says”. It wasn’t the cleverest book I’d ever read/heard, but was entertaining enough – not to mention it lasted five of the seven hours of driving that day. Unfortunately this still saved time for my favorite radio friend, Jason Ellis.

Another Sidebar: I really, really don’t like Jason Ellis. He is crude and obnoxious. I tolerate him in small doses because K finds him hilarious. Since K was still driving come afternoon, and it had been a long day, I obliged with a smile. This day, as well as the ones to follow, was marked by large doses of this Aussie skater clown and his doltish friends – i.e. 90+ minutes daily for the rest of the trip.

K had been really excited about planning this night in Roswell, New Mexico. I failed to see what would be so splendid about the place, especially after the struggle I went through to even find a good hotel and place for dinner there. I also was awarded my first of several “Worst Girlfriend in the World” awards upon bringing this up because I failed to realize that Roswell is the big place for alien sightings/landings/etc. Apparently Area 51 is also somewhere in the vicinity. This is, yet again, apparently one of those precious pieces of knowledge that was exempted from my twenty plus years of education. I am also a jerk for not being excited about it. Sue me. I’m not an eight-year-old boy or someone who took a few too many hits in the 70s.

All the same, our room was nice, and so we headed downtown to scope out some possibly cool alien nonsense and some authentic Mexican food. Our search for the first was futile. The official museum and ‘research center’ for UFO activity was smaller than the antique store next to it. We walked through it and saw all there was to see in under five minutes. This is officially the dumbest town ever. Score Jerk Girlfriend 1 Mr. Cool Man 0. BAZINGA. The Mexican food I found was pretty decent, however the place didn’t serve liquor, so margaritas were out (“Worst Girlfriend in the World” numero dos). I did partially redeem myself for such by finding a darling wine-tasting room downtown in Roswell. K bought a bottle of alien wine there, and then we adjourned to a nearby gas station where he was delighted to find that they do, in fact, sell liquor in gas stations in NM. We went back to the room where I polished off a bottle of wine and K downed a good share of vodka and sprite. We rented ‘Valentines Day’ and made it about halfway through before falling asleep.

Day #3: I wake up with a sore throat, headache, and a couple of lymph nodes the size of cherries. Shit. I may be only a baby MD (close enough gosh darnnit) but I sure know when I am sick. This was no hangover head cold and I knew it. Shit, shit, shit.

As we headed out of town into the expanse of desert, K made me go in a scary gas station to find meds. The rest of my day was hazed in the pleasant orange cloud that Dayquil tends to leave me in as I continued to swig from the bottle every four hours on the hour. Obviously, the driving had now become officially and fully his job. My job was to try not to look miserable and keep quiet (and to also pretend not to notice that the Mexican food was making a valiant attempt at battling inside K – resulting in and aromatic riding experience that even the sick girl’s plugged up head could not save her from.)

The landscape quickly became a whole lot of nothing again, but it was slightly prettier nothing than northwest Texas. At least there were some hills and stuff. Through some parts, I seriously almost expected to see Butch Cassidy, the Sundance Kid, or at least a few members of the ‘Young Guns’ cast come riding through the nothingness. (This might have been some wishful hallucination of a girl high on cough syrup.) Sadly, the only exciting person we ran across that day was an Arizona state trooper who pulled K for doing 64 in a 50. Luckily being a CHL carrier with a clean record and driving a car owned by and carrying a UDAF Captain is a pretty safe guard against traffic citations in nowhere Arizona. After an eternal-seeming wait on the side of the highway, we were waved on our way for an uneventful finish to the day’s drive.

Today’s’ hours of literary stimulation were provided by Dr. Dennis Leary in the form of “Why We Suck”. While I generally get a kick out of Leary, six hours of him is a tad much. Following this with two hours of Ellis did nothing to improve my mood or throbbing face full of snot.

Scottsdale, Arizona was far more beautiful and enjoyable than any part of New Mexico. I scored us a room in Hotel Indigo, which is pretty swanky and was right near downtown. We had dinner at a place that was a cross between Old San Francisco Steakhouse and Midnight Rodeo that turned out to be pretty good. Watching fat, drunk Mexicans fall off of a mechanical bull is great dinner entertainment. I had steak and cold beer in my tummy, so I was pretty happy. Thus I agreed to go to a bar called Shotgun Betty’s. This didn’t seem that bad at first. Okay, the waitresses were skankily dressed, but then that’s about par with any bar these days. When a couple of ‘em started dancing on the bar and swinging on poles, the day’s pile of annoyance at crap (from long hours in a car, a throbbing face, pain with every swallow, and now bimbo sex-symbols with poor self esteem and big boobs) hit the fan. I might have let myself be less than cordial and sweet in the bar. Of course K will go down swearing he was only watching the basketball game. (Apparently not only was I born at night, I was born last night.) Despite my irritation, I have decided that I actually do want to learn to pole dance – purely to be both a genius and say that I can.

The evening ended on a much better note when we returned to the hotel to have drinks on the patio and I let K smoke for a while. The evening ended peacefully and life felt right for the most part again; this was followed by a deep cough syrup and wine-induced sleep.

Day #4: My throat no longer hurts, but the snot flow was now like a glacier come springtime. More drugs and a box of Kleenex are bought while K is in his first of several business meetings. I officially despise of life now. As much as I love him, K made this eleventy-million times worse by asking what was wrong with me every thirty minutes ALL DAY LONG. (Yes, I know this is because he loves me and was genuinely concerned, but seriously, if something changes for the worse or my illness suddenly is healed – I WILL FREAKING LET YOU KNOW!)

While AZ has been the prettiest state we’ve driven through thus far, the drive into southern CA was the longest and hardest day of the trip. There were large stretches where it became questionable whether we would make it to the next gas station for a fill-up or at times whether I might have to pee on the side of the road next to a saguaro cactus. Book of the day was ‘Are you there Vodka? It’s me Chelsea”. This book was downright painful. This psychotic liberal b*tch was both annoying and not funny. While I brought ‘Freakonomics’ to the table, the great content of the book was overshadowed that it was read and written by an economist who has little concept of cutting to the chase on anything. Thus, we won all four hours of Ellis and San Diego Friday traffic all in one terrible afternoon. (It ran competition with HWY 59 for the place as the 5^th circle of hell.)

One of the more entertaining parts of the drive were our four stops with the US border patrol as we skirted the Mexi-Cali border on our way into the state. K was pissed. It had been a hard days drive for him, and I know I was of little help since all I could do well was drink diet soda and produce copious amounts of mucous. At one point an officer actually asked if we were hiding illegal immigrants in the back of my Honda. I laughed.

When we finally reached Encinitas, California, I was super-excited to finally see the Pacific Ocean – even despite the drizzling rain and dark gray clouds. Note: I had told K the night before that I was really excited about seeing the sunset over the Pacific. Keep this in mind as the evening unfolds.

The hotel, though it had looked nice enough online, was pretty shady. I mean, it was clean, but more just as an acceptable place to crash and not a nice place to stay. K complained the moment we hit the door of the room (“Worst Girlfriend in the World” x3). He then made it clear that he needed a cocktail and food pronto and we headed out to find said necessities. Not eager to rack up “Worst Girlfriend in the World” #4 award after already having ‘ruined’ the night with the hotel, I kept my mouth shut about the sunset. It is a well-known and generally unfortunate fact that I have a glass face. Illness and exhaustion only perpetuate the problem. Thus, by the time we sat down in the pub he picked for dinner, I was fairly obviously perturbed. By the time he pried it out of me, I was in tears, he was mad, and “Worst Girlfriend in the World” award was fully won. It was a terrible dinner. I was miserable on physical, mental, and emotional levels, and K wasn’t far behind me on those notes. Thankfully, the crappy hotel did, in fact, have a large hot tub that didn’t get locked up at any point of night (more on that problem later.) Steam, bubbles, vokda in a giant foam cup, and red wine in a nalgene bottle aided the evening ending in a general truce.

Day #5: Upon waking up, K informs me that there is no way we are driving all the way to Sacramento in one day. Thus, in about an hour that morning we decided on Pismo Beach as a suitable place to split the trip. I was given another chance on hotel picking, and eager to redeem myself, found one that was stunning (albeit three time more than I had spent on any other hotel on the trip.) I continued to be the human sinus secretion fountain and now had begun to cough. A lot. Oh, misery.

The 6 hour drive was much amenable compared to the ten we had spent travelling the day before. The scenery was just gorgeous. We arrived to Pismo with plenty of time to check-in in a leisurely manner and have a cocktail in our ocean view room before dinner. Before dinner, K walked me down the cliffs and onto the beach so that I could put my feet in the Pacific for the first time. Then he took me to dinner at the nicest restaurant in town, overlooking the ocean at sunset. (I did embarrass him a little by taking a picture of said sunset from our table – he’ll have to get over that.) After a sumptuous seafood feast, including my new favorite tidbit – steamed clams, we adjourned to a local watering hole. Mind you, we had suffered a 45 min wait for our table, meaning I had finished my 3 glasses of wine pre-dinner… and K had cleared 4 double stoli and tonics. He likes to pretend I don’t know when his liquor catches hold of him, and I humor him. Needless to say, the trip to the bar was going to be superfluous at this point.

Strangely enough, the only bar open late in Pismo Beach, CA is a country honky-tonk style bar. This alone was going to be rich. A terrible cover band was playing classic rock music for a mob of dancing middle-aged patrons, including an equal mix of mid-life-crisisers and poser bikers. That bartender was both incompetent at even serving bottled beer and did not accept credit cards. (At this point I start to really worry about the fact that I am moving from Texas to California where this kind of place is considered a respectable honky-tonk.) A little piece of my country-gal soul seriously might have died in that bar. My favorite part though? He/She. He/She had the height, shoulders and swagger of a fella, but the dress, boobs, and makeup of a broad. Kyle and I giggled in the corner next to the cigarette machine as we tried to come to a gender verdict. Sure, we’re at our roots East-Texas kids with our own ideas of how the world should work (Note: All said ideas are right, just other folks haven’t figured it out yet), and yes, when given alcohol and a person of questionable sexual category, silliness ensues.

We left the bar after only one round with the idea of catching our nightcap in the romantic hotel hot tub, overlooking the sea (okay, I was thinking about the starry-eyed lovers bit of it, K pretty-much was just looking for the nightcap.) True, the hotel info had said the pool and spa closed at ten, but then so did the hotel last night, and we stayed there until past midnight. I should also mention that it was in the low 50s with a strong breeze, so the walk/run across the hotel complex to the pool deck was not a comfortable one. Imagine our dismay upon arrival to find that the gate had actually been padlocked from the inside. Some other patrons who had been chased out by management at ten sharp confirmed this. And so what do the Texas kids do? We hop the freaking fence (seriously, this is a no-brainer, people.) Even the spa jets were locked down, and the heaters had actually been turned off for the night, but the spa was still at the temperature of a good hot bath, so we climbed in. There was a beautiful ten minutes of stars, steam, and great conversation with the man I love more than anything else.

Enter Russian hookers.

Okay, I can’t actually prove they were hookers. But they did invite themselves into the hot tub with us, couldn’t give a reasonable explanation of their lines of work, and flirted with my hot, and rather tipsy boyfriend. (If the claws of an angry lioness girlfriend ever almost came out, it would have possibly been here. Seriously, I actually sized them up for an old fashioned Texas ass-whipping right there, in my pink bikini, in a lukewarm hot tub.) Finally they went away. Unfortunately by then, the water was barely warm, and it was time for us too to hop the fence and run – shivering – back to our room and it’s roaring (electric) fireplace and king-sized feather-beds.

Day #6: I feel somewhat better than I have been the past few days. I resist the urge to throw sharp kitchen utensils at the Russian hookers at breakfast and only blow my nose once at the table. I am seriously pleased with myself and it is only ten a.m.

The car ride to Sacramento is a generally uneventful one. The terrain continues to be beautiful and gets greener every mile further north that we drive. I am feeling reassured that CA might not be the worst place ever to live. Because I am making him sleep on an air mattress in my generally abandoned home for the night until my furniture arrives, I promise K a fabulous dinner for his first night ever in Sacramento.

We eat at a beautiful Italian place downtown where we are virtually the only people in the place. Everything is fantastic. Afterwards, we head to a local bar that happens to sponsor their local men’s lacrosse league (there is no escaping the lax, I’m learning to embrace this fact daily). At said pub, it happens to be trivia night. As it so happens, K and I are a veritable cornucopia of useless information. This was going to be excellent. We joined forces with Mike (short Pilipino Army fella) and Tracy (Mike’s plus size (to put it nicely) and scowling ‘date’ who really didn’t care for the fact that Mike found the two of us far more entertaining than he found her) for the team event. K and I nail out the first 9 of 30 questions with ease. The next question was an anagram – you know one of the ones where you have to unscramble the letters to make different words. Little did I know that my darling boy happens to be the miller lite- induced version of Rainman when it comes to this stuff. They asked the question and he jabbed me in the ribs and asked for the puzzle written on a napkin. In seconds he had it solved. We all looked at him like he had just announced that he had disproved the theory of relativity or something (this also occurred on the second anagram around question 26). My moment to shine came between these episodes on a song lyric question. After the quiz proctor uttered “I was dreaming when I wrote this, forgive me if I go too fast”, there was about 3 seconds of head-bobbling and hip swinging (think Night at the Roxbury meets Grease) as well as singing to myself I slapped both hands on the bar and shirked “Prince’s 1999!” This time everyone in the group looks at me as if I had just announced I was joining a nudist colony. BAZINGA. The autistic dynamic duo strikes again!

We ended the evening relaxing on my front porch like we used to on my back porch on the island. We even made friends with a neighborhood cat. Things felt comfortable and safe like old times. Even the air mattress was okay at this point, because life was good.

Day #7: I hate air mattresses – especially when I have to share them with people. Needless to say, I did not wake in the best of spirits on mine in my empty home. It was so Monday it wasn’t even funny. But it was no matter, my movers were supposed to be coming with my things today. Having learned from past experience, I called the moving company that morning to check in with my perky account representative. “Yes, ma’am”, she chirped, “your belongings are set as scheduled to be delivered Wednesday.” Shit.

Thus I embarked on K’s trip to San Francisco for business that day which was lovely. We shopped and went to nice dinner that evening with my wonderful friends P and K, and then we enjoyed another long night on the porch.

Day #8: We get up at 0400 (mind you, we went to bed at 0100) to get K to the airport. I go home and turn back into a jellyfish on the air mattress (which seems heavenly at 0430 in the morning.) K fought a plane ticket disaster of epic proportions meanwhile that ended him up travelling home to Houston from Sacramento by way of Washington, D.C. (I kid you not – he was FURIOUS!)

I started to find my was around town a little once I had woken back up at a decent hour that day and did a little shopping. I only got lost two times (and yes, that is impressive for me.) Around 1600, the movers called and dropped the bomb on me that they could deliver that very afternoon if I so desired. Thus began the whirlwind of unpacking, sorting, organizing, decorating, and generally setting up home in the barren house. Finally it had started to become home.

Thus is the story of the California road trip. K will be the first to assure you that it is not nearly as funny as his rendition, but it is most assuredly the more accurate. Here’s to all of you who were supportive and thinking about and praying that we wouldn’t kill each other along the way. Happy trails.

Johnny Depp and the Second Ammendment

2010-05-09T17:21:00.002-07:00

So, recently I have (albeit completely accidentally) had three Johnny Depp movies in a row show up from Netflix. I like Johnny Depp. He is incredibly strange, and thus all of his movies are rather strange. that being said, I have only, to date, seen one movies I didn't actually like that he stars in (for those who might wonder, it was 'The Libertine' - tertiary syphilis is an ugly, ugly thing.) These three were new to me, though not especially to the rest of the world. I don't usually review films, but then I am enjoying life without work or school at the moment, and you must be someone who is bored enough with your own world to read my blog.

Don Juan De Marco: Seriously, how could something with both Marlon Brando and Johnny Depp be a bad thing? This movie made me remember the things I loved about working psychiatry (there were a few.) It also brought to mind that being 'normal' is not actually always the optimal. I laughed. I cried. Good times.

Chocolat: Juliette Binoche is already one of my favorite actresses. (If I were to be interesting enough to have a movie made about me, I'd like to think she could be in top contention for the starring role.) The plot was beautiful, and the addition of Depp (who I had no idea was even in said movie) was surprisingly not his usual freak show. Also an excellent see. I might actually even buy this one.

Edward Scissorhands: Yes, I made it into my late twenties before seeing this one (but let's remember how strict my folks were on movies back in the day.) I was amazed that Tim Burton had already very much played the pastel-world theme long before 'Pleasantville' came around even. I laughed more in this movie than in the other two. I also loved the chemistry of the small-town women's gossip network. Been there. Ha.

In addition to filling my evenings with cinematic excitement, I also decided to take the Texas Concealed handgun course and file for my license. Despite the fact that it will be non-transferrable to the land of fruits and nuts, at least it will continue to be valid for a while back home. Maybe I'll be back in-state before having to renew. Taking the course also allowed me the joy of finally going out to shoot my gun:

I had absoloutely forgotten how therapeutic shooting ranges are for me. This will be a habit I hope to keep up far more regularly in the not-too distant future. Also, this is open warning on trying to enter my home unannounced at night. Not a good idea.

In other news, the moving truck comes tomorrow... supposedly... More on that to come.

The Final Paper

2010-04-29T09:17:00.004-07:00

I have just completed my last paper and final assignment of medical school. While a part of me is elated - part of me is petrified. Oh, God - it really is done.

Interestingly, the paper itself is not what anyone would expect to come from an almost-doctor. I didn't think my last assignment would be this or anything remotely like it. We would expect it to be brilliant, composed, and self-assured. We would expect to see excellent clinical insight or drive toward some great medical success. I'm not sure any of that is actually there.

My final course in medicine was an elective titled 'The Art of Healing'. The final assignment after the month-long course was to explain your journey through the course and some of the things that affected you. Normally, I would have no interest in anyone seeing my writings, and especially not my schoolwork, but as this is a rather monumental paper in my career, I'm making an exception. (I also have been chided recently for not blogging much by one of my three readers...)

So, here is the final paper:

The Girl Who I Lost

Indiana Jones was right. It’s not the years; it’s the mileage.

Five years ago, a very nervous and neurotic college junior sat with a Dell laptop and typed, revised, and re-revised essays for her medical school applications. Everything was exciting - full of hope. She quoted Samuel Taylor Coleridge saying, “He is the best physician who is the most ingenious inspirer of hope.” She made bold statements like:

“I was reminded that perfection is not necessary to accomplish your goals or to live life fully. For that matter, being a doctor isn’t about being perfect; it’s about living the life you were born to and making yourself available to render whatever service is in your power to any and all who approach you in need.”

(I about fell off of the couch when I read this. Who IS this person?! Had this girl been thrown straight into an OR, someone literally might have eaten her alive!)

And even more naïve and audacious:

“… Life is too short and fragile to waste on hurrying into becoming a “grown-up”. I think keeping a child-like mind and heart is in some ways one of the most valuable methods of being able to love and relate to people as well as just being a fabulous way to live life. Should I pursue a career in medicine, it is a goal of mine to maintain a childlike joy and love for my patients, so that I may best serve them.”

Five years later, the woman staring at these words on the screen of her Mac book, all but wonders at that strange girl from not-so-long ago. I can barley remember what it was like to be so bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to take on the whole world at a moment’s notice. That girl was so brave, and didn’t care that she didn’t fit a traditional pre-medical mold. She reveled in her differences from others and even prized them above her academics and test scores. I found myself wanting to scoff at her innocence – now that everything about life has become scores, evaluations, and being EXACTLY whatever the higher-ups say that you must be.

What the hell happened? What series of disappointments and disasters along the past 5 years turned that adventurous girl into the tired and browbeaten one that is about to complete her MD coursework? What is medicine doing to those of us who choose to serve as healers? And how many of us have no idea that it has happened to us, or worse, we no longer care that it has?

When I scheduled ‘The Art of Healing’ into my 4^th year schedule, I had no idea how badly in need of this class I was. I knew that I liked the faculty teaching it, and had heard some intriguing rumors about the class. I figured that at the end of a long run of academia, an ‘easy’ course with plenty of time for trips to the beach would be in order. That’s how I got here. And it’s how I found out that I’d lost her.

From the get-go, the course made me a little nervous. There were no hard fasts, no barked orders, and no regimented schedule. It’s funny that I felt this way, since I signed up for the course for almost exactly these reasons in the first place. I guess it was then that I started to realize that I have been trained to function abnormally. All of the talk about being still and sitting with issues sounded pretty terrible as well. Stillness has been something that has been a struggle for me since childhood. There was at least one moment where I might have thought this course was doing to be a disaster. Thank God I was wrong.

The Healers’ Art material was a refreshing breeze after being beaten and molded to nearly believe that my ability to practice medicine was comprised of only my ability to take an efficient and complete history, made an adequate differential diagnosis, and treat. There is something huge in talking, touching, laughter, and in kindness. It wasn’t really that the information was new; rather these were things I knew really long before medical school but had spent (at least) the past four years un-learning. There was such comfort from talking to a group of peers who also grieved having all but lost this side of medicine in themselves.

For the first entire week of the course, I didn’t read or watch any of the assigned media. Just to have to choice not to was something new and refreshing that I had perhaps never experienced. I just tried to focus on the body scan meditations, the journaling and showing up for class with an open mind (and that was already way more than I ever imagined it could be!)

It took me an afternoon alone to sift through drawers and boxes to find my old journal. I had bought it specifically for medical school. I sheepishly will admit that I stopped writing before half of the first year was complete. Writing again on a regular basis was difficult to restart, but then began to flow again as the weeks have gone on. Growing up, science classes were never actually my strongest subjects (maybe that’s why I didn’t even consider a career in healthcare until high school.) I was always a writer. I remember writing chaptered tales from as early as first grade. Slowly over the years, school shut out more of that creativity, but I always still had my journal. My older ones are filled with songs, poems, and boldly painted word pictures of my feelings and my life. Those last few entries at the beginning of medical school, and before the journal went into it’s hibernation of sorts, were already making a turn from artistry and expression to a fugue of bitterness, fear, and complaining.

Two weeks into the course, I was driving west on TX-71 on the way to Austin. I was so moved by the bluebonnets and wildflowers that I was inspired to write music. I can’t remember the last time that I felt that pull. It was before college for sure. So there I was, dredging a gas receipt and sharpie marker from my purse and scribbling lyrics against my steering wheel while careening down the highway with the cruise control set at 75. The buzz was idyllic. Even the heinous Austin rush hour traffic couldn’t touch it. It’s not so much that I have been reunited with my journal physically or regular writing alone. Those in themselves would have not yielded such a result. Somewhere, somehow, that part of me – the writer – had been beaten down and buried somewhere inside of me; and now she was back out. That alone is miraculous.

Meditation practice has been a new thing for me in theory, though parts of it remind me of behaviours I have taken on over the years to regain a little sanity in the spinning, catastrophic world that is medical school. After the better part of my first year had passed and I had only been to the beach once (though I only lived a 5 min walk away), I made purpose to make regular visits during second year and beyond. (Seriously – why live on an island if you’re never going to go to the beach?!) What I found comforting was to find an area where I was alone and could lay down, close my eyes, and just drink in the beach. I savored the sounds, the smells, the grittiness of the sand, the kiss of the breeze, and the heat of the sun. I used to lie there for hours. I still maintain that this practice is why I did not have the Step 1 boards breakdown that many of my colleagues did. Looking back at moments like these, I can see that meditation practice was not as new to me as I had originally thought. Once I got over the fact that I neither had to be on my yoga mat or inside to practice meditation, it just flowed.

Of course, I had always thought that meditation was a still activity. (Again with the stillness – not so much…) I think this is why I took such a shine to walking meditation and especially shaking meditation. I guess 19 years of ballet trained me to be wired more to movement than some folks. But what was said when the process of shaking meditation was being explained was true – there is a stillness inside the movement that you can find – a stillness I hadn’t felt much of since I stopped my dance training after my second year of med school. It floors me that in such a short time a feeling/place inside of me that I knew so well for most of my life became foreign (still wonderful though) and almost uncertain. Having found that piece of myself amidst the panic of moving and fear of the unknown land of internship has been glorious.

The course has finally tripped the switch and let me begin to see what really is again. It’s difficult to explain it more than that in a lot of ways. Somehow colors seem brighter in places, and I see more things to have a little touch of magic in the beauty of them. Again, words are insufficient (and I am shaking my head as I type that this is not fully what I am expressing but syntax is apparently of little use here.) Robert Earl Keen says, “It feels so good feelin’ good again”, and that might be one of the better ways of expressing it.

I know that I have said it repeatedly during group time, but the best explanation I can give to how I have felt and changed over the past month is that I feel more like me than I have since before college. It’s like somehow I have been hiding the real me somewhere during these years of becoming learned and professional. Apparently growing up causes some reverse-Velveteen-Rabbit kind of process where you become less real as you get old. This sounds as horrible to me now as it would have to the girl who in her med school application essays was so intent: “Should I pursue a career in medicine, it is a goal of mine to maintain a childlike joy and love for my patients, so that I may best serve them.” The fact that I can resonate with her in that lets me know that maybe I am a little closer back to becoming real than before. And for today, that is enough. Margery Williams’ classic children’s book perhaps expresses the beauty of this best:

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."  

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.  

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."  

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by  bit?"  

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't  understand."

Grace enough

2010-04-07T14:46:00.001-07:00

This is not a post about graceful people. It is written by a woman who fell out of her own hammock this morning (and now has two nastily bruised and scraped arms to show for it.) No, sadly, physical grace has never been my gift - despite nearly two decades of masquerading as a ballerina.

This post, rather is about the kind of grace I require. I require it in abundance. I require large amounts of it from my coworkers, family, and especially the people close enough to be true friends. I require a good bit of it (rarely given) from myself. More than all of this, I require more than can be explained from almighty God.

Having recently finished Brennan Manning's 'The Ragamuffin Gospel' for the second time, I found a collection of statements that rang true to me of what grace is really about. Having grown up in the biggest Southern Baptist church in a small Texas town, one would think I was raised with this wonderful understanding of grace. Few things are further from the truth.

Some of these statements make me uncomfortable, but then that is generally a common theme the more I seem to know about God. He's not real into making sure I'm comfortable, apparently. I'm also taking a moment to state that I do not agree with every line Manning pens in this book. I don't know of any book (Bible aside) that I do agree with everything in it anyhow (and even the Bible gives me some fits sometimes - my issues, not its.)

Not all of these statements are Manning's, but I am frankly far too lazy to go through his appendix of citations and transfer them to this rather insignificant blog. I'm pretty sure he'd understand.

When I get honest, I admit I am a bundle of paradoxes. I believe and I doubt, I hope and get discouraged, I love and I hate, I feel bad about feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. I am trusting and suspicious. I am honest and I still play games. Aristotle said I am a rational animal; I say I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer.
Over the years, I've seen Christians shaping God in their own image - in each case a dreadfully small God. Some Roman Catholics still believe only they will graze heaven's green pastures... There is the God who has a special affection for capitalist America, regards the workaholic, and the God who loves only the poor and the underprivileged. There is a God who marches with victorious armies, and the God who loves only the meek who turns the other cheek. Some, like the elder brother in Luke, sulk and pout when the Father rocks and rolls, serves surf-and-turf for a prodigal son who has spent his last cent on whores. Some tragically refuse to believe that God can or will forgive them: My sin is too great.
Grace tells us that we are accepted just as we are. We may not be the kind of people we want to be, we may be a long way from our goals, we may have more failures than achievements, we may not be wealthy or powerful or spiritual, we may not even be happy, but we are nonetheless accepted by God, held in his hands. Such is His promise to us in Jesus Christ, a promise we can trust.
The prophetic word spoken by Jesus to a thirty-four-year-old widow, Marjory Kempe, in Lynn, MA, in 1667 remains ever ancient, ever new: "More pleasing to Me than all your prayers, works, and penances is that you would believe I love you."
A little child cannot do a bad coloring; nor can a child of God do bad prayer. A father is delighted when his little one, leaving off her toys and friends, runs to him and climbs into his arms. As he holds his little one close to him, he cares little whether the child is looking around, her attention flitting from one thing to another, or just settling down to sleep. Essentially the child is choosing to be with her father, confident of the love, the care, the security that is hers in those arms.
Don't cling to cheap, painted fragments of glass when the pearl of great price is being offered. When a person's very existence is threatened, when he or she stands on the threshold of moral ruin, when everything is at stake, the hour has struck for bold and resolute decision-making.
One thing we do know: We don't comprehend the love of Jesus Christ. Oh, we see a movie and resonate to what a young man and woman will endure for romantic love. We know that when the chips are down, if we love wildly enough we'll fling life and caution to the winds for the one we love. But when it comes to God's love in the broken, blood-drenched body of Jesus Christ, we get antsy and start to talk about theology, divine justice, God's wrath...
To live by grace means to acknowledge my whole life story, the light side and the dark. In admitting my shadow side, I learn who I am and what God's grace means. As Thomas Merton put it "A saint is not someone who is good, but who experiences the goodness of God."

26

2010-03-16T16:00:00.000-07:00

In celebration of my 26th year of life, and because I am too lazy to make one coherent post about one thing - I wanted to leave 26 tidbits of wit, worthless information and observations, and wisdom that I have discovered, stolen, or completely made up along the way.

Daylight savings time is a phenomenon that gets worse every year. Seriously, this is one of the few things in life that I have disliked about the aging process. It's going to take me over a week to get my body and head back into gear now that my internal clock is off.
People change. Relationships change. This can be wonderful, weird, painful, or pleasurable, but at the end of the day, it's unavoidable. This is something I have learned that I do not deal well with. I am working on it.
I am buying my first big-girl car currently. Against the advice of all females and most males that I know, I am working alone and doing all of the dealing myself. Needless to say, there are many phone calls and long conversations with both Dad and K, but all in all, things are going well. I think I need to learn to do the hard things as I'm going to really be on my own and mostly out of the helpful reach of fathers or boyfriends for the next several years. I'm excited. I'm also exceptionally proud (in that defiant, toddler-ish kind of way) that I did it by myself.
Everyone who claims to be a Texan should go to a rodeo at least once in their life. This does not mean you just go to the concert after the rodeo - go and watch the REAL part - the roping, the broncos, the bulls, etc. Those people are spectacularly talented and brave, and live by blood, sweat, and tears. A good country music concert is also a darn good bonus on the night.
Be nice to marginal people. People who do not do this lose respect with me instantly.
A good bartender is worth his weight in gold. I'm exceptionally sad to be leaving my favorite bartender, J, in a few months. He is both a great bartender and and great human being.
I promised K's best friend, J, that I will learn to play guitar. I'm already terrified of the prospect (especially as I am listening to J and his brother's CD as I type.) When I get out of the military, I I am looking to be moderately proficient. There's no need to stop learning new things just because I'm in my late twenties, right?
Mystic-tan is my new favorite ridiculous guilty pleasure. I rationalize this by getting my tan without the aid of UV rays, and thus preventing skin cancer down the road (this is particularly important since I am currently rotating on dermatologic surgery and oncology - which is hacking skin cancers off of people all day every day.) I apparently have turned into Mexican-J already, despite the fact that it is March and she does not usually come out until June or so... I'm just glad that I do not look like a carrot. If I start to, someone slap me.
People should spend more time in hammocks, smelling flowers, hugging dogs, talking to old people, laughing, and eating food that makes you feel warm and full inside.
While I generally despise things that are used just for the sake of trendiness, when my old Dell laptop took on a virus-load like Tom Hanks in Philadelphia, I went ahead and took the leap to switch (back) to Mac. We were raised on mac computers in my parents home until I was in jr. high and had to start using PC computers. The switch back has been smooth and I am happy. Shameless plug.
Rum is universally a bad choice when it comes to me and my GI tract. This was made particularly evident on Superbowl weekend... it's a long story, but lets just make sure I stay away from any form of Caribbean rum from now until the end of eternity. I guess this means that becoming a pirate is no longer a viable career option.
Deep fried broccoli - now, why didn't I think of that?!
I finally figured out/internally rationalized that being attractive is 85% feeling like/projecting the image that you think you're hot, 10% how you actually look, and 5% what everyone else in the room looks like. Once realizing this, I've learned to be considerably less self-demeaning - turns out that's not attractive. Whooda thunk it?
My parents found out about the tattoo. Yes. My parents. (All of you who know them can grimace with me now.) In good news, my mother did not give me the silent treatment for weeks as I had predicted; she flipped a minor brick and after a while of processing, head-shaking, hand-wringing, and weird comments like "You're not our little girl anymore" - she FINALLY, generally let it go. My father's response when she gave him the tidings was a simple "I'm not surprised." This apparently greatly infuriated my mother (tee-hee). All the same, it was a good reminder to both them and I that the "don't ask, don't tell" policy is a good thing with us, as I am not one to lie. It seems to have all resolved in peace in the end.
Not that it's going to happen in the near future, but I want to get married (God-willing, and the creek don't rise) on Galveston one day. Not sure how that surfaced in all of this.
I need to take a moment and retract the quarter century of trash talk that I have laid out on the account of pizza. Having recently acquired a mild fondness for the food (or at least a lack of utter disdain), I feel slightly sheepish for all of the bad things I have said over the years on its behalf. Dear pizza, I'm so sorry.
I am physically in the process of learning to make naan. Apparently I have gone on this "I want Indian food all of the time" kick. I think that giving up fast food and take-out food (aka my main source of hot wings) for Lent is starting to take effect. I CRAVE spice. ALL the time. No, I'm not pregnant, just apparently crazy.

Okay, so I lied. I only have 17 things to say, apparently. So sue me. After all, I am getting old.

Cupid and The Gravedigger

2010-02-08T21:59:00.002-08:00

It's funny the reactions I get when I tell people that I have been single for over seven years before this point in my love-life. Some seem totally surprised that I could have gone that long without a significant other; others, not so much. I take this all to mean that while I am quite a catch, I'm generally difficult too.

It came upon me rather suddenly a week or so ago, that I would be expected to play into my traditionally most abhorred of holidays this year (for the first time in many long years).. yes, the dreaded St. Valentines day. *snarl*

While I love Love LOVE holidays like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and even St. Patty's, the February holiday of note tends to historically highly disappoint. Usually I get by with the sending of 'valentines-day-hatred' cards to single girl friends, consuming a small mountain of chocolate, and drinking large quantities of wine. Since I have officially acquired a boyfriend, I knew this year would be different, but all the same, I was kind of dreading...

Until I remembered what kind of man K is. (Thank God!)

I think that I dislike the idea of Valentines Day crap because it is so cliche and junky. I do not like, nor do I ever want any of the following 'traditional' 'romantic' gifts:

Flowers through the mail: Don't get me wrong - I love fresh flowers. In fact, I purchase them often just to have them in the house. Of course, I buy them on sale in the grocery store (on a good day, you can get a dozen roses for a buck at Kroger!) to save on green. I browsed through a flower catalog that was in the K's mail last week. They wanted $49 for a freaking vase of 12 roses! Highway robbery at it's worst!!! I threw the catalog away before he had a chance to use it.
Heart-shaped box of assorted chocolates: Seriously, who out there actually likes these?! Out of an entire box, I maybe find 30% of the chocolates to be filled with an edible substance, and even then - they're not actually that good! The ones filled with pink, fluffy stuff are especially foul.
Teddy bear/bunny rabbit/pound puppy/other ridiculous stuffed animal: I am turning 26 this year, not 6. I will hurt someone if they buy me a freaking plush creature. No. Don't. EVER.
Fruit bouquet: I know at least one of my friends has received one of these before. They are cool, actually, but anyone who knows me knows damn well that I do not, under any circumstance, like fruit. At all. It would be awkward for someone to spend that much to only find they knew me so little.
Snazzy dinner at over-priced French restaurant: Okay, people - I did take French in high school, and I do love good food, but no, that does not make me fluent enough (in French or fancy food) to do more than order wine, curse, or find 'chicken' on the menu. I also hate eating food that costs 250% more to purchase than it did to make.
Chocolate-covered strawberries: Again with the fruit - oy.
Jewelry seen on a television commercial: I want my first diamond to be the one(s) for my left hand. No 'open heart's, 'love's embrace', 'herculean knot's, or other jeweler gimmick crap. I already own one of the three most precious pieces of jewelry I will ever own, and don't expect to receive the other two any time in the near future. And that's fine.

You know, I really wondered what the cynic in me would actually accept as an appropriate V-day offering. I was nervous, even. I have a glass face, after all - if I think it's dumb, people WILL know!

Again, I tend to forget that I'm dealing with K - a man who knows me scarily well... Of all the amazing and less-than-amazing gifts out there, my boyfriend took me to see:

The Gravedigger

Yes, we got tickets to the 'Monster Jam' in Reliant Stadium. I went to a monster truck rally to celebrate romance. I was rather skeptical (to say the least), but I do hate traditional valentines crap and I do love K... so I went.

BEST THING EVER.

Seriously, I know I'm a touch of a redneck, but we must remember - I'm also the ballet and symphony-loving gal I was raised to be. But honestly - watching ridiculously expensive, jacked up trucks race, jump, and smash things was on par with the best show I've ever seen on a stage. Not to mention I got to wear jeans and a motorcycle jacket, eat chicken fingers and fries out of my lap, and drink beer throughout the show. The smell of dirt, humanity, beer, and burning ethanol fuel took on this sweet smell - not unlike that of the grape Dimetapp liquid we were all given a children for colds. The roar of those engines was that kind of loud noise that makes you shudder all the way to your stomach and every hair on your body stand on end, but in a good, good way. And all the way through, I had the arm of one of my best friends around my shoulders or his hand holding mine. It was, in short, amazing.

It saddens me to think that I'm moving to the land of the hippies who are probably grossly opposed to everything a monster truck rally stand for, but nothing can take form me the best Valentine's gift ever.

Memos I wish I could send

2010-01-23T12:38:00.002-08:00

Dear United States Air Force,

I would genuinely appreciate if you would stop making everything so complicated. I have never experienced anything as traumatic as trying to move across the country with you people. Seriously. You're going to make me gray prematurley.

Thanks,
The Little LT

Attention to creepy old man in Kroger,

While I am complimented (in some weird way) by your flirting and asking me to dinner, yo should know that it was unwarranted, unwanted, and unacceptable. You could be my grandfather. That's gross. Go away and leave me alone.

Regards,
Girl who was nice enough to point you towards the chicken breasts

Dear Gay-T,

Thank you for being both an amazing massage therapist and therapist therapist. Seriously, you are one of my favorite people right now. It's rare that I can have conversations while naked, and you apparently bring that out in me. Go figure. Please keep being wonderful and flaming.

Hugs,
The human stress-ball

Hi, God,

Alzheimer's. Why? Really. I just can't deal with it.

J

Attention to all drivers of I-45:

Here's a few ideas... Get out of the fast lane if you're going to drive 10 mph under the speed limit. Please, please learn to drive in the rain - it's not going to hurt your car. Hell, just don't get on the highway if you're going to put on mascara while you drive. And stay out of my lane if you don't know how to manage cruising without randomly slamming in your breaks for nothing. You're going to give me premature hypertension.

Angry in the '97 Civic

Dearest Boy,

Wow. I'm not sure how I got as lucky as I did. Thanks for putting up with the fact that I am often crazy, hormonal, and ridiculous. Thank you for being brave enough to take a chance on a girl who's going to move away in 5 months. You light up my life.

Love,
Your girl

Oh, Victoria's Secret,

You will never stop taking my money. I don't even know how this happened as I was supposedly a tomboy before meeting you. Thank you/I hate you for giving me a platinum card.

With mixed emotion,
Beloved cardholder

New year, same old jabber

2010-01-19T18:40:00.003-08:00

So, it's a new year - a new decade, even. And I am back to my old tricks of shoddy and inconsistent blogging. Good thing it was not one of my New Year's resolutions, bucket-list (of sorts) item, or anything important! Of course, a ton of things have transpired in the past month of my neglect - which is probably why I have failed to be informative about any of it. Here's the lazy, bullet-list rendition:

* I officially have a job. In May, I will be moving to Sacramento, CA for ~13 months to complete a general surgery preliminary/intern year. I was generally okay with this until just the past week when it started to get 'real' - i.e. official orders came in the mail as well as forms demanding information to aid in my registration, moving across the continental US, etc. Don't get me wrong, I'm really excited about this next step in my career, moving to a new phase of life, actually getting to apply all the crap I've forced into my brain over the past two decades, and all of that; but let's face it, I have never done anything but be a full-time student since 1989. Suddenly I have to be a real adult, and not just a normal adult, but a friggin' doctor! It's a lot to swallow.

* I actually started to accomplish some of the things on my 1001/101 list. Follow that post and stay on my tail about it.

* My landlords successfully married off their daughter. I re-remembered how much I love the people from my church. An excellent night of eating, drinking, dancing, and silliness.

* Mass family chaos ensued over Christmas. Within a 6 hour span on Christmas eve, there were 33 persons and two dogs who were fed and entertained within the confines of my parents' nice, but relatively small house. During the course of the festivity, my mother dropped her dog, dislocating her leg. This required me t0 practice people medicine of a miniature dachshund, as well as a trip to an emergency veterinary clinic in a neighboring town. Conveniently, this occurred just as we were beginning to serve the Christmas meal. There has been massive family drama as of late among members of my mother's side of the family, and thus, my mother had created an elaborate eating schedule/seating arrangement to effectively, and relatively safely, feed all 33 persons at out 12-seated dining table over the course of three shifts. As my mother blew out of the house with her favorite 'child' (the dog) wrapped in a blanket in her arms, she pointed a finger very much in my face and uttered the three most terrifying words imaginable:
"You're in charge."
Panic ensued within me. This would also be the time to mention that I decided to bring K to his first holiday with the family. At this point in the afternoon, I am fairly certain that he is convinced that my family are all certifiably insane. As soon as I assume charge of the swirling sea of family downstairs, my grandmother promptly locks herself in the laundry room with her demon-possessed Yorkshire terrier, where the two of them remain for the rest of the encounter. I am too stressed over dinner to be too worried, but it sends the remaining relatively sane relatives into a bit of a tizzy. K hides in the corner of the kitchen for nearly 2 hours until the chaos died down enough for the two of us to finally eat food. By the time the last family member left at 1730, I was beat. I was sacked out before 2100. that might in fact be a new Christmas record for me.

* I have managed to acquire my first boyfriend since the high school days. Apparently K wasn't that scared of my family or that I might turn out as crazy as many of them.

* I finally shelled out more cash than I wanted to and bought the 'Purple Rain' record album by Prince. I have yet to regret it. One of the best songs EVER.

* I have rediscovered my love for the vodka tonic. How did I ever forget? I have no idea.

* My running/yoga regime that I was so good about last spring resumes tomorrow morning. Expect posts in the near future complaining about this.

101 in 1001

2009-12-07T10:06:00.026-08:00

My good friend, S, put this up on her blog and I thought it was rather brilliant. After all, I am vehemently against New Years resolutions, but I know that my life does, in fact, need some good modifications here and there. This will be interesting seeing that the time-frame is going to cover some serious life-changes in the forthcoming 2 years and spare change. I'm counting on all two of you that read my posts to keep me accountable and give me hell if I start to slack off!

The Mission: Complete 101 preset tasks in a period of 1001 days.

The Criteria: Tasks must be specific (i.e. no ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Tasks must also be realistic and stretching (i.e. represent some amount of work on my part).

Start date: 07 December 2009 End date: 02 September 2012

Items in bold are completed Items in italics are in progress Related blog posts are linked where applicable Penalty: Donate $5 to charity for each thing I don’t complete

Personal:

Cut loose and get a tattoo

Relationships/Friendships:

Leave an inspirational note inside a book for someone to find.

Call 5 friends I haven't spoken to in a long time. (3/5)

Buy an "out of the blue, for no reason" present for someone I care about.

Send 10 "Just Because" cards. (10/10)

Family:

Hear the full story of my parents’ first date, engagement & wedding.

Visit my grandparents for no good reason.

Culture:

Go to a book signing.

Read a book written by someone I disagree with.

Learn enough Spanish to conduct a general medical history and physical exam.

Nature:

Watch the sunrise and sunset in the same day.

Dance with someone in the rain.

Buy and keep fresh flowers for 2 months.

Health:

Donate blood twice a year (0/6)

Floss every night for a month.

Learn to belly dance

No fast food for 6 weeks straight.

Work out at least 3 days/week for an entire month.

Use the only stairs up and down at work for 2 weeks.

Be able to run a 10K without stopping

Do yoga every day for a month

Education/Creativity:

Get published in a medical journal

Write a short story

Read 3 classic literature books that I have never read before (0/3)

Start crocheting again

Travel:

Attend a Renaissance faire in costume

Go to a music festival.

Visit somewhere in the fall to see the trees turn.

Conduct a WBW on a military base

Take a completely spontaneous weekend adventure/trip.

Leave the continental US for the first time

See a show on Broadway in NY

Swim in ocean water where I can see to the bottom

Go to New Orleans purely for the food

Visit Disneyland

Go to Mexico and blame something on it

Activities:

Sing karaoke at a bar.

Learn to play 42

Go fishing

Visit a winery.

Bowl a game over 100

Stay at a bed and breakfast

Go to a roller skate rink.

Ride on a ferris wheel.

Learn the rudimentary concepts of golf

Texas Activities:

Go the the Houston Rodeo

Tour the home museums of Galveston

Attend an event the the Grand Opera house

Texas A&M Events:

Attend Muster every year (1/3)

Give to the Association of Former students

Survival Skills:

Learn to drive a stick shift/manual vehicle

Buy a handgun and know how to use it

Charitable Activities:

Adopt an angel tree kid with Salvation army

Donate $5 to charity for each task I don’t complete.

Give away whatever I don't plan to move

Fashion & Beauty:

Buy a little black dress that makes me feel like Grace Kelly

Eliminate all non-fitting or “hasn’t been worn in a year” clothing from my wardrobe.

Wear a dress or skirt every day for a week straight.

Go to a spa for a whole day.

Throw away any makeup over a year old

Maintain an attractive haircut for 6 months straight

Wear makeup and style hair every day for a week

Computers/Social Networking:

Not log into facebook for a whole week.

Cull out 'friends' on Facebook until it's only people I actually talk to

Transfer all of my pictures and music to my hard drive/backup DVDs

Turn off the computer, TV, and cell phone for an entire weekend.

Food:

Bake cupcakes for no other reason than to eat them.

Bring lunch to work every day for a month

Try a type of food I have never liked (spaghetti with tomato sausage sauce)

Go to dinner somewhere that requires appropriate attire- dress and heels.

Holiday Themed:

Hand out candy to kids at Halloween

Chop down my own Christmas tree

Send out a Christmas letter that is not obnoxious

Drink green beer in an Irish pub on St Patty's

Kiss someone at the stroke of midnight on New Years

Give someone a hand-made valentine

Shoot fireworks off for a holiday not Independence day

Music:

Buy only artists I don't own on Itunes for a month

Sing in a choir

Attend a concert of someone who's music I haven't heard

Attend a symphony concert

Re-learn the piano/learn new instrument

Television:

Cook a recipe I see made on food network

Movies:

See 10 classic movies I’ve never seen (10/10)

Watch all 3 original Star Wars

See a drive-in movie.

Go see a movie by myself.

Spend a rainy day watching films in my PJ's

Religious:

Go to a church service weekly for 4 weeks consecutively.

Tithe for 3 months straight.

To Buy:

An iPhone.

A new car

A plane ticket for someone else

The food of the people in a drive through in the car behind me

Work-Related:

Go a single day at work without making a negative comment of any kind.

Buy a nurse coffee/lunch and deliver it to them at the station

Feed each of my med students at least once as an intern

Become proficient at IV starts

Perform CPR

Extra Cash:

No new clothes for a month

Give plasma

How to: Turn a 12 hour shift into a 4 hour shift

2009-11-22T22:22:00.003-08:00

Only two hours had gone by on my first night shift in the emergency department, and I was already watching the clock. It was going to be a long night.

I was already not especially impressed with my ER rotation in the first place. The shifts were long, and since the hospital is no longer a level one trauma center, the 'emergencies' I was seeing were more on the order of people using us as a clinic and thinking that they would not have to pay. To compound my annoyance with the situation, medical students are not allowed to write notes in the emergency department, thus making our presence generally useless. I hate being useless. It makes me cranky.

The only useful thing I had done in my previous 24 hours worth of time spent on shift in the ER was a couple of rectal exams. It is a vastly disappointing day to come home from a long shift and realize that the best thing that happened to you all day was sticking your finger up someone's butt.

Anyways, I deviate from my point for this post.

So, the night was passing with great slowness, and I was already eating goldfish crackers and drinking my caffeine water in the hopes of avoiding the hypoglycemia-induced bitchiness that I am prone to and to stay high enough on my favorite drug of choice to look interested in what my attending was jabbering about. I had already talked to one very stinky, old, suicidal, homeless guy for a half hour, used all my niceness-powers to examine a four year old with a tummy ache, and had poked around on some guy with chest wall pain. Nearly four hours in and not even a rectal in sight - I was dying for a procedure!

Then, a woman came in with the diagnosis of 'boil':

I admit now, that rejoicing and dancing a small jig on account of someone having a boil is yet another one of those things that makes me a very strange person. It's also one of those things that makes me a surgeon. Moving on.

The boil was not especially large, and was located on the face of a fairly clean, young woman who was in much pain. After copious reassurance that this would not be nearly as awful as she thought and that no one in their right mind would put her to sleep for the procedure, she consented to let me lance it. With one swift stick of an 11 blade, I already had a good bit of pus and debris oozing out. After I worked as well as I could off of my stick, my attending took a stab (literally) at the deeper pocket of pus that appeared not to have been dislodged by the initial stick.

As he took to squeezing the boil with noticeable force, I stood up straight from my leaning position over the patient. It was a move that proved vital and was made none too soon. Seconds later, the lower compartment of the boil burst forth, spewing it's content in a geyser of titanic proportion...

all over me.

Every one in the room paused and exchanged mortified looks. My attending began to apologize profusely as he finished extruding pus from the patient. I took a once-over of my pus-and-blood-splattered shirt, arms, and stethoscope, and then grabbed a paper towel and began to clean other remains of the show off of the far wall, some 8 feet from the patient's head.

By that point, I was already chuckling. Seriously, what else can you do when you get hosed by a fountain of body fluids?

Once we left the exam room, I asked my attending where I could get another pair of scrubs. He told me that my night was officially over and that I was released home. He signed off that I had completed my 12 hour shift and sent me away with still more apologies.

Thus, I was able to both do an exciting procedure, laugh at myself, and sleep in my own bed, all by a twist of fate, a dash of luck, and a boil full of nastiness.

And that, my friends, is how you make a twelve hour shift into a four hour shift.

Fifty to go

2009-11-05T11:07:00.004-08:00

In case some of you were, by strange chance, unaware, I love Christmas-time move than any other time of year. Seriously, my excitement for the holiday has changed little since I was six (see above photographic evidence).

Yes, yes, like the rest of you adults, I do complain when Hobby Lobby puts out the fake trees in July every year, but secretly inside, it makes me a little giddy. It's coming. The tinsel all but whispers it was you pass the aisle looking for last minute extra Independence Day napkins.

Now that we are fully past Halloween, I am ready for the stores to accost me with the full blows of commercial insanity. Mind you, I don't like the commercial Christmas (or to be politically correct "Holiday") crap. I despise the mall more than usual at any time after Black Friday, and am thoroughly convinced that the blessed season transforms all craft stores into the sixth circle of hell.

What I do love about Christmas comes from the warmth of old memories and moments shared with those I hold dear throughout the years. I think of the many pounds of turkey eaten, the laughter exchanged, and my Papa reading the same passage from Luke of Jesus' birth. I think of treasured gifts, of my Dad's old Christmas records, and of eating Dairy Bar and driving down Cardinal street to see "Christmas Around the World".

Today marks 50 days until Christmas. I am officially allowed to break out my Christmas records (oh yes, my friend, records!) and make the first of many batches of wassail. Believe me, this isn't the last you'll hear of my excitement; rather, it is just the beginning!

Here's to the coming 50 days of love, laughter, family, friends, greetings, gifts, and overall merriment and joy.

Four letter word

2009-11-03T16:25:00.004-08:00

I try not to wax too emotional or deep on too many of my posts, so this is perhaps an exception. While I am, in fact, still a rather young person, and I have generally failed to experience anything particularly devastating, do anything particularly astounding, or have any other grand sorts of life achievements thus far, the one thing that I have been rich in is the giving and receiving of love.

Some of this musing, I suppose, comes from just having finished 'The Four Loves' by C.S. Lewis (which I highly suggest if you have the constitution to stomach Lewis' brilliance.) I guess it has me in the mindset of thinking about people and how I relate to them.

Everyone has their own ideas about love - many of them stolen or adapted from others' (as are many of mine, admittedly). But then everyone loves a little differently and sees the gift in a slightly different hue. Thus, here is a non-exhaustive list of my takes on love, in it's varieties, situations, and imperfections as it passes through human vessels:

Love is letting someone eat your fries without saying anything.
Love is driving across town in the middle of the night to kill a dive-bombing june bug of death.
Love is wanting dragon breath scented kisses in the morning.
Love is letting your children become who they are.
Love is holding a stranger's hand as they give birth because no one else will.
Love is sleeping on the porch so that your friends all have somewhere warmer to pass out after a good night out.
Love is going out late at night for Dr. Pepper and staying up making someone chew nicorette gum and drink DP to fix tummy-upset secondary to constipation.
Love is making coffee even if you don't want any.
Love is a warm hug.
Love is learning how to cook something you don't even really like.
Love is talking about the hard things and still being able to look one another in the face.
Love is a hand to hold on bad trips to the doctor.
Love is a phone call from an old friend.
Love is a box of socks and cards and wine when you lose everything.
Love is not having a glass of wine on the day you need it.
Love is knowing when to step back and when to push forward.
Love is keeping your mouth shut sometimes.
Love is saying the hard things.
Love is sharing the covers.
Love is caring for the sick when there were better plans to be had.
Love is letting someone sleep in when you cannot.
Love is a lent book or pillow or shoulder.
Love is being happy for someone who gets what you wanted.
Love is offering to wash the dishes or take out the trash.
Love is ordering cable that you don't actually need.
Love is giving an extra $20 for the fun of it.
Love is putting aside old differences for the greater good.
Love is old sweatpants and new lingerie.
Love is relinquishing the last bite of chocolate cake.
Love is a toaster oven.
Love is trips to the museum.
Love is a couch to crash on anytime.
Love is a good audience for long stories.
Love is a postcard from vacation.
Love is.

Letters that need writing

2009-10-27T10:47:00.005-07:00

Dear loyal readers (all two of you),

I apologize for the abrupt end to the 'Joy' postings. While I assure you that there was no abrupt end of my joy, I have found that blogging every day is beyond the means of my schedule and sanity. Plus I really just don't have much to say sometimes that is fit for public literary consumption. But I do promise that I will try and be more consistent with the blogging so that you can laugh at my life.

Love,

Inconsistent blogging friend

*******

Dear strange neighbor man,

I was so pleased today to see that you were wearing a shirt, since as to this point, I was beginning to wonder if you actually owned one. I would like to suggest that you continue to wear shirts as you are slightly past your prime and your breasts are larger than most womens'.

Also, thank you for waving and smiling today. It makes you a little less scary. Please stay in your yard.

Kind regards,

Resident of 611

*******

Attention men of Galveston,

The honking of car horns at me really needs to stop. I think it is fairly obvious that I am either going to or from work (from the scrubs I am wearing) or that I am working out (hence the basketball shorts and hoodie with headphones), and that I am not out trolling for a man.

Your honking both annoys and startles the crap out of me, not to mention it really is doing nothing for you in the way of attracting any attention to yourself. For that matter, since I don't have my glasses on, I can't actually see you and thus assume you to be uglier than sin.

Please go away and let me run/walk in peace.

Uninterested hottie on the sidewalk

*******

Dear Dr. Who-Will-Not-Turn-In-My-Letter-of-Recommendation,

Sir, I have given you 3 months to do this. I even wrote the stinking letter for you! All you had to do was have your secretary print it on your letter head and you sign it. How is this hard?! You're a surgeon, for crying out loud!

I am very tired of bugging your employees and secretary about this, so will you please take the 3 seconds needed to sign the beautiful letter I wrote for you about me and let us both move on with our lives?

By the way, I no longer want to be like you when I grow up. Just so you know.

Sincerely,

Disgruntled future surgeon

*******

To the nasty virus,

Please go away. I do not have the time or the patience for you right now. I will fight you with every ounce of medical knowledge I have, every old-wives trick Momma taught me, and every drug I can legally lay hands on in high doses. You picked the wrong girl - so LAY OFF.

Your inhospitable host

*******

Persistent man from bar,

If I tell you I have a boyfriend, that is girlspeak for "Leave me alone right now." It does not in any way, shape or form translate to "Keep flirting". "Explain to me how much better my life would be with you", "Make accusations that I am racist", or any other such nonsense. Regardless of whether said boyfriend exists or not, I want to be left alone.

That is all.

Girl with wine

The cat-child returns

2009-10-12T18:55:00.006-07:00

Choosing Joy - Day #9:
After a long year's stay at 'Camp Grandma', my furry child, GGP, has come home to stay with me again.

I have found, over time, that many people did not grow up loving animals like we did in my family. Pets were part of the family, and were loved and treated as such (within reasonable boundaries, of course.) I still, to this day, get Christmas gifts and the occasional card addressed from various feline and canine members of the household. It's just the kind of people we are.

I met my cat-child in my first year of medical school. I was lonely. He was a stray in my apartment complex and looked like this:
It was a perfect match!

So, being a ridiculous softie when it comes to small, furry creatures, I went a bought a litterbox and food, and rearranged funds so that I could pay the monumental pet deposit.

Then the cat disappeared that day.

And no one knew where he was (mind you, half of the complex had been leaving food out for this little guy.) I decided that some nice family with cute kids must have taken him in (this was a less-likely, but more pleasant alternative to the reality that he had most likely been hit by a car or eaten by a coyote.)

Two weeks later, after feeling like an absolute moron for having all of the trimmings of a kitty owner, yet no kitty, I went to the animal shelter to take inventory of their felines. When I stepped into the "cat room" (horrid place - makes me want to cry and take them all home and be the cat-lady forever), I looked immediately to my right, and there he was - staring at me in the indignant way that I have come to love which says 'What on earth could have taken you so long?!' I tried to be objective and look at all the other cats, but seriously, who was I kidding?

The rest I suppose has been history. GGP went from a scrawny 6 pound little street-kitty to a 17 pound pansy beast of a cat who thinks he is both part jackrabbit and part dog.

As are most avid animal lovers, I'm pretty sure he also knows way more about what's going on than people would give a common house-cat credit for. I mean look at that face... he's totally mocking me... again.
It has been a long year living without my companion and friend. He seems a little freaked out to be back in the old house, but then, I guess I cant really blame him. Hopefully he will figure out the kitty door soon and will stop cowering under the blue chair quite so much. It's so good to have our little "family" finally back together and home!

From the kid who laughs in church

2009-10-12T17:37:00.006-07:00

Choosing Joy - Day #7:

I was raised in a church and a faith where it was stressed to be perfect, or at least look it, at all times. All coloring was to be done inside the lines, per say, and all good people looked like the same cookie-cutter Christians if they were doing it right.
My church here on the island is of quite a different variety. Never have I been around a church where people so openly admit to their brokenness and short-comings. Never have I felt so free to be honest about my own.

Today I take joy in the fact that the church is set to be a hospital for the sick, not just a holding cell for the well. I take joy that people like Family N and Family T love me despite my being an oddball and an obviously cracked pot. I take joy in finally really understanding grace because I see it expressed among people I love and admire. This will be one of the hardest things to leave when my time on the island is through.

Choosing Joy - Day #8:
My clothes dryer hasn't been working. This tends to make laundry difficult.

There has been confusion betwixt my father, K, and myself as to why this weird dryer only plugs in with a 110V socket (which no doubt is why it will not heat or dry anything in a reasonable time!) It's a problem for a woman who makes piles of cadavery-scented dirty clothes every week and has only limited clothes line space.

To my surprise today, when I stuck my head in said dryer, I noted a tag on the inside of the door which read:

"Configured for natural gas"

Oops. Teehee.

The world makes sense again. Makes me glad that I can laugh at myself!

Make new friends, but keep the old

2009-10-10T20:18:00.003-07:00

Choosing Joy - Day #6:
I got to spend the better part of the day with my old high school sweetheart, B, today. He accompanied me to my cousin's wedding, as I was afraid to take anyone else who did not already know the family (the wedding held massive potential for family drama). B has been acquainted with the fam for enough years (he was at family Christmas 10 years ago and was even bitten by a cousin!), that he is not easily frightened.

Regardless of years and history, B is still one of my best friends. He is always willing to listen to my problems or hear my random tales of mischief and shenanigans. He calls me on my random cover-up bullshit that everyone else tends to not see or gloss over. He reminds me constantly that I am in that top 1%. He drives me crazy most of the time, but he's one of the best men I know.

Today I take joy in the fact that I have friends like B. May there always be people who love me more than is reasonable, for my sake.

Rolling thunder, cloudy skies

2009-10-09T10:50:00.003-07:00

Choosing Joy - Day #5:
I love thunderstorms. There is something almost magical about the air when a big one is about to roll in. The smell is unmistakable.

This afternoon, I sat out on the porch in the hammock, eating leftover chili and watching the skies go from sunny and blue to dark grey. The temperature has dropped nearly 10 degrees since this morning, and the rain has started to fall.

It's the first cold snap of autumn, one of my favorite days every year. The long, hot summer is finally over (so to speak) and cooler nights and breezier days are at hand. I might have to go looking for my sweaters soon, and it is definitely soup-making season again. Holidays, and family, and football, and feasting lie not afar.

Today, the joy is that I've survived another year to the breaking of fall. (And what a year it's been!) For all the changes in life, it's good to know the constancy of the seasons in their changes. So here's to rain for washing my car, making my front steps devilishly slick, canceling my trip to the grocery store, and making my spirit smile.

Small things

2009-10-08T15:31:00.006-07:00

Leave it to me to start a 40-day consecutive blog challenge and then disappear for several days with not a trace of writing.

All told, my wonderful friend, K, who was recently laid off from his job, came to stay with me for a few days to clear his head. During this time, he reminded me repeatedly of how bad I am at being entertaining (lovingly and half-jokingly, I assure you), but I think that maybe I'm just warped because I am entertained by such little things. Here's a catch-up on the last several days of joy from all of the little things life and love can afford.

Choosing Joy - Day #2:

K is one of the best men I know. He is an old and dear friend, and I find that any and every minute I get to spend with him is a precious one. He's one of those rare individuals who "gets" me, and despite that, still manages to like me. He laughs at my jokes too. He ranks right up there with Blue Bell Moolinium Crunch ice cream in my book. (Yes, I like him that much!)
Facial hair is not, in fact, the travesty I used to think it was on men. Nor is chest hair. Back hair, however, is something that requires a remedy, irregardless of my affections for said individual.
Free dinners - especially cheeseburgers - are always a blessing. I think the starving student mentality will never leave me.
Good football in a dirty beach bar makes for smiles all around, even if you don't like pro ball.

Choosing Joy - Day #3:

Broken air conditioners are a nasty business on the whole, however, if they get you out of work for a few days, they are one of the best things ever.
Laughing at yourself is one of the best pieces of advice ever given. Apparently I am shrinking and am no longer 62 inches, but am only 61. Maybe I'll be able to qualify for legal benefits for midgets by the time I'm 30.
The beach is a little piece of peace, no matter what goes on in my life.
Outdoor showers are one of the best things ever.
Rock candy is an excellent gift. I am also capable of making it into an excellent mess.
Any man who will go to Habas, the antique store, and the bookstore with me in one afternoon is worth his weight in gold.
Oysters on the half shell = not as awful as it should, in fact, be. Actually, they are quite splendid with a little red sauce, horseradish, Tabasco, and a saltine cracker. Here's to K for not giving me any choice as to whether I tried them.
Chopping onions and peppers and laughing at mutual teariness is eleventy-million times more fun than eating out.
Being carried to bed and tucked in: I'm not sure this has happened since I cleared 50 pounds, but it's a wonder to feel that secure with someone.

Choosing Joy - Day #4:

Days where the alarm does not have to go off are glorious. Enough said.
Coffee in the hammock.
Aquariums are no less cool than I though they were when I was a kid. Sharks are still one of the coolest fish ever. And I am fairly certain that you cannot be even remotely grumpy around penguins.
Airplanes are also cool. I'm pretty thrilled to be in the AF sometimes, even if it is complicated for the rest of my life.
Raw oysters are waaay better the second time. The texture isn't nearly as creepy.
Clint Eastwood is stinking amazing. If you have not seen Gran Tourino, shame on you. If you have not seen Escape from Alcatraz, we are no longer friends.
Live music is better than any other kind of music.
Dancing to live music is better than dancing to any other kind of music.
Dancing to Prince's Purple Rain makes my heart happy. Finally someone was worthy of it.
There are few better places than the beach at night.
You are never stronger than when on your knees in prayer. To be there with people you love only makes it better.

Choosing Joy - Day #5:

Back hair, no matter how thick, can be removed with proper technique and tools.
Holding hands is severely under-rated, at least in the scheme of affectionate touch. People should do it more - just not with me, as there are very few people who I will let touch my hands. K is actually one of those people.
Goodbyes are sad, but they're necessary to get to enjoy the beauty of hello's over again.

Choosing joy

2009-10-04T19:34:00.004-07:00

An old friend of mine has been in exceptionally poor health since we were teenagers. While she and I have grown apart over the years, our families still attend the same small-town, big Baptist church, and thus I am privy still to news there. (Additionally, the magic of Facebook, allows me to keep up with people without having to leave the comfort of my pajamas or desk chair.)

Despite her fairly crummy lot drawn for such a young life, she has decided to blog for 40 straight days about the joy she finds that day in something and has challenged others to try and do the same. It's rather "Pollyanna", I know, but I think it's something to shoot for. Besides, I spend enough time complaining about my life, or being too ruled by my own emotions sometimes to even notice the little joys of the day.

Choosing Joy Day #1:

I am so glad to have remarkably kind friends as landlords. Today, I have been the human embodiment of Murphy's law, and they have just kept rolling with the punches, laughing at me, and going with it. Here's the basic rundown.

First off, they fed me lunch today. In case you did not know, a cheeseburger and spicy-fries are one of the fastest ways to my heart.
After lunch, I noted that my faucets in the house seemed awfully dribbly. Soon thereafter, I found (a little too late) that the toilet would not, in fact, flush. At all. Oh, dear. So, I go and address my poor landlord (who is trying desperately to nap in front of the television.) 19 year old son-of-landlord finds this the appropriate time to mention that he saw water flowing out of the back of my house some 20 min ago when he took out the trash. We go and find that, yes, there is water spewing forth from the main life behind my house. Fabulous. Apparently this was a common theme among Galvestonians today because it took the guy from the city a while to get here and stop the leak. God willing, a plumber will be here tomorrow, or else I will be showering in the outdoor shower in my front yard on a permanent basis.
Somewhere in waiting for the city water guy, I managed to blow the breaker for my bedroom. My landlord again accompanied me through the rushing torrent of my water main in the back alley to show me where to flip the breaker.
Disaster struck yet again (still before city water guy made an appearance). I noted nearly a week ago that I was not, in fact, the only one living in my little house. How, one might ask, would I know this? When I opened my kitchen junk drawer on Tuesday last, I noted that all of my ketchup packets had been ripped open, the singing birthday candle was mutilated, and a tampon had been shredded. I should also mention that the drawer was filled with little black pellet poops. I immediately called my mother, informing her that she must bring my cat-child, GGP, right this minute before I was struck down with the bubonic plague. Her entire response to my relation of the tale? "Why did you have a tampon in the kitchen junk drawer?" Obviously, Mom was missing the point a bit here. So I went out and bought on of those nice, humane, fully contained mouse-trap things (as seen on recent television, or so say the people I know who have more than a pair of rabbit ears for tv stations). I baited said trap ever-so-nicely with good organic peanut butter, and set it in the drawer. When I checked it 48 hours later, to my dismay, I found the bait tray licked clean, copious amounts of rodent feces inside the trap, and the trap STILL SET. This meant war with the rodent had commenced. I went and bought normal (and considerably cheaper) wooden mousetraps. I set up two of them with the organic peanut butter (since obviously, the rodent queen liked it soooo well before!). Somewhere in the setting of said traps, I managed to snap both onto my hand, and then promptly flung them (peanut butter-laden, at this point) across the length of my kitchen. I very gingerly placed them in the drawer. An hour or two later, I heard it - Snap-Snap! I grimaced. Maybe they set themselves off. (Riiight.) I ever-so-slowly opened the drawer and caught the pitiful suffering gaze of a little brown field mouse, caught mid chew of peanut butter. Again, I compelled my landlord from his couch to come to my aid. I stood in the study and tried not to cry when they carried her out. This is why I have to be a people-doctor and not a veterinarian, people.
Since city water man turned off my water, I am roughing it a tad. The landlords let me come up to the "big house" to eat and then wash of my dinner plate. They even offered to let me shower and sleep over there if being without water was too inconvenient.

Good friends are hard enough to come by, much less good landlords. Today proved that it was good that Family N are both.

Dead bodies and potroast

2009-09-29T15:13:00.003-07:00

For as grim as yesterday was, today has, in fact, been better. I have a pot roast in the oven - the first of many fully cooked meals to come from my new kitchen. That oven certainly will be a convenience in winter - it heats this entire half of the house!

This morning, I got up early and began my arm dissection for class. I had forgotten how peaceful the gross anatomy lab can be when it's just you and the bodies. I know that sounds creepy, but it's true. I am glad that despite his youthful age of 89 and multiple medical problems, my cadaver has a hearty left arm. I kind of want to call him Charlie, but figured this might, in fact, be inappropriate since that is the name of the boy dissecting the chest attached to my arm.

A bit about C (the live one, not the embalmed version):

C was my first medical school crush. He's tall, handsome, and has a quirky sense of humor. I remember first finding him remarkable when a classical pianist came in concert to our campus; C sat at the front of the auditorium reading a book throughout the length of the performance. My friend, L, pointed him out as strange. I smiled because I had brought a book in my purse and had been reading it until L had arrived.

Of course, the only problem with the man was that I couldn't get him to talk to me. It was like pulling teeth. Just as it seemed like he might kind of warm up to me as friends, the unthinkable occurred. In an indoor soccer match, I became a human hurdle over which C fell/flew/crashed and in the process tore his ACL. C will not be playing soccer anymore. Oops. I decided that I should just drop that crush then and there.

C and I are now on speaking terms again. We like to joke about dead bodies. He's good people.

My morning with Dead Charlie was good, as I removed the skin from his entire arm in one piece and began to clean off the fat. With Aretha Franklin and Jimi Hendrix in tow, it was a delightful time. While I still love plastic surgery, and really couldn't imagine any other field, I definitely want to practice near a university center one day so that I can play with bodies and teach the young'uns. It really does me good I think.

"I love living. I have some problems with my life, but living is the best thing they've come up with so far." ~Neil Simon

A look into a dark window

2009-09-28T15:42:00.003-07:00

I'm having an anti-people kind of day.

I don't want to see them, hear them, or speak to them. Basically I want to hide from the whole of humanity in my house and let the world pass me by for a day or two until I am ready to face it again.

Alas, that luxury is not, in fact, mine.

I wonder if some of this is due to being back in the Galveston house, where I am constantly reminded and daily relive mini-moments of some of last fall's trauma. It is certainly of no help that the place is still not completely unpacked and it's making my little obsessive-compulsive mind reel.

Additionally, I find that working in the gross anatomy lab with the first year students holds some sort of sobering, self-introspective effect. I remember what it was like in their shoes, who I was then. It's a funny thing how a person changes, yet stays somewhat the same. I think Indiana Jones was right when he said "It's the years, not the mileage, kid." I feel like my mileage is competing with that on my '97 Civic these days.

Of course the major problem afoot is a relational one. The worst thing a person could do is lie to me, followed closely by ignoring and patronizing me. I have found that the unfortunate thing about love is that, if its real, it hangs on like a herpes-virus. Even when you think it's gone, it's just waiting at the base of one of your central nerves to get reactivated by some stressor. Yes, that is a freakish analogy.

All this to say - sometimes I really wonder if transforming into the successful, accomplished person that I have become/am becoming somehow makes me less and less compatible with society on the whole. It's a hard call on days like today.

A farwell to boxes

2009-09-22T15:20:00.006-07:00

At long last, I have semi-permanently moved into my home. This has been a process of some duration, as I met my home some 20 months ago, and have been unsuccessfully trying to reside there ever since.I first fell in love with my little green cottage, affectionately known as 'The Dollhouse' by my current landlords, in early 2008, when I was over here one evening for a ladies Bible study. I knew the moment that I walked into the living room that this would one day be my home. By the end of the evening, I was checking kitchen cabinets and testing out the fit of the bathtub. It was love at first sight.

I was set to move in that summer, which was perfect because my apartment lease would be up at the end of June. My landlords, Family G, were living in the little green house while their big orange house was being renovated. As with all renovations, things ran behind schedule. As we drew near to the end of June, it was evident that I would not be moving into the dollhouse quite yet. I was able to extend my lease one more month. Surely that would be adequate.

As the end of July drew near, the house was still not ready for Family G, and thus my house was still not available. My eviction date drew daily nearer, and so I moved all of my belongings into various garages of good friends, and moved into an temporarily empty apartment of a friend who was on an away rotation. This living situation persisted some 3 weeks. I started general surgery. I was in hell.

Finally, my landlord said that it was time enough - it was Labor Day weekend. We moved in Monday of the holiday weekend. Over that week, I nested as best I could amidst 14 hour work days and a 30 hour call shift. My family returned to help me paint (I can't reach the ceiling, even with a roller) the following weekend. They also brought GGP, my cat-child.Another 30 hour call. By Tuesday, it looks like one of the several ominous tropical storms this year is becoming less of a nuisance and more of a threat. By Wednesday it is headed straight for us. By Thursday morning, the television people are using the term "imminent death", and I am getting voice-mails from various family members and friends telling me in no uncertain terms to leave NOW. There are still moving boxes all over my floor.

I pack the laptop, a small overnight bag, and the cat-child in the civic and drive away.

All hell breaks loose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the next year, I shuffle around the state. This involves at least 3 more rentings of a U-HAUL, and lots of living out of suitcases and boxes. At long last, the new pseudo-landlords, Family N, claimed that the house was done. It was not. I lived with my landlords for a month.

** Side-note: No matter how nice other people's families are, living with them is never a good idea. I don't like living with people in general, but this experience only cemented this into the fiber of my being. It didn't help that this also happened to be one of the most internally and externally stressful months of my ENTIRE life. **

Finally, after a month of away rotation and the joy of my own private motel room, I have returned to a house deemed "done enough" to abide in.

No, the stove is not hooked up. The kitchen sink is draining into the yard. When I sit on my commode, I can see into the back alley. There are multiple holes large enough for mosquitoes (and other, larger, and more ominous life-forms) to make entry through. There are no interior doors. Half of the woodwork is missing. Most of the woodwork is unpainted. My porch looks like a construction truck exploded on it.

All the same, I am home. I cannot say it enough. I am home. I am home. I am home.

All my loving

2009-09-11T16:09:00.004-07:00

Saw this on my dear friend S's blog and I really don't want to be productive right now - despite being exhausted and actually having important things that I should, in fact, be doing.

(Here are "the rules" for anyone who could possibly have never seen this: Put your iTunes on shuffle. For each question, press the next button to get your answer. Use that song name, no matter how ridiculous!)

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY,” YOU SAY?
"You Shook Me All Night Long" ACDC
My itunes is trying to tell my secrets that even I did not know about apparently...

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
"Love Me Good" Michael W Smith
I can be a loving person. Sometimes.

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
"Natural Woman" Aretha Franklin with Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, & Shania Twain
Yes - he should "make me feel like a natural woman"!

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
"She's Actin Single (I'm Drinkin Double)" Gary Stewart
And if by acting single, we mean sitting alone working on a spreadsheet on a weekend night, then YES!

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
"Love's Lookin Good on You" Lady Antebellum
I'm working on it, if I could just stop scaring the fellas off!

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
"Right or Wrong" George Strait
So very, somewhat sadly true...

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
"Never Take Friendship Personal" Amberlin
Um, I really hope not!!!

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
'Carrying Your Love With Me" George Strait
This is true being it that I can't seem to live in one place for long these days.

WHAT IS 2+2?
"While My Guitar Gently Weeps" Martin Luther McCoy
Weeping because I cannot perform simple mathematics...

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
"She's Every Woman" Garth Brooks
True of all of those wonderful ladies!

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
"Before We Ever Heard Goodbye" Deana Carter
Eww, this hits poignantly close to home... make it go away

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
"As the Rain" Saving Corinth
Okay, I get this one, but no one else might.

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
"Epiphany" Staind
Maybe I'll have one when I grow up? Or better yet, maybe the epiphany is that I'm not actually growing up, just acquiring mileage...

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
"One Last Breath" Creed
He kinda makes me catch my breath... that counts.

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
"To Make You Feel My Love" Garth Brooks
Aww, warm fuzzies :)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
"I Get Carried Away" George Strait
Sweet, but too predictable for me. And I swear I listen to more than George Strait.

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
"You Aint Seen Nothin' Yet" Bachman-Turner Overdrive
If I live in a way that this gets played at my funeral, I'll be pretty durn pleased!

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
"The Noble Men of Kyle" Fightin' Texas Aggie Band
So it's either Aggie Football or men named Kyle... yes.

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
"Any Way You Want It" Journey
No comment.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
"Walking on a Dream" Empire of the Sun
What is this? WHY do I own this? My friends are nothing like this piece of musical garbage!

WHAT’S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
"Sangria Wine" Jerry Jeff Walker
I don't drink sangria, and I'm not sure I want to now...

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
"Put a Penny In the Slot" Fionn Regan
Weird. No more vending machines for me.

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
"Kerosene" Miranda Lambert
Kerosene (or any other combustibles) do not lend themselves to any of my better decisions... and "givin' up on love" would actually be classifiable as a worst regret.

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
"Feelin' Love" Paula Cole
I am actually a giggler when it comes to the fellas. Sorry guys.

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
'When Johnny Comes Marching Home" Fightin' Texas Aggie Band
I do admit to tearing up watching the band... and anytime I see soldiers coming home...

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
"It's All Been Done" BareNaked Ladies
Oh really, I wasn't told...

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
"The Boars Head" Cast Of Elizabethan Madrigal Feast 2000
Hahaha! Since I'm singing in that recording, it is pretty scary!

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
'Bad Day" Daniel Powter
Apparently not. Sad day.

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
"Alive" SR-71
Apparently, besides being married, I'm also dead.

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
"Flower in the Rain" Jaci Velasquez

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
"All My Loving" Jim Sturgess
I love this song. Yay. And I'm sorry, Beatles, but this version might be better than yours. I know that's absolute musical sacrilege.

Hole-y General Shenanigans

2009-09-07T08:13:00.008-07:00

My father likes to remind me that I have a certain knack for finding myself amidst strange situations. This week at Lackland has been no exception. As you might guess from the title, specifically there were events involving holes, a General, and some shenanigans. (Note: These were ALL mutually exclusive events - shenanigans with Generals is pretty much off-limits - even to rule-bending little lieutenants like me who can't seem to do anything normally!) Finally I am going tell a crazy medical story (my friend, S, assures people I have them, but I've been awfully poor about telling them), as well as regale you with my random awkward military situation of the week, and even a small glimpse into a story about a fella (something you just aren't going to get detail about on a blog accessible to people who know my parents!)

Wednesday night: Holes
We have a late night surgery. These cases always tax my patience. I am that obnoxious, up-and-at-'em morning glory in the early hours, but that sunshine and sweetness rubs off pretty well by the time we hit normal quitting time (or more realistically, around 1430 for me.) I don't do night time work. I'm grumpy.

Basically, this patient is on his second recurrence of rectal cancer (serious bummer, as he's not even 50), so he has having his second radical pelvic resection (translation: hack out pelvic contents and chunks of bones and zap it all with an argon beam "light sabre" to make him cancer free). The general surgeons and orthopods were in charge of the resection, and we, the plastics team, were in charge of closing up whatever hole they left (step aside Dr. Rey 90210 and let the real plastic surgeons take over!) Anyways, not to get too technical, but the hole we were expecting to fill was supposed to be on front of the pelvis with the patient in the lithotomy (translation: birthing) position. We had planned a complicated surgical plan involving some flaps from his thighs (antereolateral thigh flap) to make this work - even getting CT scans and dopplers to make sure all of the blood vessels were right for the procedure.

We get called to the room at 1700. Something is definitely not right. That body on the table (presumably our patient) is laying prone (translation: on his belly) and there is a meteor-worthy crater smack in the middle of his hind end.

All members of the plastic surgery team utter expletives of choice.

This is both a last minute surprise and a drastically different problem than any of us were prepared to deal with. The original planned flaps would not remotely reach this hole. And when I say, hole, I don't mean little gap or gash - we're talking so wide that I could place both of my fists inside without touching the walls and I could see the artificially crafted front abdominal wall clearly by looking through this poor man's butt. BIG HOLE.

This was another defining case as to why I want to do plastic surgery for the rest of my life. Daunted, but not defeated, my very young faculty member, the intern orthopod, and I kicked up the classic R&B on the stereo, scrubbed up, and did what all good surgeons were made to do - make stuff up as you go.

It was freaking amazing.

All former plans were out, and we just had to work with what was sitting in front of us. We got the crater closed after a few hours, some serious ingenuity, lots of staples, and with a little help from the chief plastic surgeon who we called at home and made come in to help us. Best case of the month and possibly year, by far.

(Note: Patient is doing well, or was at least when I last checked on him Friday afternoon.)

Thursday Night: Generals
Wednesday night late night operations (also involving me getting locked out of my office and having to call half of Wilford Hall Medical Center to get someone to unlock it so that I could get keys and my uniform so that I could go home) followed by a first start (translation: 0600 arrival to hospital) case the next morning had made for a long 24h. My stress was deepened by the fact that I was supposed to have my interview via phone with my first choice military residency at Travis AFB that afternoon, but it was canceled on me. I hate being canceled on. I know it happens, but it just seems to happen to me unusually more than to others. Enough whining, turning the page now.

I was people-weary and needed some serious mind-clearing. Those who know me well know that this often means parking myself at the local watering hole with a book in one hand and a brew in the other. And such was this afternoon, I found my way to the Gateway Club (enlisted/officers club on base) for "social hour" beer prices and free endless popcorn. I had my favorite recent trashy book in tow, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. It's really a truly reprehensible work of literature. It is also one of the funniest thing's I've read in a while. This might, in fact, make me a bad, tasteless person.

I was enjoying the general solitude, my book, and my beer with little attention to anything else. Two men around my fathers' age (freshly 56 as of yesterday - many happy returns, Dad!) come and sit next to me. I assume that they're a couple of older sergeants and continue with my book and beer. Thursday night is "you be the cook" night, so you buy chunks of raw meat from the barmaid and go season them and throw them on the grill on the patio yourself for a set fee. It's pretty cool, actually. As the gentlemen are walking out to the patio, one asks me if I want a burger. Never one to pass up food, I accept and he orders another burger on his tab.

They introduce themselves to me by first name and we stick to that standard for the rest of the night. We cook our food, drink our beers, and generally just shoot the breeze. It was fun, as they were really nice guys and were genuinely interested in my role in the medical corps. While we were chowing down, an enlisted-man in uniform came up and shook one of the guy's hands and I overheard, ".... General, sir...."

Oh. Holy. Crap. Seriously?

I try to ignore it, though now I'm a little more nervous than before. Conversation and drinking and eating continues. I truly haven't met such a nice couple of normal people to sit and talk with in a long, long time.

As we get up to leave, the gentleman who offered me a burger in the first place holds out a coin in his hand and asks if I know what it is. Thinking he's challenging me to produce one of my own (a military bar-room behavior usually used to get some poor sucker who forgot their coin to buy a round of drinks) I stick my hand in my purse. He laughs at me and shakes my hand, leaving said coin in it and tells me to take care of myself. I draw back my hand and see two stars - the mark of a Major General.

Oh. My. HolyMotherOfNancy.

I had seen a two-star general once, but certainly never spoken to one (and certainly not in my normal manner of frankness!), much less drank beer with one. But there it is. I had burgers and beer with a real live Major General and his 1st in command staffer (who no doubt was every bit of a Colonel) on just one more of my average Thursday nights. Life is strange.

Friday Night: Shenanigans
The use of the term 'shenanigans' originally reached me via my favorite cousin, B. B had quite the knack for finding trouble when we were a bit younger, and his phone code term with his friends for when one of them was getting/had gotten into some of their usual 'trouble' with a girl (usually one who's name they couldn't remember) was 'shenanigans'.

My friend, L, and I adopted the term a few years back, and have been known to send one word texts of such nature at all hours of the night when we happen to run into such amiable encounters (Note: we use the term a lot more mildly than B and his friends - we are NOT the kind of gals who take to sleeping around, and thus find entertainment value in far more mild encounters). So much is conveyed in one little word between good friends. The use of it has spread to several of my other girls (S, M, and A), and we all celebrate when someone finds the chance along the way for some shenanigans.

Friday night, I was not looking for shenanigans. I was looking for hot wings. I left base with the specific intention to pick up and handful of movies at Target, wings and fries from Buffalo Wildwings, and to spend the rest of the evening on my bed enjoying said items with a couple of beers. I ordered my food to go, and stepped into the bar to wait and read for a bit.

My friend, A, was having a rough night, so I ordered a tall Killians in her honor to drink for her as she was on a church trip. Halfway through my beer, my food buzzer went off, so I left my brew in the care of a kind older man while I jogged back to the front of the restaurant to procure my dinner. I then came back to the bar to finish my beer and another chapter of my book. After doing so, I grabbed my to-go bag and headed for the door.

I am flagged down at the door of the bar by a table full of soldiers, one in uniform. Oh boy.

Mind you, I'm not looking cute AT ALL - bad hair day, dirty blue jeans, and a shirt that I've had called frumpy, I believe by K. And I was clearly the girl who was reading a a book at the bar. The big-mouthed sergeant in uniform asks me why I've been treating that bar door like a rotating door. After brief explanation of my activity, uniform boy and crew inform me that I should sit down and eat my wings at their table and get another beer. He is also quick to add that his buddy needs to meet a girl. Poor buddy in question looks awkwardly shy at this request.

It's not like I actually had a better plan for the evening.

I sit down and try to both eat my wings and carry on a decently polite introductory conversation with W - aka 'boy-who-has-no-game-and-needs-to-meet-girl'. This is more difficult than expected. Wings are not a first-date food. The buddies very, very obviously turn away and have their own conversation as to give W a fighting chance for hitting on me. It was pretty comical.

W offers that he has a hot tub as his apartment and asks if I want to come over later. This might be a pretty amateur line, but in all frankness, a hot tub sounded heavenly and this guy was actually respectably nice and intelligent. His buddies were thrilled, to say the least. We all left and headed out separate ways, I with a couple of napkins with scrawled information of a phone number and address at which to locate W.

Might I mention, that hot-tubbing in the rain is a fantastic evening activity. We sat, I kid you not, on opposite ends of said hot tub and talked for about two straight hours. It was a really good time. We fell asleep in separate recliners watching Dexter.

The rest of this story, fortunately/unfortunately will be left to your imaginations. I remind you that I am a good, southern girl and that I play by the rules 98% of the time. Past that, I have only one word left on the subject:

Shenanigans.

Rebel without a cause

2009-08-29T14:43:00.004-07:00

I have always been a pretty straight-laced, good kid. (UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE YEAR ALERT!)

Actually, I've spent most of my life as a close runner-up to some of the most ridiculously goody-two-shoes kind of gals you've probably ever met. I am a perpetual people pleaser and a rule-abiding citizen. As a child/tween/teen/early-twenties person, I would have shuddered at the thought of crossing any line against social norms - or even getting my toes near that line. That rebellion bug that bites people somewhere in their teenage years, somehow inconveniently never bit me.

Until now.

Somehow as a close-enough-to-really-grown adult, I have this itch about me to do a lot of the things I never would have as a younger, more responsible person. It's not that I want to do anything bad or illegal, I just don't want to always be the sweet, small-town girl that everyone and their grandmothers (literally, I know people's grandmothers!) still think that I am.

I'm going to graduate with my MD in about 9 months and will also be taking on a Captain's commission in the AF. I've run a long straight course up to this point and think it might be time to deviate a tad while I'm still young enough to survive my own questionably bad decisions and possibly still have friends who can and will do the same.

Maybe I'm posting this because I want people to talk me down off my little spat of irresponsible urges. My guess is I'm looking for encouragement and partners in crime to peer pressure and egg me on enough (read: get enough ethanol in my veins) to make me actually be serious and go through with some of these things...

I want to take a ridiculous and long road trip. I want it to have no plans but a final destination. This is SO not the way I like to run my life usually, and I think I'd benefit from flying by the seat of my pants for a while. Ideally this trip needs to be made with friends, probably the rare kind who I am close enough to and know me well enough that:

They will not get fed up with me and leave me at a roadside stop in nowhere New Mexico
I do not decide to do anything really stupid without people right there with me being stupid too
Cheaper motel stays and safety in numbers to eat at nastier diners along the way
More characters to write in the book that will most assuredly need writing afterward

I want a tattoo. (Dad, if you ever end up reading this, I'm so sorry. Go take a blood pressure pill now. And DON'T tell Mom.) I've been mulling over this more and more lately. I found a caduceus design that I liked in a stained glass window: I want to incorporate the Hebrew words Jehovah Rapha (God our Healer) somehow on it. That's the idea for now. It may be my residency matching gift to myself. It scares me and excites me all at once.
I want red cowboy boots. I don't care how cheesy, 80's movie it is of me. There is a boot store here on base and it's tax-free. I'll bet this one won't take long to fold on.
I want to go skinny dipping. I never have. I despise my own nakedness more than almost anything on the planet. Nonetheless, it's gonna happen. My partner in crime, M, says she'll back me on this one. If not here, then somewhere.

I think my rebellious venting for the day has ended. I'm going to go cook a nice traditional chicken dinner now and work on my research project and residency applications like the good little medical student that I am. Well, maybe...

Letters from Lackland

2009-08-25T15:46:00.005-07:00

So, moving back to the island and finding out the the AF won't let me do plastic surgery somehow put me in a stress state that dissolved my ability to write for the last month. Oddly enough, now that I'm removed from most of my "comfortable" surroundings and am living out of a glorified motel room on Lackland AFB, I feel relaxed enough to blog again.

I've been on the base for just over 48 hours. Mind you, I had not set foot on a military installation since summer 2006 when I finished my training at Maxwell in Alabama. Here are a few things I might have forgotten...

Every building on an AF base looks the same. All of the streets have dumb military names. There are random airplanes everywhere. Getting lost is freaking imminent.
The Air Force is the service to choose: check out the 'barracks' I am being forced to stay in. And no, I don't make that bed - the maid comes every day and makes it all pretty. Yes, my maid. GO AIR FORCE! (Shameless plug.)
Enlisted people are either of the incredibly bright and helpful variety or the incredibly stupid and immature kind. This tends to correlate directly with age. Thus, every young, cute man I meet is both an imbecile and off-limits to me as an officer.
Military clothing sizing sucks. I may wear a size six skirt in civilian clothes, but I'm a freaking TWELVE in military skirts. I hate you, Uncle Sam.
This is not OTS. Mild wardrobe infractions do not result in you being publicly screamed at and humiliated. In fact, people are really nice about it and almost act like they feel bad to be correcting you.
Saluting happens - even to weenie lieutenants. Don't freeze like a freaking Greek statue - salute back and move on.
Government cafeteria food is both better prepared and WAY cheaper. My total lunch prices have yet to break two dollars. Mind you, I am NOT on a diet and have not been in a rush. The meals I've had would cost around seven bucks anywhere else and would have clogged my arteries more.
Uniforms are way more complicated than normal clothes - especially more than scrubs. Wool is also not my favorite fabric when the temperature is in the triple digits. However, the advent of the new green suede, no-shining-required boots make life happier. So long, evenings of black shoe polish and rags.
Tax free shopping is EVERY DAY. HALLELUJAH.
A kitchenette with a double hotplate and a microwave may seem puny at first glance, but after living in my landlords' home for the past month, any place where I can cook dinner, drink wine, and generally make culinary mayhem in my skivvies is a good, good place.
Military people are good people - almost on the order of being all considered honorary Texans - even the yankees.
The next 5 years may not be so bad after all. I am starting to look forward to my life as Captain Funk, MD!

Missing Austin

2009-07-21T21:46:00.001-07:00

I've complained a lot about living in Austin this year. It's hard to be happy about living somewhere when it's only because a hurricane ate your home, belongings, and medical school. The town is liberal and artsy, and in general I find that I am neither. It is, by far, the largest city I have ever lived in, and so I experienced many firsts - daily traffic being my favorite, of course!

However, after spending 8 out of the last 10 months grumbling about Austin, its traffic, its layout, and its inhabitants, I will admit I've grown a little attached to the place. I will take this moment to share some of the things that I actually will miss about our capitol city:

Lack of mosquitoes: Seriously, there are almost no bugs here - especially not the blood-sucking kind. It almost makes me understand why people would want to move this far away from the ocean. Almost.
Midnight Rodeo: I met some really fantastic people at this dance hall. I met J, who while dating didn't work, he's still one of my favorite ATX finds. He makes me laugh. I met my waltzing buddy, C, who is just about one of the most darling boys ever. And he works for UPS, which for some reason is just super cool. I smarted off to K and learned how to one-step because of it. And people like" One line Louie" will just always be priceless memories. Nowhere else in the world will starting the night with a shot of Patron and a Shiner chaser ever feel so right.
Indian food: Austin was not the first place I tried it, but it was the first place I loved it. I'm not sure if I can find any as good on the island as I did here.
My granite counter-tops: I got spoiled. Bad. Granite is just lovely in every respect. When I grow up and actually make real money, it's going to be in my kitchen again, mark my words! (Just do NOT sit on it in short shorts/skivvies - COLD!!!)
Sunrise over the city: While driving in this town has generally been the bane of my existence whilst here, the sunrises as viewed from northbound MoPac are really quite splendid.
The wine guy at my HEB: I don't know if her actually remembers who I am when I stop my his little cart, but he still acts like he does! He always gives me a sample of all of the wines he has available that day and gives good advice in that regard. He totally told me to call the store and ask for him if I ever have wine issues in Galveston. I just might do it!
Strange homeless people: Wait... we have those on the island too.... Never mind...
Hill country scenery: While I do love the beach, I will admit - this is possibly one of the most beautiful regions of Texas. Driving down 2222 has been one of the most breathtaking drives I've made - ever. I will miss the rolling hills, the dry climate... but probably not cedar fever...
Wings to Go: Having a hot-wings place literally around the corner has been a both dangerous and wonderful amenity. You know you're becoming dependent when the little Asian and Hispanic fellas that work the place know you by name when you walk in. Having 10 extra-hot wings with spicy waffle fries in just 15 minutes whenever I wanted was seriously amazing. I don't know how I'm going to make it without.
My massage therapist, A: 4'10' and completely blind. I swear, this woman can tackle any knot my body can offer. She is seriously a miracle worker! Not to mention B and W who worked the desk and ALWAYS were so helpful at working me in at a moment's notice for massages. You know you've found an amazing massage place when even the desk people want to hug you goodbye when you leave town. Seriously - shameless plug for Massage Heights on the south-side!
Unlimited swimming pool access: One of the few benefits an apartment holds over a house is the everlasting availability of pool and pool-chairs. I think the beach will be a fair substitute all the same.
Excuse for acting hippie-esque: I kinda like the idea of going bra-less or acting a little strangely and just blaming it on the town. I'm fairly certain that I can continue this behavior on the island and no one will really be fussed.
Owning a dishwasher: I'm going to miss this. End of story.
The University of Texas: Who the hell are we kidding?! Gig 'em!!!!!
M, my partner in crime: I don't even know where to begin. I brag on this gal enough behind her back that she needs to hear some of it in front of her face. I'm not sure I could even ask for a better confidant and supportive friend to have seen me through a hellacious year of natural disaster, man mishaps, depression, doubts, iffy decisions, and nervous breakdowns. She's always there to grab a beer with me, go dancing , eat hot-wings, or just listen to me gripe. She cheers me on when I doubt my intelligence or my sexiness. She's got my back when any man tries to break my heart or anyone tries to stomp my dreams. She kicks my ass repeatedly at darts to keep me good and humble. She is truly the best of women and I admire and so much hope that I in some ways resemble her. Love you, M.

So I'm way excited about going home, but there are definitely things to be missed when I go.

There's no escape... EVER

2009-07-18T07:05:00.000-07:00

So my partner-in-crime M and I decided to go to a concert from this free Texas country music series Wednesday night. Usually it's just one artist at this little old Austin outdoor venue, and this week was supposed to be Roger Creager (sings "The Everclear Song" and "Long Way to Mexico" to name a couple you should know). But this week was special, Radney Foster (another Texas country music artist for my unlearned readers) was turning 50, so he, and Roger, and Pat Green, and Cory Morrow, and Kevin Fowler, and Jack Ingram, and about 6-7 other artists were ALL playing for FREE. Exciting? YES!

So we studied hard all day at the coffee-shop (because our boards are still forthcoming, but are drawing uncomfortably near!), got out there to the Hills Cafe good and early (or so we thought!), parked half a mile away (which was, in fact, the closest parking available), powerwalked in like crazy-women in flip-flops, waited in a looong line outside, and FINALLY we got our wristbands and were IN! (Shortly thereafter, they reached capacity. It's a tiny, standing room only kinda place, not to mention it was about 103 degrees out there - so being cozy was an understatement.) So we got our ridiculously overpriced adult beverages of choice (thank God we were in central TX and could count on one non-light beer choice that was appropriate for women of such fine tastes - hurrah for canned Shiner!) and started to shuffle forwards into the crowd so that maybe we'd be able to see a little of the stage. Somewhere in there a boy spills beer down my shirt and we make friends with him and his buddies. This scores us a safe spot to stand where even I, queen of the short kids, have a halfway decent view of the stage.)

The phones beep.

Text from J (the ex-boy from this past fall): "How bad does stomach pain get before you should be worried?"

M and I take one look at each other and both start madly texting him back with history and physical exam questions. (Medical note: We even went as far as to fully explain out the psoas sign test to him and made him do it - all via texting.) We discuss J's tendency to be a weenie (just a month ago he was texting me saying he "was going to die" from this allergies that were relieved completely once we convinced him to take his allegra and use his nose spray every day.) If he was going to mess up the first concert I had been to since my freshman year of college for a case of gas, I was gonna kill him! After both of us had peppered the boy with questions for 30 min, we had a general picture of what was going on - we were 60/40 sure that he might have appendicitis. He claimed to be in the fetal position and was asking where the closest ER was, so we told him to hang tight and left. I got to hear the opening warm-up band. It was fun while it lasted.

1930: So we made the half-mile powerwalk back to the car (at least we got exercise!) and headed to J's place (luckily not far away.) He didn't look to bad when we got there, but we immediately started bossing him around and doing abdominal exams, etc. We decided that he was actually sick and were still suspicious of the appendicitis, but we wanted to monitor him. So we dropped by my place to grab some pretzels, tasty beverages, and my trusty SpongeBob thermometer. So M and I were enjoying our beverages and periodically checking temps and abdominal exams on poor J while he was huddled up under his big fleece Aggie blanket watching Southpark (mind you, it was so hot in that apartment that M and I borrowed some of his shorts). Once his fever spiked to 101.3, we decided it was, in fact, time to go. So we loaded poor J into M's SUV and headed to the nearest ED.

2100: We checked him in and I went back to the triage nurse area with him, the nurse barley asked what was going on and he all but bursts into tears and told me I'd have to talk. I tried not to look at the boy like he was crazy, but I generally don't see my man friends crying and shaking. Anyways, we got it taken care of and J got processed quickly (thank God!) Once we all got to the back, I had to help the poor kid get out of clothes and into hospital gown (that became my job since I had semi-dated him, according to M). They finally got some pain meds in him and he was better (Dilaudid is a beautiful drug). One CT scan down and they came in and told us they wanted one with contrast. So then we got to coach contrast drinking/hold the vomit bag while he backtracked our progress. Finally he was able to keep enough down and hold it down long enough to get CT #2.

Mind you, over all these hours, we are in the setting of a typical city ED. Some lady came in having bouts of screaming and cursing, and J would look around terrified at M and I who were calmly reading our boards study books and not even looking up.

J: " Whha-why is she screaming like that?"
M: "She's on drugs."
J: "Why do people act like that?"
Me: "She's crazy. Go back to sleep."

J fluctuated from asking for cheeseburgers to partially filling several little blue emesis bags. There were some adventures in trying to get a urine sample (he got nauseous every time he stood up and wouldn't pee lying down in the bed-urinal thing.) We all watched some show about teaching obese people to pole dance. M and I quizzed each other back and forth on boards materials. Fun times were had by all.

The doctor came in (by now its 0300) to confirm YES, it WAS the appendix and they had called the surgeon.

VICTORY for the 4th year med students!!!!!!!!

M and I waited a while for the surgeon, but were crashing fast, so we left for a while to get food, take naps and come back later. We'd hoped to make it back for his operation at 0700 - totally didn't happen. We did go see him later in the afternoon, and he was back to good old J. We immediately made him show us his surgical scars (I can't go in a hospital room and not do that to the person in the bed - it's embedded in me!) and saw the pictures of the appendix from his medical chart. There were congratulations all around on a job well done.

All of this to say, I learned that I'm never going to be able to escape my work... For the rest of my life, I'm going to be dropping whatever I'm doing and running to take care of other people. Strangely enough, after all of this was said and done, I realized that I'm pretty okay with that.

Sweet, sweet validation

2009-07-15T12:39:00.000-07:00

Today, I was once again reminded why it is that I am going to school for a lifetime and suffering so long at the hands of educators. I've spent the last 7 hours in a local coffee shop studying (good for me!) and took a brief lunch break at the Taco C around the corner. I approached the counter and frustration ensued:

Me: Hi there. Is it possible to get the fajita quesadilla with both chicken and beef, or can I only have one or the other?

*Full 5 second pause where the seemingly-average young woman behind the register stares blankly at me with her jaw slightly dropped. My fairly temperate blood pressure edges up 5 points*

Taco C Lady: (broken from her aghast reverie) So you want... chicken? (starts to poke at the register keypad intently)

Me: (tries not to look annoyed - if you know me AT ALL, you know this attempt was unsuccessful) No. I want to know if the quesadilla is available combonation or is I must choose only beef or only chicken.

*3 second stare of comparative blankness to the first. My blood pressure rises 10 more points*

Taco C Lady: Yes.

Maybe I'm just impatient (my mother would tell you it's because of that and that I have a mean streak) or too demanding on the human race as a whole. Maybe my medical school bubble has just sheltered me from the general stupidity of the average working world. In any case, I, for one, am glad to be racking up debt for the sake of gathering degrees that will ensue that I will never work with people the likes of this lummox I witnessed today and her 2 billion counterparts that I am sure are spread throughout the majority of the lower and middle food-service industry.

There's today's validation of my misery.

Plight of the brilliant

2009-07-08T08:50:00.000-07:00

I was astonished a few weeks ago when my friend, N, brought up that as almost-doctors, we are statistically considered to be in the top 1% of the world in regards to intelligence. Frankly, I found the matter terrifying and appalling (even with the aid of a good cabernet!) Honestly, I know the kids in my medical school class. I have seen them in action both in the hospital wards and the local watering holes, and let's face it - we're a strange bunch, to say the least. We do LOTS of VERY stupid things. Habitually, even. I am, by far, no exception to that rule.

Case in point: I have my second round of medical boards looming at the uncomfortable distance of less than 2 weeks. There are two parts. One is a 9 hour multiple choice (not the easy kind like in college!) objective test of all of my clinical (Sidenote: I mispelled 'clinical' here and the computer wanted to change it to 'comical' - random chance? certainly not!) knowledge, and the other is a 10 hour (sing we joyous all together) exam with standardized patients who I must see/diagnose/convince I'm not a blithering idiot in fast sucession while being videotaped. (Side note: I paid $550 and $1550 for these two precious torture expereinces, respectivley.)

All of this would suggest, to any reasonable sort of person, that I should, in fact, be madly panicking and studying and dragging random unlucky persons into my house so I can practice poking/prodding/prying into them at lightning speed. Instead, here are just a few of the things I have done over the past few days:

1. Cleaned the top of my kitchen pantry and refrigerator. The dust bunnies were starting to look fierce.
2. Had >30 min conversations with at least two persons who I have not seen in >3 years. One of these involved a trip to San Antonio.
3. Sang and danced along with my Muppet Show album (vinyl). The Muppets are, in fact, still one of the coolest things ever.
4. Sang and danced along the Handel's Messiah, also on records. I pretend I sing both soprano and baritone when no one else is around.
5. Posted a blog and started actually letting people know how strange I am. I had watermelon for lunch again.
6. Packed and sent clothes to charity. I'm so tired of moving all of the clothes that I never wear.
7. Facebook-stalked EVERYONE. This means you.
8. Packed boxes. I hate moving. This will be my 5th move in a year. More about the next move in the near future.
9. Ate hot wings at least twice. I crave them when I'm studying.
10. Got a 90 min massage. My therapist is better than yours.

Somewhere in there about 800 practice questions and 200 pages of a review book got trampled through as well. Now I feel guilty and will go study for an hour until the ADD gets the better of me again...

I carried a watermelon

2009-07-05T12:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, it dawned on me that it really was summer, and thus watermelon season. I promptly went to HEB and purchased two of them for myself.

Call me crazy, but I just plain don't like fruit. There's something in the sweetness and squishiness that makes that texture-obsessed, semi-autistic child inside of me cringe. There are a few of the berries that I will tolerate in a smoothie, but other than that fruit is just a negative in my otherwise fairly-health-conscious dietary regime. Watermelon is the one exception. I love watermelon - rather freakishly actually (one summer in college, I ate 15 of them on my own over the course of 2.5 months). But of course, it's really not that I just love any old watermelon - it has to be correctly selected and served.

My sister is the true family artist of watermelon thumping. I am more on the mediocre lines of it. Nonetheless, I will spend a good 10 min standing next to the bin of seedless melons (the only kind that should, in fact, exist for human consumption) thumping and rearranging the pile until I have chosen what I believe to be the best of the bunch. (Note: While I am also a fan of little cotton sundresses, particularly in the heat of July, I suggest slightly hardier, more pants-like attire for watermelon-thumping. I'm not so much a fan of everyone at my rather large HEB knowing the nature of my underpants.)

I am also a firm believer in the chilling and carving of this particular melon, and will generally decline to eat it any other way. Generally a watermelon needs to spend a good 12 h in the fridge before at a good temperature for eating. I always slive ine into quarters and will often 'flash-chill' a quarter in the freezer if I'm too anxious to wait. (For that matter, waiting until the top layer is crusted in ice crystals is a particularly fabulous way to enjoy one's watermelon, assuming you do not posess sensitive teeth.) After approprite chilling, the quarter melon should be sliced into cubes and either placed in a serving bowl (for people nice enough to share) or eaten directly with the carving knife out of the rind (my preferred method.)

I think this is why God didn't allow me to have a tolerance for fruit - one is enough for this neurotic kid to manage the art of.

So it begins

2009-07-03T10:18:00.000-07:00

I never thought I was the kind of person to blog.

After weighing the options, however, (not to mention becoming vastly dissatisfied with answering yet more online practice questions in preparation for my second round of medical board exams) I decided that this might be an adequate therapeutic outlet. It is not difficult to surmise, after one finds oneself talking back (out loud, mind you) to prompts about osteosarcomas on the laptop screen, that an outlet of such nature is not only recommended, but necessary. For that matter, those who know me best know that I love a good story - especially if I'm the one telling it. Thus, here's my forum - a place to kick back with a tasty beverage and recount the slightly awkward twists that I seem to throw into life.