So I get home tonight, right, and one of the townhouses in the building adjacent to mine was all blocked off with yellow "CAUTION: DO NOT CROSS" tape.
I'm not sure how I feel about this.
Now, it doesn't actually say "Crime Scene: Do Not Cross." And there's no big mobile crime investigation truck out front (you know, like when I lived in Aurora and that guy got shot at the hotel across from my apartment). And I don't see, like, Grissom out there anywhere. But it still makes me a little nervous.
Remember how the town I live in is supposed to be one of the five safest towns in America?
I do not like this....
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Diffuse brainwave slowing
I...am so....so tired.
So, tonight's post? Just this:
No, I have no idea who this dog is. I don't actually even know where I got this picture - it's in a folder in My Pictures called Randomness. But it's awfully cute, isn't it?
Well, okay. As long as we're at it, here's another cute picture of my dog...
So, tonight's post? Just this:
No, I have no idea who this dog is. I don't actually even know where I got this picture - it's in a folder in My Pictures called Randomness. But it's awfully cute, isn't it?
Well, okay. As long as we're at it, here's another cute picture of my dog...
Monday, November 12, 2007
In the time-honored tradition of Garfield...
Happy freakin' Monday.
It's way too early for me to be late for work already....
It's way too early for me to be late for work already....
Sunday, November 11, 2007
The more boys I meet, the more I love my dog
Which, incidentally, is a line from this song on the new Carrie Underwood CD. Which on the whole is just okay, but there are a couple of songs I really, really love. Including this one.
Why can't they be warm and loyal, open and friendly? Huh?
Anyway.
The latest in this week's very long line of men who have really just pissed me off are at least somewhat less personal. Namely, Aaron, the Firedog online chat tech who told me that the 100 or so pitures I just deleted off my photo card when I was trying to delete three (which didn't even get deleted) are just gone, too bad for me. And also Craig, the previous Firedog tech, who told me to look in the trash. No shit, Craig-o. Thanks.
Maggie's response to my exasperated screaming about magically erasing the photos I just spent over an hour shooting? Was to lick my ear. It was wetter, but a much more appropriate response than, "did you check the trash?"
OF COURSE I looked in the recycle bin. Even though, they don't go there off a memory card. I know that, but I looked anyway. GDR.
And they were just environmentals, but, really, I spent an hour and a half shooting them. And they were good pictures! And I had all sorts of camera adversity (a way-too-small memory card, dying batteries) that I overcame to shoot them. And then? Poof. Gone. Even Barb's husband couldn't revive them. ::sigh:: Oh, well.
So why did I run around shooting pictures for an hour and a half today? Well, you see, it's fall in North Carolina.
(That's my nephew, Basil. Like the herb, don't go getting all British. And he actually isn't in NC, he's in Chicago, but is that not the most perfect picture of fall, like, ever? Look, here's another picture of him in the bushel basket.
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Just the cutest thing, I swear).
So it's fall in NC. And it's really pretty down here. Like, seriously? Fall in NC kicks fall in NH's ass. I always thought the New England "fall colors" were a little overrated, at least where I lived. It's quite lovely down here. I wish I had pictures to show you that, but, I will eventually.
Why can't they be warm and loyal, open and friendly? Huh?
Anyway.
The latest in this week's very long line of men who have really just pissed me off are at least somewhat less personal. Namely, Aaron, the Firedog online chat tech who told me that the 100 or so pitures I just deleted off my photo card when I was trying to delete three (which didn't even get deleted) are just gone, too bad for me. And also Craig, the previous Firedog tech, who told me to look in the trash. No shit, Craig-o. Thanks.
Maggie's response to my exasperated screaming about magically erasing the photos I just spent over an hour shooting? Was to lick my ear. It was wetter, but a much more appropriate response than, "did you check the trash?"
OF COURSE I looked in the recycle bin. Even though, they don't go there off a memory card. I know that, but I looked anyway. GDR.
And they were just environmentals, but, really, I spent an hour and a half shooting them. And they were good pictures! And I had all sorts of camera adversity (a way-too-small memory card, dying batteries) that I overcame to shoot them. And then? Poof. Gone. Even Barb's husband couldn't revive them. ::sigh:: Oh, well.
So why did I run around shooting pictures for an hour and a half today? Well, you see, it's fall in North Carolina.
(That's my nephew, Basil. Like the herb, don't go getting all British. And he actually isn't in NC, he's in Chicago, but is that not the most perfect picture of fall, like, ever? Look, here's another picture of him in the bushel basket.
Just the cutest thing, I swear).
So it's fall in NC. And it's really pretty down here. Like, seriously? Fall in NC kicks fall in NH's ass. I always thought the New England "fall colors" were a little overrated, at least where I lived. It's quite lovely down here. I wish I had pictures to show you that, but, I will eventually.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Maybe my crazy is showing
I'm sitting here importing a bunch of my old CDs into iTunes (this is no small feat, because I own well over 300 CDs). The title? Is a line from a very old Bryan White song (Between Now and Forever, if you were wondering), which I'd totally forgotten about and still think that line is just funny as hell. Now, perhaps more so than I did back when I was a freshman in college. Which was a disturbingly long time ago.
There are an awful lot of bad CDs I didn't even remember I owned. Still importing them, because every now and again you still get a craving for some really corny old song, knaamean?
So, today, this woman...well, let me start this story with a little neurology lesson. There are two types of things that sometimes get called seizures. The epileptic sort, where a group of neurons in the brain misfires, and then more and more neurons around them get electrically rerouted, and sometimes the whole brain gets involved. There are lots of different ways that epileptic, or electrical, seizures manifest, from "zoning out" or tapping your foot to the thing that most people think of classically as a seizure, the big, arms and legs jerking, thrashing around, foaming at the mouth, biting your tongue sort of event.
And then, there are non-electrical seizures, which are sometimes called psuedoseizures, or psychogenic seizures. Which are different from epileptic seizures because the brain actually still works fine, it's the mind that gets in the way. Now, unresolved emotional baggage can cause a lot of medical problems. And it has that stigma of being factitious - something you're intentionally doing for attention. Which, yes, there are people that do that. My patient that I FINALLY discharged last week after TWENTY FIVE FREAKIN' DAYS IN THE HOSPITAL? She did that. You could tell, because sometimes the phone ringing, or, like, threatening not to feed her dinner would miraculously bring her out of a four hour "seizure". Conversion disorder, pseudoseizures, that sort of stuff? Not voluntary. But it still carries that stigma of being "all in your head," which is really difficult for people to handle when you tell them their seizures aren't "real", because they are really, generally, they're just not an electrical storm in the brain.
Okay.
I have this patient, right, who came in while I was on call in "status epilepticus." Which, for those of you who've made the silly choice to pursue a career in something other than medicine, is a state where you have either one really long intractable seizure, or many in a row so fast that you don't have time to return back to normal. And we give drugs like valium to break this. But, she, clearly, clearly has non-electrical events. Even you non-medical types can figure this one out: she has seizures every month when she menstruates, which started after she had a miscarriage.
Um...as we sometimes like to say in psychiatry....duh.
And so when she has these things, her vital signs are normal, she's physically safe, whatever. Yet, they still gave her EIGHT MILLIGRAMS OF VERSED in the ER. Which, if you know what that means, dude! I know! And if you don't, well, if you walked over and injected that into me? I'd probably stop breathing. Dumb, dumb shit, for, clearly not status epilepticus, because, not epileptic! But, whatever. So this woman, right? Has clear axis II stuff going on, obviously having pseudoseizures, etc, comes in for EEG monitoring. And her epileptologist goes in yesterday and tells her, these aren't electrical. And then the psych consultants go in, and completely piss her off (and, off the record, left me one of the worst consult notes I've gotten from any service all month). So today, I tried to calm her down, and promised to come back and do a little therapy on this topic (which isn't quite how I pitched it to her, but, you know). And I do, and she keeps interrupting me, right, and asking me stuff about myself. Like, am I married, do I have kids, etc. And I basically answered her briefly and then redirected her back to her stuff, because it wasn't anything too personal, and she was saying a lot of other things to indicate that she was clearly identifying with me, which is a useful therapeutic tool. And then she says, "How old are you?" And I told her, and she was all, "Really? Really?? You're actually 29?" And then she says:
"I thought you were like, 40."
.........?
Forty?
I mean...what?
Now, if I were forty, then it would be okay (it's kind of like, if I were a nurse, it'd been cool when people ask me if I'm their nurse. Because it would be okay for me to be a nurse, but I'm not, so it irritates the crap out of me that people assume that because I'm female I'm the nurse, not the doctor, despite the fact that I'm wearing a long white coat and...well...doctoring them. Because if I were their nurse I'd have a lot less debt and wouldn't have had to work my ass off in medical school and right now would be making a lot more than $8/h and working a lot less than I do. But, I digress). But I have eleven years to go before I'm 40! And, she explained it away by saying that she thought I looked young, but, assumed that to be a doctor I had to be much older.
Not helping.
On a related note, I'm wondering if I made a big political faux pas this morning. My attending, who's kind of a cocky bastard, and is also a behavioral neurologist, went in this morning and gave her a very good talk about pseudoseizures and why that doesn't mean we think she's crazy (we think that for other, unrelated reasons), that these are very real events, etc. Now, I'd warned him that she was pissed at psych and offended that "we all thought she was making it up", and I'd talked to her a little already, but, he just did a very good job with it. And a lot of people don't, as my psych colleague clearly demonstrated. And so when we walked out, I said to him, I think very genuinely, "That was a good explanation." And he says, "Yeah? Well, I've given it a few times." And I couldn't quite tell if he was being, um, coy (for serious lack of a better term), or really sarcastic. And it occurred to me later that my comment could've come off as being sort of condescending and a little insubordinate. Because, well, I'm an intern. He was interviewed by the New York Times yesterday as an expert on dementia.
And back at the Emerald Palace I used to get criticized a lot for "not knowing my place." Which, I concede, I usually don't.
I dunno. I figure I'm probably okay, because I've also noticed that recently he assumes every patient is mine and has started wearing cologne to rounds.
Damn, this post got awfully long. Nice of you to still be reading it!
There are an awful lot of bad CDs I didn't even remember I owned. Still importing them, because every now and again you still get a craving for some really corny old song, knaamean?
So, today, this woman...well, let me start this story with a little neurology lesson. There are two types of things that sometimes get called seizures. The epileptic sort, where a group of neurons in the brain misfires, and then more and more neurons around them get electrically rerouted, and sometimes the whole brain gets involved. There are lots of different ways that epileptic, or electrical, seizures manifest, from "zoning out" or tapping your foot to the thing that most people think of classically as a seizure, the big, arms and legs jerking, thrashing around, foaming at the mouth, biting your tongue sort of event.
And then, there are non-electrical seizures, which are sometimes called psuedoseizures, or psychogenic seizures. Which are different from epileptic seizures because the brain actually still works fine, it's the mind that gets in the way. Now, unresolved emotional baggage can cause a lot of medical problems. And it has that stigma of being factitious - something you're intentionally doing for attention. Which, yes, there are people that do that. My patient that I FINALLY discharged last week after TWENTY FIVE FREAKIN' DAYS IN THE HOSPITAL? She did that. You could tell, because sometimes the phone ringing, or, like, threatening not to feed her dinner would miraculously bring her out of a four hour "seizure". Conversion disorder, pseudoseizures, that sort of stuff? Not voluntary. But it still carries that stigma of being "all in your head," which is really difficult for people to handle when you tell them their seizures aren't "real", because they are really, generally, they're just not an electrical storm in the brain.
Okay.
I have this patient, right, who came in while I was on call in "status epilepticus." Which, for those of you who've made the silly choice to pursue a career in something other than medicine, is a state where you have either one really long intractable seizure, or many in a row so fast that you don't have time to return back to normal. And we give drugs like valium to break this. But, she, clearly, clearly has non-electrical events. Even you non-medical types can figure this one out: she has seizures every month when she menstruates, which started after she had a miscarriage.
Um...as we sometimes like to say in psychiatry....duh.
And so when she has these things, her vital signs are normal, she's physically safe, whatever. Yet, they still gave her EIGHT MILLIGRAMS OF VERSED in the ER. Which, if you know what that means, dude! I know! And if you don't, well, if you walked over and injected that into me? I'd probably stop breathing. Dumb, dumb shit, for, clearly not status epilepticus, because, not epileptic! But, whatever. So this woman, right? Has clear axis II stuff going on, obviously having pseudoseizures, etc, comes in for EEG monitoring. And her epileptologist goes in yesterday and tells her, these aren't electrical. And then the psych consultants go in, and completely piss her off (and, off the record, left me one of the worst consult notes I've gotten from any service all month). So today, I tried to calm her down, and promised to come back and do a little therapy on this topic (which isn't quite how I pitched it to her, but, you know). And I do, and she keeps interrupting me, right, and asking me stuff about myself. Like, am I married, do I have kids, etc. And I basically answered her briefly and then redirected her back to her stuff, because it wasn't anything too personal, and she was saying a lot of other things to indicate that she was clearly identifying with me, which is a useful therapeutic tool. And then she says, "How old are you?" And I told her, and she was all, "Really? Really?? You're actually 29?" And then she says:
"I thought you were like, 40."
.........?
Forty?
I mean...what?
Now, if I were forty, then it would be okay (it's kind of like, if I were a nurse, it'd been cool when people ask me if I'm their nurse. Because it would be okay for me to be a nurse, but I'm not, so it irritates the crap out of me that people assume that because I'm female I'm the nurse, not the doctor, despite the fact that I'm wearing a long white coat and...well...doctoring them. Because if I were their nurse I'd have a lot less debt and wouldn't have had to work my ass off in medical school and right now would be making a lot more than $8/h and working a lot less than I do. But, I digress). But I have eleven years to go before I'm 40! And, she explained it away by saying that she thought I looked young, but, assumed that to be a doctor I had to be much older.
Not helping.
On a related note, I'm wondering if I made a big political faux pas this morning. My attending, who's kind of a cocky bastard, and is also a behavioral neurologist, went in this morning and gave her a very good talk about pseudoseizures and why that doesn't mean we think she's crazy (we think that for other, unrelated reasons), that these are very real events, etc. Now, I'd warned him that she was pissed at psych and offended that "we all thought she was making it up", and I'd talked to her a little already, but, he just did a very good job with it. And a lot of people don't, as my psych colleague clearly demonstrated. And so when we walked out, I said to him, I think very genuinely, "That was a good explanation." And he says, "Yeah? Well, I've given it a few times." And I couldn't quite tell if he was being, um, coy (for serious lack of a better term), or really sarcastic. And it occurred to me later that my comment could've come off as being sort of condescending and a little insubordinate. Because, well, I'm an intern. He was interviewed by the New York Times yesterday as an expert on dementia.
And back at the Emerald Palace I used to get criticized a lot for "not knowing my place." Which, I concede, I usually don't.
I dunno. I figure I'm probably okay, because I've also noticed that recently he assumes every patient is mine and has started wearing cologne to rounds.
Damn, this post got awfully long. Nice of you to still be reading it!
Friday, November 09, 2007
Oh, it's so naptime...
Yesterday's post? Was supposed to automatically post at 8:30am. It just showed up now. What the heck? Clearly, Blogger and I need to have a talk about being responsible...or maybe I just need to learn how to use the dumb thing...anyhow.
So, who watched Bones on Tuesday night? There was this great moment, where she's interrogating this Jeffersonian Institute professor guy who's all smug and better than everyone, whom they suspect of murdering his mistress. It goes like this:
Aldrich: Dr. Brennan, surely I merit someone higher up the food chain than an FBI consultant.
Brennan: Kyle. I know you get everything you want by flaunting your superior intellect. But that won't work with me.
Aldrich: Why is that?
Brennan: Because I'm smarter than you are.
I? Love that.
I think I had more to say, but I'm also really, really tired. I had an interesting, but exhausting call. And I have to be at the hospital really freaking early again tomorrow. So, maybe I'll just go to bed...
So, who watched Bones on Tuesday night? There was this great moment, where she's interrogating this Jeffersonian Institute professor guy who's all smug and better than everyone, whom they suspect of murdering his mistress. It goes like this:
Aldrich: Dr. Brennan, surely I merit someone higher up the food chain than an FBI consultant.
Brennan: Kyle. I know you get everything you want by flaunting your superior intellect. But that won't work with me.
Aldrich: Why is that?
Brennan: Because I'm smarter than you are.
I? Love that.
I think I had more to say, but I'm also really, really tired. I had an interesting, but exhausting call. And I have to be at the hospital really freaking early again tomorrow. So, maybe I'll just go to bed...
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Gratuitous Cuteness
This? This is my niece, Lily. She's a giraffe.
I'm starting to love Halloween.
But even better? She just turned one. And of course, there was cake.
She's the daughter of one of my dear friends from medical school. I was in her parents' wedding. So, again, I take full credit for her brilliance and adorableness.
Enjoy. I'm on call again today. Here's hoping for a quiet night, and a couple of good stories.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Misty watercolored memories
For those of you who missed it, Otter made a very accurate comparison in the comments about my last post: Internship must be like childbirth, you forget how bad the pain really was.
Totally.
And the two years of limbo and sleeping in on weekdays and working in a yarn store didn't help. Plus, I think there's just some outright traumatic repression factored in - it was sort of hard to tell what badness was general intern crap and what was actually the result of the Reign of Terror that was my OB program. And I'll be the first one to admit, freely, that this time around is so much better. It's nice not being the whipping child. I don't miss being constantly berated and demoralized. SO MUCH BETTER.
Which, does not, however, make it good.
You do forget the peculiarities. The dull ache in your upper back from the thirty pounds of stuff you have crammed in the pockets of your white coat. The mania induced by not sleeping every fourth night (which has struck me a lot this month, when we routinely sleep deprive patients to make them have seizures. Um, does anyone else see a problem, here?). The constant, vague sense that you're doing something wrong. The sheer mass and speed with which shit rolls downhill (and you're the valley, baby). And the bone-deep, leaden fatigue that never quite goes away, even when you technically are getting "sleep".
There came a point in medical school, early in my third year or so, where I had to become a doctor because my loans were so huge that I couldn't afford not to. Which was fine, because I actually wanted to be a doctor, but it still was sort of intimidating, in that holy-crap-I-guess-I-can't-change-my-mind-now sort of way. That's sort of where I'm at again. I've had a couple of moments this year where I'm like, really? Do I really want to be a psychiatrist? Am I sure? And then some part of my brain comes in and squelches that and says, fuck that, kid. You picked it, you're stuck with it, because I am so not doing this intern year thing ever again.
And again, it helps that I really do think I want to be a psychiatrist. But after this year? Never doing q4 in-house call, ever, ever again. Never going to be a scut monkey for a service I don't even belong to (ahem, family practice) again.
So ready for this to be done, and I'm not even crowning yet. Can I at least get an epidural?
So, okay, maybe it's not quite as bad as all that. I mean, it does have its moments. Like, I got to do a nerve block on a headache patient today, which was pretty cool. And the psych stuff can be very frustrating, but it's certainly never boring. Plus, I do like my cohorts. And I'm meeting interesting people, especially now that I'm off-service and in a big hospital where we can call in consultants. And it's only one year.
At least I've stopped swearing every single time my pager goes off.
Totally.
And the two years of limbo and sleeping in on weekdays and working in a yarn store didn't help. Plus, I think there's just some outright traumatic repression factored in - it was sort of hard to tell what badness was general intern crap and what was actually the result of the Reign of Terror that was my OB program. And I'll be the first one to admit, freely, that this time around is so much better. It's nice not being the whipping child. I don't miss being constantly berated and demoralized. SO MUCH BETTER.
Which, does not, however, make it good.
You do forget the peculiarities. The dull ache in your upper back from the thirty pounds of stuff you have crammed in the pockets of your white coat. The mania induced by not sleeping every fourth night (which has struck me a lot this month, when we routinely sleep deprive patients to make them have seizures. Um, does anyone else see a problem, here?). The constant, vague sense that you're doing something wrong. The sheer mass and speed with which shit rolls downhill (and you're the valley, baby). And the bone-deep, leaden fatigue that never quite goes away, even when you technically are getting "sleep".
There came a point in medical school, early in my third year or so, where I had to become a doctor because my loans were so huge that I couldn't afford not to. Which was fine, because I actually wanted to be a doctor, but it still was sort of intimidating, in that holy-crap-I-guess-I-can't-change-my-mind-now sort of way. That's sort of where I'm at again. I've had a couple of moments this year where I'm like, really? Do I really want to be a psychiatrist? Am I sure? And then some part of my brain comes in and squelches that and says, fuck that, kid. You picked it, you're stuck with it, because I am so not doing this intern year thing ever again.
And again, it helps that I really do think I want to be a psychiatrist. But after this year? Never doing q4 in-house call, ever, ever again. Never going to be a scut monkey for a service I don't even belong to (ahem, family practice) again.
So ready for this to be done, and I'm not even crowning yet. Can I at least get an epidural?
So, okay, maybe it's not quite as bad as all that. I mean, it does have its moments. Like, I got to do a nerve block on a headache patient today, which was pretty cool. And the psych stuff can be very frustrating, but it's certainly never boring. Plus, I do like my cohorts. And I'm meeting interesting people, especially now that I'm off-service and in a big hospital where we can call in consultants. And it's only one year.
At least I've stopped swearing every single time my pager goes off.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Only 237 days to go...
So, two years ago, when I left my OB program, I remember having this conversation with this guy I was soon to fall madly in love with (which turned out to be a terrible mistake - when isn't it? - but nevertheless) about what the hell to do with the rest of my life. And we went back and forth about finding a new residency and staying in gynecology and blahdy blah blah blah. And so I made the memorable comment, "I don't mind having to repeat my intern year. I mean, the intern shit, I can handle. Being an intern? That I can do."
You know what? I do sort of mind. I'm tired.
Today was long. We had a family meeting with the sons of a patient of mine who had something close to a catastrophic stroke, who's doing really poorly, and who, incidentally, I've taken a lot of flack on for doing things that were very reasonable (like calling the hospice people to see if she was eligible after my attending said, "Let's get hospice involved." And then this morning everyone was all, what?! You called HOSPICE?! I...um...yeah. Remember when you told me to?). It was heartbreaking. She was, by all reports, a vibrant and wonderful woman. She, now, can't eat, can't move half her body, can't stay awake, can't really communicate. And her son -when we were discussing whether or not to put in a feeding tube - says, "You know, as long as she can swallow" (which she currently can't) "that's fine. I mean, I don't care if someone has to feed her, or, you know, if she doesn't know what day or month it is, whatever."
I wanted to cry. I have a feeling that would matter to her.
Talk to your families, folks. Be explicit in your advance directives. Tell the people you love how you would want to be treated if you can't make those decisions. Talk to your family about what they want. It sucks to think about these things, and you don't ever want to think they'll happen to you or to anyone you love, but, it does. And you'll be glad you had those conversations in a calm, rational moment when things aren't so calm and no one is feeling very rational.
You know what? I do sort of mind. I'm tired.
Today was long. We had a family meeting with the sons of a patient of mine who had something close to a catastrophic stroke, who's doing really poorly, and who, incidentally, I've taken a lot of flack on for doing things that were very reasonable (like calling the hospice people to see if she was eligible after my attending said, "Let's get hospice involved." And then this morning everyone was all, what?! You called HOSPICE?! I...um...yeah. Remember when you told me to?). It was heartbreaking. She was, by all reports, a vibrant and wonderful woman. She, now, can't eat, can't move half her body, can't stay awake, can't really communicate. And her son -when we were discussing whether or not to put in a feeding tube - says, "You know, as long as she can swallow" (which she currently can't) "that's fine. I mean, I don't care if someone has to feed her, or, you know, if she doesn't know what day or month it is, whatever."
I wanted to cry. I have a feeling that would matter to her.
Talk to your families, folks. Be explicit in your advance directives. Tell the people you love how you would want to be treated if you can't make those decisions. Talk to your family about what they want. It sucks to think about these things, and you don't ever want to think they'll happen to you or to anyone you love, but, it does. And you'll be glad you had those conversations in a calm, rational moment when things aren't so calm and no one is feeling very rational.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Well, it was a nice idea...
So I agree to do this daily posting thing, right? Only to discover last night that I can't sign in to Blogger from the hospital. Don't know why, just can't. Seriously, I tried like six different computers.
Argh.
So I could, technically, cheat and backdate my post so it looked like I wrote it yesterday, but I, I am not a cheaty-head, and so I'm going to just go forward and try to plan better for the days when I'm on call.
Call was actually quite nice last night. I spent most of my evening fretting about my patient in the stroke unit and chasing her blood pressures and freaking out at her heart rhythm on the monitor (only to call the Cardiology fellow and have him say, "Pah, PVCs. That wouldn't worry me at all." Which he said in a rather friendly sort of way, or I'd have muttered something nasty under my breath about Cardiologists. But this one is fairly nice, and has endeared himself to me in the past, and I'm pretty sure he was just trying to reassure me that she wasn't going to flip into v-tach and DIE in the next five minutes). But then I got to bed around 10 or 10:30, woke up a couple of times to roll over, call the stroke unit and pester the nurse about how my patient was, and then go back to sleep until 6:30, when I finally got up and was like, wow, what a great call that was.
And then we got a new attending today.
Now, I've mentioned that I'm not overly crazy about my new team. But our attendings over the past two weeks have been really pretty cool, which I've greatly appreciated. This one? This one is a strange, strange little man.
He came on all blustery and puffed up like a surgeon this morning. And then he calmed down a little, and got a little bit more comfortable with us, and then he started doing things like taking extensive psychiatric histories on our patients for no good reason (sometimes it's warranted. Sometimes it's just annoying). I was like, you do remember that you're a neurologist, right?
Bleh.
So we'll see how it goes. If nothing else, it's twelve days, and three calls, to go. And, the strange little man could turn out to be amusing when I'm better rested and less likely to feel threatened by his insinuations that I'm a moron because I can't read an EEG or I lump MRIs into the categories of either "that's probably fine" and "this one looks funny."
I'm a psychiatrist, dude. And the real point of this month? Learning when to call a neurologist.
But in the meantime, to make up for my lack of posting yesterday, here is a gratuitous cute picture of my niece, Annalise:
She's a banana. Ha! And five months old this week. And one of the cutest children in existence, all of whom seem to be somehow related to me. And by "related" I mean she's my cousin's kid, who isn't actually my cousin but we grew up together and I always called her parents Aunt and Uncle, and you know how Greek relatives don't actually have share genes with you. In the coming month I also have other gratuitous cuteness planned featuring probably more of her as well as my other friends' children, all of whom have been claimed as my nieces and nephews and can expect to be spoiled accordingly. That's just how it works.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
NaBloPoMo.
No, it isn't screwed up pig Latin. It stands for National Blog Posting Month and is apparently this online community thing where bloggers agree to post every day for the month of November. I was reading about it on Jen's blog and thought, what the hell is that? And then I clicked on the little link and was like yeah, yeah, whatever, until the point where they said:
"The Groups tab will help you find other likeminded individuals. I'm looking at you, knitting bloggers."
Now, it's not that I actually consider myself a knitting blogger (because we all know how much knitting is going on around here these days), so for no real good reason, that cracked me up. And I said, okay. I'll toss in my two cents. I've been bad about posting lately, and it's been bugging me, so maybe this will be good motivation (not sure how well this will work with my call schedule, either, but hey). And there's a cool button. I don't think I'm eligible for fun prizes or whatnot, because I didn't actually figure this out until November third, but, you know, whatever. We'll see how it goes...
"The Groups tab will help you find other likeminded individuals. I'm looking at you, knitting bloggers."
Now, it's not that I actually consider myself a knitting blogger (because we all know how much knitting is going on around here these days), so for no real good reason, that cracked me up. And I said, okay. I'll toss in my two cents. I've been bad about posting lately, and it's been bugging me, so maybe this will be good motivation (not sure how well this will work with my call schedule, either, but hey). And there's a cool button. I don't think I'm eligible for fun prizes or whatnot, because I didn't actually figure this out until November third, but, you know, whatever. We'll see how it goes...
Confessions of a Cranky Call Girl
So, week two of Neurology, down. For a while there, I was actually really enjoying it. But then the month changed and so the team changed, and now? Now I'm just crabby.
On the whole it hasn't been a bad month. Initially, there were two of us off-service types - me, the psych intern, and a Physical Med and Rehab intern I'll call Liz - as well as three second year Neuro residents and one senior, about to graduate in July-type Neurology resident. The six of us got along well. Our chief was laid-back and practical. Our attending for the first week was very cool and also really liked me, which was a plus. Our attending this week (they change weekly) is a very nice guy, quiet, soft-spoken, very easy going, but with this very disarming razor-sharp dry wit. Prior to Wednesday, I'd had two very easy calls. Ahhh.
And the system, as it is, is very nicely set up. Whenever the second year takes call, they're on by themselves. So they do consults, admissions from the ER, stuff on the patients already admitted, whatever. And they wind up being on a little bit less than q4, although not much. When Liz or I - who are strict q4, on every 4th night - are on, there's an upper level resident with us. So we take care of the patients already on service, up on the floor, and we do any direct admissions (transfers, clinic patients, whatever). The upper level, who theoretically knows something about Neurology, handles consults and makes decisions about admitting people down in the ER. Plus, they're available for any point at which the off-service intern finds themselves in a situation where they need guidance. It's actually quite pragmatic and useful, plus, we both have an easier night than we would've alone.
Oh, and did I mention how much better it is that being the only medical doctor overnight in a state psych hospital that has over 500 patients? And isn't always staffed by the most competent medical providers during the day?
But then November first came along. And we lost four residents, and only gained three. Liz and I are still there, and I'm so glad, because holy cow do I like her. She's a good egg and a very good co-intern. But we now only have a chief and two second year neuro residents. Our chief is high strung and intense and micromanaging and, while very nice, is kind of a lot to handle. And, AND, she does things like decide we need to round at freakin' 8am (we'd been rounding at 9:30 prior to this), which means I have to leave my house by 6 to get there in time to preround on all my patients, which totally bloody sucks. And then yesterday she made the whole team stay until after she was done with clinic, so we didn't leave until way too late, despite the fact that the two of us who could leave (Liz was on call) had been done for some time. And while one of the new 2nd years is actually a really nice guy whom Liz and I both really like, the other one is a condescending jackass. Which, we all know how well I take to condescension. Arrrrrrrrgh.
But at least I have today off. Which is nice, because I need the chance to catch up on my sleep, because of course I'm on call again tomorrow. Such a good time. I'm on with one of the second years from our old team, who's a great guy, but always admitted a ton of people on call. We'll see how it goes.
Incidentally, the title of today's post comes from my habit of answering the question, "Are you on call tonight?" with something along the lines of, "Yep, I'm your Call Girl this evening." I said that on Wednesday, and the nurse and the RT I was talking to (both men), were all shocked and scandalized and giggly. I, on the other hand, was like, it's kind of a corny joke, y'all, calm down.
There are many ways in which I whore myself out for this job. That? Is not one of them.
In other news, in what spare time I do have I've been reading a lot, which has gotten in the way of me knitting a lot, which I hope to remedy soon. And all the people who told me my wool stash was useless down here? Oh, you lied. Lied like a hand-crocheted rug (you know, like the one in my bathroom). I may not need quite the same level of woollen insulation that I did in the Chi, but, it's gotten sort of chilly down here. You can tell because Maggie, who usually looks like this when she naps:
has started sleeping like this:.JPG)
And the leaves are starting to change for real, which is very pretty. I'm told the Carolina springs are even more gorgeous. I have to say, I have yet to meet a season which isn't lovely in this part of the country (even if the summer was sort of steamy). We'll see how I feel about winter.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Meme a little meme with me
I was tagged, sort of indirectly, by Barb for this. And since I have the WHOLE DAY OFF tomorrow (in the middle of the week! Not even post call! A whole day!), I thought I'd indulge. (For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of a meme, click here, or if you want to know the actual sociological definition of meme, click here).
Things I'm Passionate About:
1. The people who are close to me
2. My dog
(and the rest, in no particular order)
3. Music
4. Justness and fairness
5. Language, words, and communication
6. Beauty, meaning, and analogy
7. Knitting
8. Access to quality mental health care (and being able to provide same)
Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Get through my intern year and manage the lingering effects of the last one
2. Develop actual self esteem
3. Learn to paint for real
4. Have a healthy, useful relationship with a good man
5. Communicate to those close to me exactly how much they mean to me (never gonna happen. There aren't words for this. But I'd like to come close)
6. Become a really, really good psychiatrist and have a productive career
7. Be able to give voice to those who had theirs taken in those ways I lost mine
8. Live long, and well
Things That I Say Often:
1. Is alls I'm saying
2. This is Dr. Kate, returning a page? (Okay, I use my last name)
3. Dude (typically a conjugate - as in "Dude, whatever" or "Dude, seriously!!")
4. Shhhhhhhhit!
5. You know what I'm saying.
6. Are you fucking kidding me? (Hey, my vocabulary is a capacious lexicon. Which is why it's okay that I swear like a sailor)
7. Are we there yet?
8. Hmm. And when have you felt like that before?
Books I've Read Recently (Or Am Reading):
Currently have my nose in...
1. Travels With Charley In Search of America, John Steinbeck (So far, a good read)
2. Bones to Ashes, Kathy Reichs (Ditto, although I've been told it isn't quite up to par with her older stuff. Which, considering how much Break No Bones annoyed me the first time I read it, dude. Fatal Voyage and Bare Bones are still my favorite Temperance Brennan novels)
3. Clinical Neurology for Psychiatrists, David Kaufman (yawn)
Recently finished...
4. The Book of Lost Things, John Connelly (A good read. The ending's kind of predictable, but the language, imagery, and allegory are fantastic)
5. Walking in Circles Before Lying Down, Merrill Markoe (Cute. Fluffy. Quick)
6. Big Big Love, Hanne Blank (Excellent. Purports to be about sex although it really isn't, and a wonderful book for anyone with body image issues)
7. Bitter is the New Black, Jennifer Lancaster (Funny, if kind of shallow. And made me homesick)
8. Bright Lights, Big Ass, Jennifer Lancaster (Hysterical. Funnier than Bitter. Jen's blog is also an amusing read)
Songs I Can Listen To Over and Over:
(in no particular order, and not especially my eight favorite songs of all time)
1. Get Back!, Ludacris (LOVE him. It's inexplicable)
2. Watch Me Shine, Joanna Pacitti
3. As Cool As I Am, Dar Williams
4. One Girl Revolution, Superchick
5. Blood in the Boardroom, Ani DiFranco
6. Break Away, Rascal Flatts (There are several RF songs that fit here, actually)
7. Time, Sarah McLachlan (Ditto. And this one, oddly enough, a song that will always remind me of Baltimore)
8. Judas, FHOD (The Flying Hamsters of Doom. Seriously. Coolest band ever. Why? Because my cousin plays bass, and they're actually really good, not like most people's bands-their-cousin-is-in)
What Attracts Me To My Friends:
1. Sense of humor
2. Common interests
3. Disparate interest
4. Compassion
5. Honesty
6. Genuineness
7. Common neuroses (let's be honest, here)
8. Something more diaphanous and ineffable
Things That I Learned (in the) Last Year:
(Okay, I'm taking a liberty and expanding this to the past three years)
1. I can teach knitting. Who knew?
2. Stability is fleeting and unreliable
3. Denial is a crappy defense mechanism
4. People will declare themselves, if you give them the chance
5. Who the "mentally ill" really are
6. The only way out is through
7. Where the cafeteria is at the hospital (Hey, the can't all be life lessons, can they?)
8. Exactly what I'm made of (okay, maybe I'm still learning this...)
Consider yourself tagged. Go!
Things I'm Passionate About:
1. The people who are close to me
2. My dog
(and the rest, in no particular order)
3. Music
4. Justness and fairness
5. Language, words, and communication
6. Beauty, meaning, and analogy
7. Knitting
8. Access to quality mental health care (and being able to provide same)
Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Get through my intern year and manage the lingering effects of the last one
2. Develop actual self esteem
3. Learn to paint for real
4. Have a healthy, useful relationship with a good man
5. Communicate to those close to me exactly how much they mean to me (never gonna happen. There aren't words for this. But I'd like to come close)
6. Become a really, really good psychiatrist and have a productive career
7. Be able to give voice to those who had theirs taken in those ways I lost mine
8. Live long, and well
Things That I Say Often:
1. Is alls I'm saying
2. This is Dr. Kate, returning a page? (Okay, I use my last name)
3. Dude (typically a conjugate - as in "Dude, whatever" or "Dude, seriously!!")
4. Shhhhhhhhit!
5. You know what I'm saying.
6. Are you fucking kidding me? (Hey, my vocabulary is a capacious lexicon. Which is why it's okay that I swear like a sailor)
7. Are we there yet?
8. Hmm. And when have you felt like that before?
Books I've Read Recently (Or Am Reading):
Currently have my nose in...
1. Travels With Charley In Search of America, John Steinbeck (So far, a good read)
2. Bones to Ashes, Kathy Reichs (Ditto, although I've been told it isn't quite up to par with her older stuff. Which, considering how much Break No Bones annoyed me the first time I read it, dude. Fatal Voyage and Bare Bones are still my favorite Temperance Brennan novels)
3. Clinical Neurology for Psychiatrists, David Kaufman (yawn)
Recently finished...
4. The Book of Lost Things, John Connelly (A good read. The ending's kind of predictable, but the language, imagery, and allegory are fantastic)
5. Walking in Circles Before Lying Down, Merrill Markoe (Cute. Fluffy. Quick)
6. Big Big Love, Hanne Blank (Excellent. Purports to be about sex although it really isn't, and a wonderful book for anyone with body image issues)
7. Bitter is the New Black, Jennifer Lancaster (Funny, if kind of shallow. And made me homesick)
8. Bright Lights, Big Ass, Jennifer Lancaster (Hysterical. Funnier than Bitter. Jen's blog is also an amusing read)
Songs I Can Listen To Over and Over:
(in no particular order, and not especially my eight favorite songs of all time)
1. Get Back!, Ludacris (LOVE him. It's inexplicable)
2. Watch Me Shine, Joanna Pacitti
3. As Cool As I Am, Dar Williams
4. One Girl Revolution, Superchick
5. Blood in the Boardroom, Ani DiFranco
6. Break Away, Rascal Flatts (There are several RF songs that fit here, actually)
7. Time, Sarah McLachlan (Ditto. And this one, oddly enough, a song that will always remind me of Baltimore)
8. Judas, FHOD (The Flying Hamsters of Doom. Seriously. Coolest band ever. Why? Because my cousin plays bass, and they're actually really good, not like most people's bands-their-cousin-is-in)
What Attracts Me To My Friends:
1. Sense of humor
2. Common interests
3. Disparate interest
4. Compassion
5. Honesty
6. Genuineness
7. Common neuroses (let's be honest, here)
8. Something more diaphanous and ineffable
Things That I Learned (in the) Last Year:
(Okay, I'm taking a liberty and expanding this to the past three years)
1. I can teach knitting. Who knew?
2. Stability is fleeting and unreliable
3. Denial is a crappy defense mechanism
4. People will declare themselves, if you give them the chance
5. Who the "mentally ill" really are
6. The only way out is through
7. Where the cafeteria is at the hospital (Hey, the can't all be life lessons, can they?)
8. Exactly what I'm made of (okay, maybe I'm still learning this...)
Consider yourself tagged. Go!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Uhhhhhgh....
I? Am so, so tired.
I started Neurology today. It's okay. My team seems nice enough. We had a really busy day.
So I was supposed to have this nice, get-acquainted sort of day, right? We didn't have a psych intern on the Neurology service last month. I'm on call tomorrow, which makes me pre-call today, which, when combined with the fact that I'm not following someone else should have meant that I didn't have any patients to see. Right?
Err, maybe not...
Allegedly, there's pretty much always an anesthesia intern on the service as well. And the one who left was supposed to sign out his patients to the one who was incoming. All good, right?
Except.
No anesthesia intern showed up today.
Oops.
It turns out there is no anesthesia intern this month, but there's a Physical Med and Rehab guy, who isn't showing up until tomorrow. So suddenly I went from this nice, casual day of having no patients to follow, helping out, getting oriented and maybe even leaving a little early so I could go replace the tuning fork and reflex hammer I can't find (at least I bought a penlight yesterday), to suddenly having six patients I knew nothing about to round on. Using a computer system I don't know. In a hospital system I don't know. On a service about which I know nothing (although, as my best friend points out, who really does know anything useful about neurology?).
I made it through, got things done, even discharged one. And spent an inordinate amount of time on the phone with the help desk. And although I didn't exactly get out early, I made it home in time to take Maggie to the boarder (I have to take her tonight, because I have to leave home tomorrow about an hour before they open. And she'll be there until 5 on Wednesday because I won't get home in time to pick her up during the morning pickup hours. I'm working on a dog sitter...).
Stressed. Me. OUT, today did.
I guess we'll see how call goes tomorrow. I'm told their call isn't too bad. I'll believe it when I see it...
...only 252 more days, 4 hours, and 5 minutes....
I started Neurology today. It's okay. My team seems nice enough. We had a really busy day.
So I was supposed to have this nice, get-acquainted sort of day, right? We didn't have a psych intern on the Neurology service last month. I'm on call tomorrow, which makes me pre-call today, which, when combined with the fact that I'm not following someone else should have meant that I didn't have any patients to see. Right?
Err, maybe not...
Allegedly, there's pretty much always an anesthesia intern on the service as well. And the one who left was supposed to sign out his patients to the one who was incoming. All good, right?
Except.
No anesthesia intern showed up today.
Oops.
It turns out there is no anesthesia intern this month, but there's a Physical Med and Rehab guy, who isn't showing up until tomorrow. So suddenly I went from this nice, casual day of having no patients to follow, helping out, getting oriented and maybe even leaving a little early so I could go replace the tuning fork and reflex hammer I can't find (at least I bought a penlight yesterday), to suddenly having six patients I knew nothing about to round on. Using a computer system I don't know. In a hospital system I don't know. On a service about which I know nothing (although, as my best friend points out, who really does know anything useful about neurology?).
I made it through, got things done, even discharged one. And spent an inordinate amount of time on the phone with the help desk. And although I didn't exactly get out early, I made it home in time to take Maggie to the boarder (I have to take her tonight, because I have to leave home tomorrow about an hour before they open. And she'll be there until 5 on Wednesday because I won't get home in time to pick her up during the morning pickup hours. I'm working on a dog sitter...).
Stressed. Me. OUT, today did.
I guess we'll see how call goes tomorrow. I'm told their call isn't too bad. I'll believe it when I see it...
...only 252 more days, 4 hours, and 5 minutes....
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Coolest. Friends. Ever.
So, as per usual, I was on call last night. Shocking, I know (this every fourth night thing is getting a little weary, and I still have 257 days to go, according to the little countermajig. Which translates into roughly 65-70 more calls, and oh my GOD, that was a number I never should've crunched). And it wasn't too bad a night - the lady who was in the unit with DTs and detoxing off of methadone, street opiates, cocaine, xanax, and who knows what else did not actually have a seizure, nor did she achieve her goals of chewing through her restraints or biting her nurse. The kid who keeps sticking foreign objects in his dialysis port (he now has a staple - like, you know, the kind that holds paper together - in his lung, permanently) managed to not stick anything else in there last night. I was on with one of my favorite moonlighters. And I even got my flu shot yesterday. Why people needed to call me at 2am to clarify orders that weren't going to be carried out for another 6 or 7 hours is totally beyond me, but, all in all, it wasn't a bad night. And I only have one more State Hospital medicine call left (Saturday) until January. Huzzah.
So I got home around noon, picked up a disappointing burger at the Cook Out down the street, and came home and tried to nap. But there was banging outside. My damn pager went off (not it, people, not it!). And then the doorbell rang, at like, 2:30. And I thought, who the hell...?
And I thought about just ignoring it, but then I decided that it might be maintenance and they might be coming in if I didn't answer, and I was not in the mood to have my apartment invaded, so I got up, threw on my bathrobe, and trudged downstairs to say, no thank you, whatever you're selling, I don't want to buy any.
But I opened the door, and I found this package. And I opened it, and it was one of the best pieces of mail I've ever, ever, ever received. Look what was inside:
So I got home around noon, picked up a disappointing burger at the Cook Out down the street, and came home and tried to nap. But there was banging outside. My damn pager went off (not it, people, not it!). And then the doorbell rang, at like, 2:30. And I thought, who the hell...?
And I thought about just ignoring it, but then I decided that it might be maintenance and they might be coming in if I didn't answer, and I was not in the mood to have my apartment invaded, so I got up, threw on my bathrobe, and trudged downstairs to say, no thank you, whatever you're selling, I don't want to buy any.
But I opened the door, and I found this package. And I opened it, and it was one of the best pieces of mail I've ever, ever, ever received. Look what was inside:
These, along with a card from my knitting buddies back in Chicago (Sarah and Lorna, and Joy, Valerie, Cindy, and Heather, who don't have blogs for me to link to). There are six of them, and six pieces, so I'm guessing that everybody made one. The patterns are apparently from a Leisure Arts book of bath and spa sets, and the yarn is Lily Sugar and Cream, in a colorway that will go very nicely with my upstairs bathroom. So awesome!!
What's also amusing is that in my drowsy stupor, the first things I saw when I opened the tissue were the bath mitt and the two hand towels, which looked like one really long piece of cloth, and the gathered up top of the soap bag. And I thought, huh. This is really cool, but why did they make me a hat, mittens, and scarf set out of cotton?
And then I got it.
And then I got a little sniffly.
So now I'm all ready for a day of fabulous spa-like self pampering (all I need is, um, a day). I love them! And I really like the little lace detail. So cool! THANKS SO MUCH, Y'ALL!!!
Plus, if you saw the comments from the last post, I also got notification today from Amanda that Sarah had entered me in her contest, and I won! It's an embarrassment of riches today, really...and I appreciate each and every bit more than I can ever tell any of you.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
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....
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....
Monday, October 08, 2007
Proof of actual knitting (and crochet)
Did you all really think I'd given up the yarn? Now, come on.
In truth, I haven't had all that much time to knit. And I diverged a little into crochet...because, you know, it's fast...
Some time ago my classmate and partner in crime PenguinShrink (or as I am sometimes wont to call her, Wet Armadillo Girl, given her propensity to say things like "50 lashes with a wet armadillo." She's from Texas, what can you say) and I made the very silly commitment to hand craft thank you gifts for all of the donors who gave money for the intern retreat. We were told there are usually about 7 or 8 donors, and that this year they'd had more trouble recruiting people to donate because the retreat, um, wasn't well attended last year (again, I tell you, it's a weekend off, at a beach house, all expenses paid. What's the conflict??).
There were 15 donors.
We had a lot of fiber work to do...
Penguin's a much more accomplished crocheter than I (you should see the blanket on their bed!), so she tackled the more complicated items, for the higher-amount donors - i.e., a moebius scarf and shawl, a very cool ribbed newsboy hat, etc. This is my contribution:
In truth, I haven't had all that much time to knit. And I diverged a little into crochet...because, you know, it's fast...
Some time ago my classmate and partner in crime PenguinShrink (or as I am sometimes wont to call her, Wet Armadillo Girl, given her propensity to say things like "50 lashes with a wet armadillo." She's from Texas, what can you say) and I made the very silly commitment to hand craft thank you gifts for all of the donors who gave money for the intern retreat. We were told there are usually about 7 or 8 donors, and that this year they'd had more trouble recruiting people to donate because the retreat, um, wasn't well attended last year (again, I tell you, it's a weekend off, at a beach house, all expenses paid. What's the conflict??).
There were 15 donors.
We had a lot of fiber work to do...
Penguin's a much more accomplished crocheter than I (you should see the blanket on their bed!), so she tackled the more complicated items, for the higher-amount donors - i.e., a moebius scarf and shawl, a very cool ribbed newsboy hat, etc. This is my contribution:
What you see here, from left to right, are three scarves at the top - in Encore (from my stash), Red Heart (I know, but, dude, it was cheap) and Malabrigo Chunky (also from the stash, and, for the program director). The left two are just some combination or another of sc-dc rows; the one on the right is the infamous Potato Chip Scarf, or at least my crocheted version.
Down in front (here's a close-up):
are two washcloths in Bernat Organic Cotton (the pink - and can I say, $3 for 84 y and AMAZING. Seriously, I'm in love) and the old standby Sugar 'n' Cream, which is also what that square thing is made of (it's a washcloth-bag thing that you put your soap right into, whatever the hell that's called, and it has a bar of soap in it, in a box, which is why it's square). Then that little thing next to the washcloths is a coffee cup cozy in the custom-dyed Lorna's Laces that Sarah sent, for one of the State Hospital attendings who, well, drinks a lot of coffee. In truth, it started out as a sock, but, I didn't like the way it was turning out, decided I needed to do a slip-stitch pattern of some sort, blah, blah, but I didn't frog it, so I just ribbed a few rows, bound off, and *poof*, instant java cozy (incidentally, I made one of those for my uncle, for Christmas, and he raved about the silly thing). Anyway, next to that are two gift bags, one knit, one crocheted, out of the Encore again (which were going to be filled with chocolates), and then finally, also for chocolate-filling, is a little bowl on the end there made out of some icky Paton's Canadiana that was in the stash, don't ask me why (the color actually turns out sort of cool, but blech, it feels so..acrylic). And there you have it.
Then, the past few days, I've been working on a little baby beanie (not to be confused with a Beanie Baby) for one of the nurses at work, who's having a shower tomorrow.
Here's Maggie, modeling the hat with all the enthusiasm Sarah's Worfy (PS - happy birthday, Sarah!) usually shows as well....
And, perhaps a better view, on the couch:
It's made out of RYC Cashsoft, a machine-washable merino-cashmere-microfiber blend, and possibly my all-time-favorite baby yarn.
So that's what's off the needles/hook these days. I need to start something else...I've got a couple of socks going that just aren't calling to me these days....any suggestions?
Succinct
So, I came home this morning, after a wretched, wretched call, and found this in my inbox, again from Barb.
I cannot tell you how well this sums up my call. And currently, my job. Or how much this song will be in my head over the next two weeks (okay, year).
Plus, I, just, I howled.
I think this is going to replace my old on-call song in my head from back in my OB days (although, how can you possibly replace the lyrics, "It's like hey, l'il stupid, don't make me lose it!" Although....I admit....it's the second bridge that was usually running through my head...)
I cannot tell you how well this sums up my call. And currently, my job. Or how much this song will be in my head over the next two weeks (okay, year).
Plus, I, just, I howled.
I think this is going to replace my old on-call song in my head from back in my OB days (although, how can you possibly replace the lyrics, "It's like hey, l'il stupid, don't make me lose it!" Although....I admit....it's the second bridge that was usually running through my head...)
Friday, October 05, 2007
Another must-see
Barb sent me this today. It's a Dove ad, part of their Campaign for Real Beauty. It speaks volumes....and frankly, that overwhelming torrent of judgemental messages they portray so well, is kind of how I feel most days....
The next post will include fiberwork, I swear it. But this seemed important enough to preempt that, so...
The next post will include fiberwork, I swear it. But this seemed important enough to preempt that, so...
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
At least it wasn't the couch
So I'm on call again. As always. What else is new?
Sunday was my last call, and OH. MY. GOD. did it suck. Sucked like a Hoover in a hurricane. Tonight, tonight's going a little better. It helps that my "moonlighter" (we typically have a moonlighter on from 5-11 with us, who is usually a medicine fellow of some sort - mostly GI - or sometimes one of the Locum Tenens types. They're useful to us, but really, their moonlighting function is for the attending, so they can go home at 5 and only come in if there's a serious crisis) is one of the most competent attendings we have and also one of the more delightful people in the department. She's very cool about just handling whatever needs to be handled. It's nice.
And, guess what. I got to sew. I did! On a person again. Ohhhhh, it was wicked cool.
It actually started our evening with quite a bang. Shortly after 5 (when everything switches over to the "on call" folk and everyone else goes home), they called a medical stat (think of a code blue, but a little less dire than that) on the medium-security forensics unit. And, much like a code, when you hear that, you move. And if you aren't one of the ones moving, you get out of the way. So I take off running (I do run pretty fast for a fat girl) and when I get up to F-Med (and someone finally lets us in behind all the security doors) there's just blood everywhere. I mean, everywhere. Apparently one of the patients got out of control, decked a staff member so badly we had to send him to the real hospital, and knocked this other patient across the back of the head with a chair, opening up about a 6 cm-long gash. And between the two of them, they bled all over everything like a couple of stuck pigs (the assailant, by the way, had nary a scratch on him, ended up in four-point hard leathers and bought himself a ticket over to the maximum security side).
I have mentioned that forensics is my specialty of choice, right?
So I got to sew his head up. Ohhhh, I do miss the sewing. It took me the first suture or two to get my groove back (it has been over two years, you know), but it's like falling off a bike. I was telling him, as I was stitching, about the last head I sewed up, which was on Halloween 2004. The guy was very intoxicated and both his girlfriends happened to show up to his costume party, and in the process of trying to keep them separated, he cracked his head on the bar lamp and wound up in my ER, dressed like Paris Hilton, with two big gashes and me sewing on his head. This guy, tonight? Apparently tried to murder his mother, was found incompetent to stand trial, and then just wound up on the wrong side of that chair. He was so much more pleasant and cooperative than the last fellow whose head I stitched.
After I dressed his wound, I sent him back up to his floor with an order for tylenol, and told him that next time, he really should duck.
Sunday was my last call, and OH. MY. GOD. did it suck. Sucked like a Hoover in a hurricane. Tonight, tonight's going a little better. It helps that my "moonlighter" (we typically have a moonlighter on from 5-11 with us, who is usually a medicine fellow of some sort - mostly GI - or sometimes one of the Locum Tenens types. They're useful to us, but really, their moonlighting function is for the attending, so they can go home at 5 and only come in if there's a serious crisis) is one of the most competent attendings we have and also one of the more delightful people in the department. She's very cool about just handling whatever needs to be handled. It's nice.
And, guess what. I got to sew. I did! On a person again. Ohhhhh, it was wicked cool.
It actually started our evening with quite a bang. Shortly after 5 (when everything switches over to the "on call" folk and everyone else goes home), they called a medical stat (think of a code blue, but a little less dire than that) on the medium-security forensics unit. And, much like a code, when you hear that, you move. And if you aren't one of the ones moving, you get out of the way. So I take off running (I do run pretty fast for a fat girl) and when I get up to F-Med (and someone finally lets us in behind all the security doors) there's just blood everywhere. I mean, everywhere. Apparently one of the patients got out of control, decked a staff member so badly we had to send him to the real hospital, and knocked this other patient across the back of the head with a chair, opening up about a 6 cm-long gash. And between the two of them, they bled all over everything like a couple of stuck pigs (the assailant, by the way, had nary a scratch on him, ended up in four-point hard leathers and bought himself a ticket over to the maximum security side).
I have mentioned that forensics is my specialty of choice, right?
So I got to sew his head up. Ohhhh, I do miss the sewing. It took me the first suture or two to get my groove back (it has been over two years, you know), but it's like falling off a bike. I was telling him, as I was stitching, about the last head I sewed up, which was on Halloween 2004. The guy was very intoxicated and both his girlfriends happened to show up to his costume party, and in the process of trying to keep them separated, he cracked his head on the bar lamp and wound up in my ER, dressed like Paris Hilton, with two big gashes and me sewing on his head. This guy, tonight? Apparently tried to murder his mother, was found incompetent to stand trial, and then just wound up on the wrong side of that chair. He was so much more pleasant and cooperative than the last fellow whose head I stitched.
After I dressed his wound, I sent him back up to his floor with an order for tylenol, and told him that next time, he really should duck.
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