It's my birthday (and I'll rant if I want to)

So, following in Sarah's lead (although sadly, I don't have the tiara), happy birthday to me.

It's my very first 29th birthday, in case you were wondering.

And thanks to all for the lovely cards and phone calls and emails. I miss each and every one of you (and a few who didn't even bother to acknowledge the day, a-HEM. See what you get for your birthdays...).

My one aunt sent me a card wishing me a man this year. I think she was kidding (although, as long as I get to pick him out - or there's a gift receipt so I can return him - I'm actually cool with that. Frankly, could be the best gift yet).

So how am I celebrating? Well, I've spent an awful lot of time on the phone. And I may order pizza for dinner (there was some talk of going out, but, well, I haven't heard anything, and it's after 6, and I slept through lunch, so...). Oh, and I was on call last night. Which was fan-freaking-tastic. And I slept for two hours. And lost the ability to use my typical line, "oh, and it's not even my birthday!" when people called me up and said they had a patient for me to see.

Eh, it's a corny line. It's not such a big loss.

But I did come home and take a big fat post-call nap (seriously, there's nothing better than the post-call nap, when you're really tired and your bed is so comfy and ohh...) with the dog. Who was so glad to see me this morning, even if she did cry all the way home from the day care/kennel place. Aww.

Actually, the birthday part of being on call last night wasn't so bad. The people in Screening and Admissions (intake, basically) had dinner for me, which was so incredibly nice that I almost cried (but, I'm a big girl). The woman who runs the place and who actually coordinated dinner was all upset that she didn't get to actually cook, but wow, that Stouffer's makes a darn good lasagna. And then there was apple pie, with ice cream.

Which I ate out of a styrofoam cup. Apparently, pie-in-a-cup is "such a hospital thing", or at least this is what I'm told. I say, ??? Seemed like a darn good (and darn portable) idea to me.

It was very nice. And I took some back for the med unit nurses (and the RT, whom I dragged in on his day off), and they were all very excited. I mean, there was pie in a cup, for Pete's sake! And that particular group tends to take pretty good care of me. It was nice, in spite of the scary episode with the kid that ensued and the train wreck admission at 3am.

I have to say, as much as I miss everyone back home (which is a LOT), I do rather like it here.

So, just prior to this dinner episode, though, Dr. Asshole struck again. One of our nurses is pregnant - the one I made the hat for - like, seven-ish months. So, she has a fair amount of baby hanging off the front of her, right? So, right before he leaves, she was giving him crap about how he was going to be a nerd and go home and read journal articles instead of going out to dinner with the group from work that was going out last night. It was totally jovial, not, like, an actual attack on his character or anything. And he points to himself and says, "Um, let's see...cardiologist...and, what are you again?" Which he then recanted (given our reaction) to "Well, not a cardiologist." And we all were a little incredulous, and she gives him a little lip back, and so he points to his scrawny-ass, never eats anything (well, okay, he only eats carbs, and meat, on Fridays. Like he's some sort of Atkins Anti-Catholic or something. And this is all rumor because it's not like we ever see him actually eat), not-especially-attractive abdomen and says, "Or, okay, um, six pack and what? One pack?"

We were all just a bit floored that he'd actually just said that to, well, anyone (asshole), but particularly to a. pregnant. woman. I mean, really though. I was a little dumbfounded.

He's actually pretty lucky he didn't say that to me, to be quite honest.

So then we spent the next half hour or better talking about what an asshole he was. And I spent the rest of the evening saying "Well, but if you were a cardiologist..." every time something went a little bit awry down there.

Oh, and PS, um, you're not a cardiologist any more than I am right now, buddy. Being accepted for a fellowship does not equate to actually having completed that fellowship. And what's so special about cardiology, anyway? It's not particularly elite, and to invoke a bit of a cliche, it's not exactly neurosurgery.

Jackass.

This really bothers me, in case you haven't figured that out yet.

One. More. Week. And fortunately, my two remaining calls are with two of the attendings I actually sort of like. Although, one of the nurses told me a really disappointing story about one of them last night, which involved a guy dying because of her poor management.

Not that we don't all make judgement calls that turn out to be less than ideal through the retrospectoscope, but, like he said, there's safety in the mediocrity there. And, you know, it's just sort of disheartening to hear that someone you thought was one of the only really competent docs around there made such a bonehead move.

And, I still don't really know where I'm going after next weekend, because, natch, I'm the swing resident again. So if our colleague comes back from sick leave, or if our second new resident gets approved by the state medical board (ha), before next Monday, I'll be on Neurology. And if not, I'll be on (shudder) Child Psychiatry. Um, you know, I know that I'm actually quite flexible, but, I'd sort of like to know WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON. Sometimes I actually sort of like a little structure. It's, you know, kind of comforting....

Ah, whatever. The bigger point is, one more freakin' week on the medical unit.

Oh, and, it's my birthday! I should get me something....