Things people say

Life is like algebra: it goes on whether you understand it or not.

A quote from Allison's blog. Which apparently comes from her mom. Who is a wise woman.

My own life philosophies I've developed over the years? Sometimes life gets in the way. Sometimes the only way out is through. People occasionally suck. Sometimes when you get to the end of your rope, you just have to let go and trust that what you fall into is going to be better. People will disappoint you when you need them most, and amaze you when you least expect it. Life is like a box of chocolates.

Oh, wait, no, that last one's not mine.

Apparently, I'm very fond of "sometimes".

And if you were wondering, the title is actually a reference to this song.

I've been thinking a lot about words today, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is a conversation I had with a colleague today about a lot of psychiatry-related esoterica.

But, for instance, I woke up this morning with a verse from this song in my head, which has in it this line: It's hard to make conversation when he's taking my breath away.

I really like that.

Actually, the first thing that was in my head this morning was something closer to this: Why are the neighbor's dogs barking? Wait...why is it so bright in here? Crap, what time is it? Awww, does that say six fif-....ugh, shit.

Hmm. Not as articulate. But as it turns out, I had left my phone, which is, of course, also my alarm clock, in the car. Helpful.

Anyhow. I digress.

So we've all started dictating lately. Because apparently this is faster than direct entry (it might be, actually). Now, some members of our class have been doing this for a while. Mike, for example, is a master dictator. Me? Not so much. I spend a lot of time saying things like, "Um....ummm....the, ah....." But what's been particularly amusing is how this all gets translated into text.

Seriously. You know that thing about how, if you set an infinite number of monkeys at an infinite number of typewriters for an infinite length of time, they would eventually produce the collected works of Shakespeare? Yeah, I'm wondering if maybe we could hire those monkeys.

We're all wondering what the heck is going on down in Transcription. They make up words, they input stuff that makes no sense, they take liberties with what we say...and it's so inconsistent. Yesterday, I was reviewing my reports, and like, they somehow understood the words "cacophony" and "cultural moree", but in that same group of reports was this sentence:

"Patient states that since that time, things have been ruff."

Wait. My patient was a dog? I totally missed that!

The mammalian theme continued today when PenguinShrink apparently had a patient who was "white as a sheep." She also had a patient who went from having Lou Gehrig's Disease to having "an LS".

I had another note regarding a patient who had some very strong things to say, and, as we often do, I included several direct quotes from the patient (in quotes. It's okay to swear in a note if it's in quotes). When I got the transcript, all of the expletives mysteriously became (INAUDIBLE).

Honest. You're not going to burst into flames if you type the word bullshit. I solemnly swear it. See? I'm not on fire.

Other amusing quotes of late, yesterday, Sparrow tells me (and I think she's right) that we may well be on the verge of World War III. Apparently, Russia thinks that Georgia brought this all on themselves. Sparrow says, "In general, it's a bad idea to invade people."

The other quote of the week? Ruthie. So, to fully understand this one, you have to understand two things. The first is that we're all supposed to be learning something called CBT, or cognitive behavioral therapy, this year. None of us are super thrilled about this. Because, among other things, it's this very formulaic kind of therapy with homework and worksheets and all that sort of stuff, but you know, it's not like we're going to know anything about the real meat of this stuff until after we've already started doing it.

The second piece of this story is our office. So Ruthie, Peng, and I are crammed into a two-person office. It's cozy, but, it's ours. Peng and I managed to find a few things for it...a nice little fridge, I had a little desk lamp, Ruthie had bought a microwave...and then, like, three weeks ago, Peng and I are on call together and hanging out in our office, and Ruthie shows up all of a sudden with a dolly full of...well...stuff. She brought a coffee pot and a grinder, another desk lamp, a bunch of random little things, a weird little black desk (that we promptly set the med student to work assembling), and this...well...there's this hot pink, cushioned, suede folding butterfly chair, and then there's this five-headed pink medusa lamp. So, basically, we have a dorm room (no really. There's even a bed...well, a camping mat...under my desk). Other words that have been applied are "bordello" and "trippy." John pointed out that he was walking down the hall and just "drawn in by the pink glow emanating from the doorway." So earlier this week, Ruthie and I were rearranging the office (all of our stuff fit just fine until we had to put, you know, Ruthie in there), and we solicited a second opinion on the layout from Tyler, and Edwina, who's one of the social workers. Tyler suggested we needed a stripper pole. Edwina suggested that we could use that as a means of teaching our patients a marketable skill. Like vocational rehab, I suggested.

So Ruthie and I passed this idea on to Peng. Who pointed out that she didn't really know how to use a stripper pole.

"Oh, no problem," Ruthie says. "Stripping is like CBT. You'll just pick it up as you go along."

I laughed my ass off. But, yeah, that was probably only funny to us, wasn't it....?