Love/Hate Thursday

Such a day.

So I drove to the coast today, because someone more powerful in the university than I needed my plane. And I kinda like the drive anyway, and I REALLY like not being a mile above the ground in a tin can with wings. So I get there, and I notice some of the vans have this odd gold paint on the windows. And I think....well, now, THAT's weird...

Turns out someone (with think one of our patients clients consumers people we serve individuals, most likely) vandalized five of the eight cars in our fleet, as well as the door to the office. Had they stuck to spray painting just the glass, it would've been okay (that comes right off with paint thinner), but they painted the mirrors, the license plates, etc, and they broke one of the windshields and wrote "CUNT" on the hood of one of the cars (which, of the whole team, only the non-me doc is male, so that doesn't narrow down much who they were pissed at). But they were kind enough to leave the can of spray paint and several beer cans just lush with fingerprints and probably DNA. Brilliant career criminals I'm thinking they're not...

Still. When you work your ass off and really go out of your way to help people, which the members of my ACTT do on a daily basis, and at that a group of people who are already not the easiest people or the most accepting of help...something like this can be really discouraging. They spend every day tracking people down, getting them services, going into some unsavory places, taking them to do the things they need to do, and, again, not the easiest clientele to begin with! They pay for things out of pocket, they take phone calls in the middle of the night, and they frequently go beyond what they need to. They're a good bunch, who don't get paid nearly well enough, have crappy benefits, and often put themselves in potentially dangerous situations. So this really pisses me off, and makes me a little bit sad for humanity as a whole...

The day itself, though, wasn't bad. It was a gorgeous and glorious sunny, 73 degree, bluebird day on the coast. I made good time going in, the peer counselor and I had some good visits with people (AND she quit smoking - day 12. Go her!), and then I bugged out around 3. I went to the gym when I got back, lifted, got the machines I wanted, and had a good workout (although I'm wondering if I can impose a No Stinky People On The Machines On Either Side Of Me ban....). And then I came home, had some hummus, caught up on FB, and am going to bed now, which, that can't be bad. And I downloaded and listened to Incredibad, the newly released album from The Lonely Island (see several posts ago, when I linked the video for I'm on a Boat, which is Track 4, and still my favorite, I think). It was freakin' hysterical. A couple of the tracks...okay, well, several....are pretty juvenile or just outright weird, but, on the whole, damn funny stuff (and, what do you know? Carlos Santana does make a sparkling wine. And have a line of women's shoes. Who knew??).

Oh, and, fortunately, Peng called me tonight and reminded me that Dollhouse premiers tomorrow night (I'm having dinner at my Aunt and Uncle's, but, the DVR is standing by). It's got Faith (Eliza Dushku)! And Fred (Amy Acker)! And allegedly Wash (Alan Tudyk, whom I still adore from when he played Gerhardt in 28 Days)! And it's from Joss Whedon! If only Summer Glau weren't otherwise engaged, it would be the supernova of the Whedonverse...and maybe they could drop James Marsters in there (I always liked Spike WAY better than Angel, even though Angel was the one that got the spin-off. But David Boreanaz is doing much better for himself these days).

So totally love it Thursday

It was foggy in North Carolina today. Like, the kind of foggy where I kept missing my exits because I couldn't see the signs foggy. There was no way the flying tin can was going up in that, and if it was, there was abso-fucking-loutely no way I was going to go up in it. I get scared when the FTC flies through a solitary fluffy cloud. It's a ruddy tin can! The size of my car! That's somehow supposed to stay up in the damn air a mile above the earth! ACK!

So I drove to the coast. Because I was on walk-ins last week, so couldn't go, and then called in dead the previous two weeks when I had the plague, and then there was Thanksgiving in there somewhere...so, it's been a while. I figured it was worth making the trip, and when I finally got to the group room where we have morning team (I was a little late and then blustered past them "Hi-I'm-here-3-hours-in-the-car-gotta-pee!") they seemed happy to see me. I went out with the peer counselor, and we saw three patients clients consumers individuals people we serve (or whatever the hell we're supposed to call them now). The first one and the third one were relatively quick. The second woman we saw...wow, the whole thing broke my heart. So we walk up to this double-wide with six cats milling around our feet, gingerly step over the dead roach on the front porch, and have to knock four or five times before she actually answers. And she opens the door and is like, "I hurt myself." Which, in my world, usually means "I cut" or "I tried to kill myself." But, no, she'd fallen. Okay. And then she holds out her arm, and there's this giant bruise above the elbow...and, let's just say, from her elbow to her shoulder was not a straight line, as I imagine it was yesterday morning. So I look at this, as I'm walking through the door behind the PC, and said, "Hi, I'm Dr. Kate. You need to get to a hospital. How are we going to do that?"

We ended up calling an ambulance. We probably could've put her in our car and taken her, but I'll be damned if I was going to accept the liability of this otherwise medically fragile woman falling again or having any of her chronic issues kick up on the way there. Plus, they have things like pulse oxymeters and accuchecks and oxygen and arm splints on the bus. But while we waited, I sat and talked to her, got my exam in. We sat, in her filthy kitchen. With bugs crawling up the wall. And years of nicotine and tobacco smoke staining the ceiling tiles. Half the floor tiles were up, which gave her plenty to trip over. She herself was greasy-haired, dirt caked in the beds of her fingernails, in a stained t-shirt that was two sizes too small. She was dirtier than most homeless people I know. Poor sick old lady. And her husband shows up at one point, and says, "her damn arm ain't broke." The paramedic says, "Sir? Have you seen it?"

Alls I can say is...bless his heart....

But we were done by 2ish and so I hit the road, got some lunch, and before I truly pointed the wagons west, I stopped at my favorite not-so-local yarn store. And I made one of the coolest yarn finds to date.

Check this out.

I thought it was a scarf. But, no! It's basically sock yarn, knitted into a big ol' rectangle, with a provisional bind off. They call it Flat Feet. The idea is, you knit straight from the edge of the fabric, unraveling as you go. So no winding, no ball to mess with, no tangles, no problem! You can even cut it in the middle (there's another bit of provisional thread) and do two socks at once!

Here's a close-up of the hand-dyed-ness.

Seriously cool. I can't wait to see how they knit up. If, you know, I didn't already have three pair of gift socks on the needles...

Oh, but since we're talking about socks, check out this new and oddly addictive web-based game, Sock and Awe, in which you get to hurl shoes at George W. Bush's head.

Only in America, my friends. Only in America.

"Maybe God remembered how cute you were as a carrot."

A classic Olivia Benson line from this week's SVU (which I finally watched today after I got home from a ridiculously long flight on the tin can. At least it was a pretty day). Which...well....I liked it.

They really need a psychiatrist on the consulting team.

Now, maybe things are different in New York. But holy cow, Kathleen totally could've been committed in North Carolina. In fact, I think I've treated Kathleen a couple dozen times. And I can't believe Bernie only got sent to the hospital once. But on the whole, a well-ish done episode. Ellyn Bursten was good.

Hmm. I had more to say about this, but then I got distracted by the GIANT COCKROACH on my wall. Ew.

Ewewewewewewewewewewewewew.

I have to go call my landlord.

It's always sunny in Chapel Hill

Alright, that's a lie.

But it's a gorgeous sunny Thursday today, at least. Seventies, Carolina Blue skies, lovely.

Today's Tin Can Brigade adventure went well. I flew out and back with this pediatric cardiologist and his echo tech, whom I've flown with before. My doc at the ACT team had decided to take a few days off, so I went out with one of the nurses and had a couple of my very own patients to see at the rest home we went to. I made some minor med changes. I did some quick home visits. It was nice, actually, and we still got done by two so I could hitch a ride back with the Cards guys.

We went to this Mongolian Barbecue place for lunch which was just so-so, but, it was lunch. They had these really interesting things she kept referring to a "Greek rolls", which were sort of like soft sesame crackers. Now, there was absolutely NOTHING Greek about this place, and I'm sure they were probably Korean, but they were the best part of the whole meal and my people are happy to take credit for them.

So I came home and took a nap, because I was sleepy and cranky and I have this bad habit of becoming unconscious every time I get in a plane (seriously. I don't think we'd hit cruising altitude - which, remember, is about a mile - before I was out. And probably snoring, which is one of the problems with this little habit of mine. Although at least on the Anchovy Tin everyone has earplugs in). I was going to go to the screening of the documentary that was done a year or so ago about our gallery of artists with mental illness, but my child therapy supervisor wanted to "meet" by phone at 7 (we talked for 20 minutes and then her phone died. Oh well. More to come). So I decided to start my laundry instead. And, having just decided that whatever I was wearing needed to be washed and dropped it into the washer, no sooner did that happen than someone knocked at the door.

Um. Oh.

I skittered to my bedroom and grabbed my bathrobe, which is of course very thick flannel with snowflakes all over it. In which it makes perfect sense to be answering the door at 4pm on a Thursday in 80 degree weather.

It turned out to be two of my neighbors, who moved in a month or two ago. I met their landlord shortly before, who went on and on about how they were "good Christian kids, boys on one side of the house, girls on the other" (I cringe every time the very first way in which someone describes themselves is as a "good Christian"). Thusfar, I'll concede, they have seemed pretty tame. You know, like the rest of us on this block. They were very pleasant, in a distant, "hey that's a big dog and you're wearing a bathrobe" kind of way. Aryan, plain, wholesome, skinny girls, probably Midwestern. As opposed to, say, the loud, outspoken, brash, swears like a drunken sailor, Zaftig suicide redhead kind of Midwesterner.

But, whatever, they brought cake.

It was dry and needed cinnamon. And maybe a touch more vanilla. But it was pretty. And, chocolate cake.

In other news, I finished the first of my quick-and-dirty plain old socks yesterday.



They're the first in a series, I think, of what I'm calling "leftover socks." Simple, short (I like the anklet-y type better anyway), reasonably quick and easy that I can bang out in a few weeks of lectures and use up some of my leftovers in my stash. These are from a skein of Dream in Color yarn in a color called Spring Tickle that ended up being a second because the blue dye didn't quite dissolve well enough and so, if you were able to look closely, you'd see that the yarn was actually a bit speckled. So we couldn't sell it to real people. So I destocked it and made a hat. For a pumpkin.


Note the little center stem-hole. I liked that hat. I don't think I took it with me when I left, but I should have. In case I ever have a pumpkin down here that has a cold head.

Well, tomorrow is going to be a long day (and night). The interns are off on their retreat tomorrow, so we're all covering their call. Tomorrow night I'm playing intern again with Sparrow as my second year, so we're sure to have two things: a very busy night, and a rockin' good time.

I have much to say...

...but I am tired. And I have to get up early again tomorrow to get into the little flying anchovy tin and head for the coast.

So, everyone think lofty thoughts tomorrow. The next two nights may well be minimalist blogs, too, but...well....hopefully this weekend I'll have more time to write something poignant.

Lovely Thursday

So I'm on call.

I know! It's been a while.

The thing about Thursday (or Wednesday) call is that I don't go to the coast if I'm on call (or post-call). Because apparently they can't risk me being stranded at the beach when I'm supposed to be here and being all call-like. So I basically have the day off until 4:30 (when call starts).

Now, I start night float next week (wherein I work from 9pm to 9am and don't have clinic), so I have this great idea yesterday that I'm going to stay up late and sleep in today and start reversing my sleep schedule so I'm actually awake to do things next week.

Except I fell dead asleep a bit after midnight and work up at 8:30.

Oh well.

I did some stuff at home, read some things, futzed around, watched some very old reruns of ER on TNT, and finally dragged myself out into the sunshine around noon or oneish. Because despite the torrential downpours of yesterday, it was a glorious, gorgeous late summer day today, that was way too nice to spend completely indoors. I went over to visit Little Maxine, who is having to stay home at her new home these days (Sparrow, who of course moved ever so far away, a whole two blocks or so, had been leaving her at the old place during the day until our old landlord and my new landlord actually closed on the sale of the property this week). She was very happy to see me. We had a good snuggle and she peed outside and soaked in a little sunshine and then I gave her a little treat.

I then ran off to the Borders, because I got my Borders Weekly this morning and discovered that Kathy Reichs has a new book out (Devil Bones). I read the first chapter online and a couple of reviews (apparently the ending is hard to swallow) and then I sighed and decided to face the inevitable - that I would buy the book, devour it like a hungry wolf with a t-bone, and then grumble about the formulaic plot (Temperance catches a case. Something edgy happens regarding the case. Temperance has a conflict in her personal life. Temperance gets "in too deep" regarding the edginess of the case. Someone may try to send her a message. Temperance does something stupid, almost gets her ass killed, and gets saved at the last moment by the man of the hour, whom she still doesn't end up with) but somehow still love it - and just suck it up while the inevitable was 40% off. Plus, this book seems to be set in North Carolina. That always makes me happy. I like when she writes NC. I also got Crazy Aunt Purl's book and this other one I'd heard about, On Chesil Beach, on the buy one/get one half off rack. So now I have something to read next week in case night float is slow going. It sounds like it's been sort of hit or miss lately.

Okay, and how concurrently psyched and bummed am I that the new season of Bones starts next week? With a two-hour season premier that I will have to go to work in the middle of. But, well, I guess that's what the DVR is for....

I also hit the Starbucks and then came home and was like, hmm, it smells like dog urine in here...

Maggie, apparently, has decided it's okay to go in the house.

I'm crushed. Not because cleaning up dog messes from hardwood floors is just so difficult (hardly), but because she was doing so well with the doggie door thing. Everything was dry (how did I not smell this yesterday?), so I suspect the thunderstorm was probably the inciting factor. Yesterday was also when I noticed that she started hiding in her crate every time home (you know all those dog experts that are like, oh, they don't remember that they've done anything wrong for more than, like, 45 seconds? Whatever). We'll see how she does tonight.

Me, too. I had big plans for things like grocery lists and editing dictations and trying to stay awake at least a few more hours. But I promise not to pee on the floor.

Day (not) at the beach

So this morning they told me, sure, we can get you to the clinic, but, well, the storm was in South Carolina, and it may well be moving up the coast. So, gosh, you know, they might not actually be able to get me back home later.

Uh, yeah. No thanks.

So, I stayed home. Tough decision!

It was a nice day. There was even some sun in the mid-afternoon. I got some stuff done, ran some errands.

Mags was happy to hang out.


I went to Target in the morning. Got nothing very exciting. Well, except Jumbones. Including teeny-tiny ones for Little Maxine. And giganamous ones for Miss Mags. I gave Maggie one when I got home, the really huge Pedigree one (an Enormabone? Gargantubone? Something like that). She ate half and then spent the next hour trying to find exactly the right place to hide it.

I managed to go see my therapist early and then decided I wanted a latte (and an excuse to finish turning the heel on my Tolerance Sock), so I went to the Starbucks, and pulled up my usual spot at the bar. I like to watch the goings on from my perch up there. And I opened up my latest copy of Annals of Contemporary Psychiatry (so I could pretend I was working) and set about my task. I got through the heel. It looks better. I actually decreased more than the pattern called for and then increased back up again, which I'm hoping will help with the perpetual problem I always have of the sock bagging at the ankle. And it looks way better than the last time I tried the heel.

And then I got picked up by the cops.

So there I am, knitting at the bar, minding my own business, when some dude walks in (and as any psychiatrist knows, minding your own business is always the single most dangerous thing to do, especially when some dude is around. Worse is when there are two dudes. Whoa. Always leads to trouble!). And the next thing you know, there he is, sitting next to me, with a big ol' white mocha, trying to make conversation. With his little radio on his shoulder and his shiny badge and a shinier Glock. And he was smooth. Asked me what I was making, if I had any other hobbies, commented that he hadn't seen me there before (so lame)...didn't ask what I did, or why I was sitting at Starbucks at 3:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday (although we'd already established that I had a job, because I commented on how glad I was not to be there), but after bringing up the bizarre behavior of one of the other customers, asked me if I was a "professional people watcher." Which, by this time I'd stopped being quite as, "hmm, yeah, denied," and started laughing. And I said, "yeah, actually, that's pretty close to what I do."

We had a fairly nice conversation. He's a hostage negotiator, apparently. Given the way he worked me up, I can totally see that. We don't exactly live in NYC, so he says he uses his skills mostly talking down suicides. We swapped a couple of war stories. And then one of his squad walks in, who comes on over, and also starts chatting me up. The first officer asks for one of his blank cards so he can give me his number, um, because he might need a shrink (he gave me his cell). The other guy is all, well, what if she wants to call me instead?

Somehow I ended up with both of their numbers. I think that's sort of funny.

Then I got home, and my crappy $10 bike, which my parents had sent, was waiting on my front porch. So I spent an hour or so trying to reassemble it, with only moderate success. The mosquitoes were swarming so badly, I finally gave up.

Sparrow called me shortly thereafter and asked if I could go rescue Little Maxine (she's on call). Max hung out with us for a while, and then promptly went outside and started trying to dig under the gate.

Did I mention on Monday how she successfully escaped from our yard?

So, given that she was an elopement risk, I attempted to lure her with tiny little Jumbones. The first one, she just stole out of my hand as I stuck it out the dog door. But then I got smarter, and I lured her inside before taking the bone even out of the bag. And then I shut the dog door behind her.

She was sad.

She got over it.

Maxinie, enjoying her teenie-weenie Jumbone (can that tiny thing still be called a Jumbone?). I think she was trying to share it with Giant Loofah Dog.


"Wow, Giant Loofah Dog! These are great!!"

I'm a loser, baby...

This is today's song that's been lodged in my head.

This annoys me. For two reasons. A, I'm not a huge fan of Beck (although, I'll confess, that song has always sort of amused me...although, you can't listen to the lyrics too closely...). But B, because it's a symptom of just how effed up I am. Because you know when this started? Walking out of the auditorium.

I got a teaching award today.

No, no, yay for me. I got a similar award at The Emerald Palace, but it wasn't nearly as big a deal. Well, who knows, maybe it was, I'd already left. But it's really quite an nice thing - each year, one intern and one resident in each of the six core specialties receives this award, which is bestowed by the third year medical students. There was a ceremony and a check and a certificate suitable for framing involved. I really can't tell you how honored and humbled I am that they picked me. But initially, I was like, aww, thanks, that's nice. And then there was a lunch I was supposed to attend. And then, wait, it was a lecture. And then it turned into today, which turned out to be this giant auditorium (it has balcony seats!) about 60%-ish full of people, including all sorts of deans and faculty and students and then having to go up on stage (with about 8 or so other residents, thankfully) and me in the front row hyperventilating a little and wearing tennis shoes because it was kind of a hike from the hospital and I'm still having a lot of ankle issues. There were a lot of other awards handed out today, too, so it wasn't like it was all about me. Except in my head, where I was somehow ignoring the external validation and just focused on the fact that I looked like a Chicago commuter and was being completely neurotic about a whole host of other things.

Fortunately, no one else could hear the neurosing, no matter how loud it was in my head. It was a nice little shin-dig; this pathology prof gave a lecture about the history of medical education through the last three or so thousand years, the central point of which was, of course, everything comes from the Greeks. She started talking about how they evolved up from "this is punishment from the Gods" to the Hippocratic-era development of the four humours, and how disease resulted from their imbalance, and how redistribution of fluid was the answer back in 500 BCE, and I really, really wanted to yell, "just put some Windex on it!" It was actually quite a good lecture, though. I can see why she was their teacher of the year. And then there was lots of acknowledging of people who've done a good job with the med students this past year - best clinical rotation (Pedes), various faculty awards, a bunch of awards to this year's (as in, '09) graduating class. I cut out early because I had to get back for our afternoon of didactics, but I think there may have been a little buffet afterward, too.

I am so completely amazed that they thought enough of me to pick me. I seriously, truly, fully cannot tell you how much that means, especially after all of the intern-year PTSD and whatnot. Not to mention how much fun I had with the students this year. I mean, I really had some rock stars.

Okay, okay, I'm done.

Tonight I also had my first meeting as one of the Psych reps to the Housestaff Council (like Student Council, but, post-graduate. Residents and fellows, for those who aren't aware, are considered "housestaff". This is our governing body. You know, ish). It was quite nice. It was held in one of the conference rooms of this reasonably posh hotel in town. There was a good buffet, good conversation, and we got a little work done, too. I sat at a table with the other psych rep and our child fellow counterpart, a clutch of Family residents, an ER doc and this new Dermatology guy (Cute. Single. A little young). Basically we meet four times during the year at fairly upscale places, eat, and discuss a relevant issue or two. Not a bad gig.

Meanwhile, the outer bands of TS Fay have reached Carolina del Norte, although the bulk of the storm is still in Florida, at least according to all the NOAA emails I've been getting (I'm on their Storm Advisory Listserv - Atlantic). So it's raining nicely out there. I'm really, really hoping it grounds my plane in the morning, for no good reason at all except I, a, could really use the day off, and 2, so don't want to fly through a tropical storm - even the very edge of one, which, according to Forecaster Knabb, is currently back over water and gaining intensity - in a Coke can with wings that only flies a mile up off the ground. Yes, yes, I know that these are the same planes that they send directly into the eye of the storm, but, not with a flight-nervous psychiatrist on board!

Plutocrat

You ever get a word just stuck in your head? This is the one wedged in mine today. No, I don't know why. A plutocrat is a member of a ruling class that's determined by wealth. A plutocracy, as it were. So, I have no idea why that's rattling around in my cranium.

Seriously. I'm not the only one that has this problem, right?

I remember having a conversation with Kate when we were in college, about how she always had a song playing in her brain, and every now and then it would just revert back to a "default" song, which at the time, was that tinny little circus melody that you would know if you heard it but I can't sing it to you on a blog (and "de de de-de-de-de deet de deee de" isn't very helpful).

I was so relieved to hear that someone else did that, too.

There's always a song in my head. Always. I have this weird sort of multi-channel brain...and apparently one is a music channel. Sometimes a particular song is there for obvious reasons. Sometimes I have no earthly idea why it's there. Sometimes I don't even know what the hell song it is - I occasionally just have a phrase or a vague melodic idea. Mostly, though, it's a verse or a stanza.

I know. It's weird up in my head. You don't have to tell me that, I live here.

At the moment I have this line playing in my head:

My day's filled with mistakes, some that I didn't make, I carry them around.

It's from a song called 10,000 Stones by a woman named Adrianne, apparently. This one at least makes sense - it was playing in the background of the episode of One Tree Hill I was just watching. The first line - that line - caught my attention. You know how I'm a sucker for really good lyrics. I also like the chorus:

10,000 stones hanging deep in my heart
No, I don't know how they don't tear me apart
How could I ever believe
10,000 stones would build the best of me?

I identify with that. I think it's kind of profound.

(Claudia's out there rolling her eyes at me. She may not be the only one. Hey, profound is an individual thing, you know?)

Anyway.

I also feel the need to point out that I don't actually watch One Tree Hill very often. Or, okay, this is the first time I've watched it. Because I was reminded last week that it's filmed in the coastal town where I spend my Thursdays. Which, dude, it really is! That's kind of cool.

Is it wrong of me, by the way, that I'm kind of hoping TS Fay will spin up this way before Thursday morning and ground my plane? I like going coastal, and I think I'm not going for something like the next three weeks because of the call schedule, but I also could just really use a real day off.

I'm so very post-call, by the way. In case you missed that. Not that I didn't sleep last night (Peng rocks). But, well, I did sleep on the floor of our office. While trying not to sleep through any pages this time. And then there was Ed the Drunk Guy who's been calling the crisis pager all weekend, who somehow also got through to me, who wept and told me how much he trusted all of us and told me at least six times that his dad had cancer and his sister had a double mastectomy or that his sister had cancer and his dad had a double mastectomy or something, I wasn't really listening. Not that I didn't feel bad for the guy, but you know what? You can only listen to some old drunk guy for so long before he just totally stops making sense.

Today was a day with so much potential...see above re: full night of sleep. I left the hospital, ignored the parking ticket I got for leaving my car in a lot that's open on the weekends but apparently wasn't this morning, got gas, went to Starbucks, went to the Whole Foods, spent a ridiculous amount of money, had a little moment of "What the hell did I buy, diamond crusted strawberries???", came home, and was thinking about getting a move on my day when Mike called wanting to park in my driveway (he, also, gave up his parking privileges this year. He has scooter plans; I have walk/bike plans. Sparrow never has paid to park at the hospital). So I had to chat with him, and then I had to rescue Maxine (who, later, dug her way under the gate and escaped from our yard, a-HEM), and then...well...then I just kind of ran out of oomph. I spent most of the rest of the day lying on my bed reading. Or watching TV. Or out retrieving Maxine. I did manage to get the groceries put away, at least, and get the fruit washed. And I made pasta for dinner, which I promptly dumped into the sink when I was trying to strain it. So then I went out and got some dinner....

Anyway.

I should really go to bed....

Nearer my god to thee

Today was weird.

So I get out to the airfield this morning, and they're all waiting for me, and we pile into this tiny little anchovy can with wings. They let me sit up front. They encouraged me to sit up front. It was me, and two other doctors, and an ultrasound tech. And, obviously, the pilot. So I walked across the wing (!) and climbed in. We didn't shut the door until we were just about to take off (because, you know, there's no AC on the plane). And then away we went.

I was practically in the pilot's lap.

It does not help that little planes? Not so much made for big people.

Also, you know, I've never once gotten carsick, airsick, or seasick in my entire life. But I'll be honest, I was a little queasy for about the first 15 minutes or so. It was definitely bumpier than a commercial flight. On the way home, we flew through some rain (at about 5000 feet, which meant we were flying through a whole bunch of clouds) and there was a lot of this sort of slipping going on that felt like being in a car that was sliding on ice. I'm knitting away, being a little nervous about this (not to mention all of the bumping around we were doing)....and the pilot was reading a book.

I was just glad it wasn't Flying for Dummies.

AHEC was an interesting time, too. The staff psychiatrist and I tooled around digging up crazy people. No, really. It was actually kind of cool. He and I got in the car, and drove around doing home visits. Or, well, the closest we could get. One guy, who's homeless, apparently they usually meet him at the library. Today the shelter let them all stay in, because it was so hot out (SO hot), so we pulled up to the shelter, and he climbs into the back of the car, we check in with him, and then he gets out and we drive away. The first guy we saw, he answers the door, he's this young guy, cornrows, t-shirt, baggy jeans. We walk into the house...and it's full of these, like, 12" dolls with big, crocheted dresses.

We walked out, and I said to Dr. B... "Um...so I'm guessing that's his mom's house."

It was also immaculate. Smelled like apple-cinnamon oatmeal. There were adorable small people there (his nieces, for whom he babysits). I was ready to pull up a spot on the big overstuffed couch and watch Hannah Montana with them.

He also gave us a CD he made of two of the songs he wrote. He and Dr. B trade hip-hop CDs occasionally, apparently. But the patient is more East Coast, he tells me, and Doc is more West Coast (I actually disagree with him...he had a distinct Biggie Smalls thing going on the tracks he laid down). I said, well, that works out, because, frankly, I'm more Dirty South.

We also saw this older guy, whose family is totally taking advantage of him and so completely not taking care of him. Every morning he gets just enough money to walk down to the store to get a soda and cigarettes. And then he comes home and sits on the couch and watches TV in this dark, filthy house that reeks of cigarettes and cat urine, with all the curtains drawn tight. Which wasn't quite as bad as the rest home that was our last stop, where, apparently, a lot of our "consumers" (can't call them "patients" anymore, that's not PC) live. Each building we walked into smelled worse than the last. The conditions were awful. It was astonishing.

And then I got back on the plane.

::sigh:: I did get the heel turned on my toe-up Tolerance Sock. So named because I let my obnoxious Family Medicine upper-level knit a row and her tension was all wrong. And then because I missed a few rows of ribbing on the top of the foot. I kept convincing myself that it was NOT worth frogging the whole sock just because it had some quirks. Even though I'm wishing I had about 4 fewer stitches in it. Maybe 8. But then, today, I finished the heel and realized that something had gone horribly, terribly wrong.



I ripped out the heel flap, but you know....I think I'm just going to frog the whole thing and just start over. I love the yarn, and I love working it on the Addi Lace needles...screw tolerance, I want nice socks!

You'll poke your eye out

So tomorrow morning, I climb onto the big avion and...oh, no, wait.

Tomorrow I start my AHEC, which is short for Area Health Education Centers, which seems to have nothing at all to do with what I'm actually going to be doing (health education? What?). Basically, it's my community psychiatry rotation. As I think I mentioned, every Thursday this year, I'm going to be one of the psychiatrists on an Assertive Community Treatment Team in a coastal town. Which is something over two hours away, by car. Which means that every Thursday, rain or shine (!), the hospital is going to stick me in a tin can flying clown car small private plane and putt-putt-putt me out to the coast.

You know that Indigo Girls song, Airplane?

Up on the airplane nearer my god to thee
I start making a deal inspired by gravity
If I did wrong I won't do it again
I can be sweet and good and nice
And if I had enemies they're friends
I hold onto my life with the grip of a vice

Up on the airplane nearer my god to thee
I start making a deal inspired by gravity
That little spot on the ground is my hometown
I like to call it my home and it's sweet
I'd rather take a seat down there than a throne up here
Up above 30,000 feet
And I'm up on the airplane

I never should've read my horoscope
Or the fortune on the bubble gum strip
Saying what you think won't happen will
Great thing to read before a trip on an airplane

Pilot says the big blue sky's like a swimming pool
Big fluffy clouds like a feather bed
But I'd rather have a real pillow underneath my head
Lying in my bed
Which is in my hometown
Which is on the ground
Far from an airplane far from an airplane

I have a feeling that's going to be going through my head on a regular basis...

I called Monday to confirm my reservation for this Thursday, and talked to a very nice woman. She told me to come up to the airport (the tiny, municipal airport) around 7:15. There's a gate, she says, and you have to punch a code to get in. And then she just keeps talking. So I was like, wait, what's the code? She says, "oh, I don't know, it's like, 1-1-1-1 or something." I joked about the tight security, and she said, "Well, the code's printed on a sign on the gate."

Uh-huh.

The gate, really, is more to keep the critters out at night, she explained. So we talked a little longer, and I said, "You know, I understand that this isn't a commercial flight, but, are there things that I can or can't bring?" She says, "Well, bring gum. And the plane isn't air conditioned, but once you're in the air, the pilot can open the vents. And if you bring a beverage, we'd prefer it was water, or well, things that won't be sticky if they spill. Basically, anything with a lid."

I'm guessing there won't be beverage service...

So then I asked about my knitting needles. Were those okay to bring? She says, "just don't poke your eye out."

I assured her I had been knitting for many years now with absolutely no knitting-related eye injuries.

I'm not super fond of flying as it is. And, she asked me, had I ever flown on a little crop duster like this? I said, hmm, maybe when I was, like, seven. She says, "ohhh. Well, I'll let the pilot know this is your first time on a little plane."

Gulp.

It should be interesting.

Meanwhile, today was really productive. I got my application done for the Psychoanalytic Institute of the Carolinas, which was, of course, due today (I dropped the application off at 7pm). I got all my paperwork together for the AHEC site. I got all my stuff coordinated and filled out and filed from clinic yesterday. And I went to Walgreens. Where I found the coolest thing this side of Jumbones, if you ask Maggie.

These are three of her very favorite toys.




Pheasant is a longtime buddy who we bought when we moved in with my folks off Pheasant Lake. The tiny pink sheep, which was her previous veryfavoritetoy (which she routinely protects from Maxine, not that Maxine is all that interested), fits in the palm of my hand, and she loves to toss it wildly about. The one in the middle is a four foot long Loofah Dog. For $10. I tried, I did, but I could not resist. Maggie loves Loofah Dogs. As hard as I tried to talk myself out of it, I had to get it. And I'm so glad I did, because she looooooooooooooved it. She dragged it all over the house and even tried to take it outside with her (it got stuck in the doggie door. I laughed so hard I almost fell over. Again).

Here's a handy size-gauging device:

Too funny.