It's been a while since I did the whole "Friday Fragments" thing. But today was sort of all over, so it seemed fitting. Even if it is Tuesday.
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I spent a lot of time on the NOAA website today. I felt better. I now feel worse. The entire Eastern Carolina coast is under a hurricane watch right now. Seriously, if Earl invites himself along to our beach retreat, I'm going to lose my damn mind.
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I actually said the words today, "We had a big argument over Costco." That should just never be uttered.
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Hurricanes always remind me of a particular man from my past, who lived (lives? Who knows) in Hurricane Alley and allegedly threw a hell of a hurricane party. I learned more about hurricane proofing than I ever wanted to from him. Who knew it might actually turn out to be relevant?
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I got my stuff today for the conference I'm going to in New York in October. That made me a little giddy.
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Overheard on my walk in to work the other day (remember - hospital in the middle of a college campus): "I'm not sure this geology class is worth the half hour walk to class. I mean, I pass like fifty rocks on the way there, why not just study those?"
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Corny Joke #1 I heard at the Starbucks at work today: "Skeleton walks into a bar. He orders a beer and a mop."
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Corny Joke #2 I heard at Starbucks today: "Helium walks into a bar. The bartender says, hey, we don't serve inert gasses here! Helium doesn't react."
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Corny co-worker joke I heard today: "I bit into a pumpkin muffin and was like, 'wow, this is fantastic! Oh my gourd!!'"
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TV quote I love du jour: "Broken bodies are easier to mend than broken minds." From NCIS, about PTSD.
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Tomorrow my coffee shop is celebrating its 10 year anniversary. I'm excited about the discount. And wish them another 10.
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The hurricane is going to miss us. The hurricane is going to miss us. The hurricane is going to miss us.
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I really like my coffee people. I'm a little bummer that after I get back I'm going to have to get to work earlier and not linger so long at the coffee shop in the morning.
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I really need to go to bed. I haven't been getting out of bed so well in the mornings...
Showing posts with label angst. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angst. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Friday, January 01, 2010
Holy cow, it's 2010.
So, it's a whole new year.
I had a wonderful time last night. Hung out with the old crew (it was, after all No Pants New Year, season 8), stayed up until 5am, laughed, talked, remembered why I adore these people so much.
I thought a lot yesterday about the changing year. It's sort of arbitrary, like a birthday - nothing is really different about the day to day, but in a way, that's also not true. Because for whatever reasons, we associate these things culturally with new beginnings, taking stock, and moving forward.
2009? Wasn't all bad. It wasn't generally all that good, mind you. The last few weeks in particular were amazingly stressful. But some very wonderful things happened in 2009. Life keeps going; it's blissful, horrible, awesome and terrifying all at the same time. You can resist the flow if you like, but in the end you have no real choice but to keep moving with it.
I frequently can't believe I'm a third year resident. Partly in the sense of, whoa, where the hell did the last two and a half years go? But also, you'll remember that my entire first year I couldn't convince myself that they weren't going to turn around one day and fire me. I couldn't conceive of the possibility of being promoted to second year. And yet, time goes forward. I'm still employed. I'm halfway through my tenure at Baby Blue, exactly, and somehow two and a half years seems both like a heartbeat and an eternity. I love my job. I know psychiatry. I know what psychiatrists *do*. Three years ago, I couldn't have said any of these things.
And I'm continually amazed at the caliber of the people around me. I'm perpetually marveling at all the good people in my life, frankly, local or otherwise. I have wonderful people close to me - the family I've created in my life and the family created for me. I have amazing friends, colleagues, and people that touch my life everyday. I also have somehow acquired better skills for dealing with the toxic people or interactions that sometimes lurk in my life like depth charges (although, let's be honest, I still have a good deal of skill to obtain in that arena).
We were waxing nostalgic last night on how it's been a decade since the Y2K scare. None of us could believe it'd been 10 years. I was thinking, later, as I lay on my friends' couch in the dark, about what a decade it's been. Thinking about where we all were ten years ago, how much has changed in these years that have just flown the hell by...it makes me think I can't even imagine what we'll be talking about on the eve of 2020.
I've been thinking this week how my life at times feels almost unrecognizable from what it was 10, 15 years ago. One of my relatives posted an old picture of me on Facebook a while back; one of my friends came into my office the next day and was like, wow, I almost didn't recognize you. And I said, yeah, well, those were different times. He asked if I had the same personality then that I have now, and I honestly wasn't sure of the answer. Similarly, I had coffee this week with a very dear friend whom I haven't seen since we graduated from medical school, and she commented that I seemed very different from then. I asked her to elaborate, and she said she noticed how "anxious and tired" I seemed.
I can't argue with that.
She reminded me that the girl she knew in medical school was confident, put together, always on top of things. What she didn't know about that was two things: A, it was a ruse. I'm still the woman who keeps her shit together in a crisis, still the one who puts out fires, still the girl who gets it done. Those things are true about me, and they're part of who I am. But I've been able to get much more in touch, for better or worse, with the side of me that is, frankly, a mess. Who isn't so good at being a grown-up some days. Who drops the ball occasionally, can't find the floor of her closet, and has learned how to live with (shudder) a low census of roaches in her apartment. Who sometimes is too passive, who often gets her feelings hurt, who internalizes everything that goes on around her. Who's funny and neurotic and is sometimes a spaz. Who is uncoordinated and imperfect. Who tries not to throw stones in her glass houses and who sometimes finds the storms of her own emotions to be completely overwhelming. Who attaches fiercely and faithfully to people, even though she thinks she rarely lets them see that. Who finally believes that happiness is an attainable reality.
The other thing my friend doesn't know about this, this has been a very significant source of angst for the past year or so, feeling like I don't maintain that facade of Ms. "Everything's under control, here." I feel like it makes me seem weak. In truth, I feel like it makes me weak. But the reality of it is, it's only because I've started allowing that shell to weaken that I've started to understand the many layers of who I am. And, that those components of myself are from where I draw my strength.
And so, we move on into 2010. A new year, a new chapter, and (arguably) a new decade. I have great things in mind for it.
I had a wonderful time last night. Hung out with the old crew (it was, after all No Pants New Year, season 8), stayed up until 5am, laughed, talked, remembered why I adore these people so much. I thought a lot yesterday about the changing year. It's sort of arbitrary, like a birthday - nothing is really different about the day to day, but in a way, that's also not true. Because for whatever reasons, we associate these things culturally with new beginnings, taking stock, and moving forward.
2009? Wasn't all bad. It wasn't generally all that good, mind you. The last few weeks in particular were amazingly stressful. But some very wonderful things happened in 2009. Life keeps going; it's blissful, horrible, awesome and terrifying all at the same time. You can resist the flow if you like, but in the end you have no real choice but to keep moving with it.
I frequently can't believe I'm a third year resident. Partly in the sense of, whoa, where the hell did the last two and a half years go? But also, you'll remember that my entire first year I couldn't convince myself that they weren't going to turn around one day and fire me. I couldn't conceive of the possibility of being promoted to second year. And yet, time goes forward. I'm still employed. I'm halfway through my tenure at Baby Blue, exactly, and somehow two and a half years seems both like a heartbeat and an eternity. I love my job. I know psychiatry. I know what psychiatrists *do*. Three years ago, I couldn't have said any of these things.
And I'm continually amazed at the caliber of the people around me. I'm perpetually marveling at all the good people in my life, frankly, local or otherwise. I have wonderful people close to me - the family I've created in my life and the family created for me. I have amazing friends, colleagues, and people that touch my life everyday. I also have somehow acquired better skills for dealing with the toxic people or interactions that sometimes lurk in my life like depth charges (although, let's be honest, I still have a good deal of skill to obtain in that arena).
We were waxing nostalgic last night on how it's been a decade since the Y2K scare. None of us could believe it'd been 10 years. I was thinking, later, as I lay on my friends' couch in the dark, about what a decade it's been. Thinking about where we all were ten years ago, how much has changed in these years that have just flown the hell by...it makes me think I can't even imagine what we'll be talking about on the eve of 2020.
I've been thinking this week how my life at times feels almost unrecognizable from what it was 10, 15 years ago. One of my relatives posted an old picture of me on Facebook a while back; one of my friends came into my office the next day and was like, wow, I almost didn't recognize you. And I said, yeah, well, those were different times. He asked if I had the same personality then that I have now, and I honestly wasn't sure of the answer. Similarly, I had coffee this week with a very dear friend whom I haven't seen since we graduated from medical school, and she commented that I seemed very different from then. I asked her to elaborate, and she said she noticed how "anxious and tired" I seemed.
I can't argue with that.
She reminded me that the girl she knew in medical school was confident, put together, always on top of things. What she didn't know about that was two things: A, it was a ruse. I'm still the woman who keeps her shit together in a crisis, still the one who puts out fires, still the girl who gets it done. Those things are true about me, and they're part of who I am. But I've been able to get much more in touch, for better or worse, with the side of me that is, frankly, a mess. Who isn't so good at being a grown-up some days. Who drops the ball occasionally, can't find the floor of her closet, and has learned how to live with (shudder) a low census of roaches in her apartment. Who sometimes is too passive, who often gets her feelings hurt, who internalizes everything that goes on around her. Who's funny and neurotic and is sometimes a spaz. Who is uncoordinated and imperfect. Who tries not to throw stones in her glass houses and who sometimes finds the storms of her own emotions to be completely overwhelming. Who attaches fiercely and faithfully to people, even though she thinks she rarely lets them see that. Who finally believes that happiness is an attainable reality.
The other thing my friend doesn't know about this, this has been a very significant source of angst for the past year or so, feeling like I don't maintain that facade of Ms. "Everything's under control, here." I feel like it makes me seem weak. In truth, I feel like it makes me weak. But the reality of it is, it's only because I've started allowing that shell to weaken that I've started to understand the many layers of who I am. And, that those components of myself are from where I draw my strength.
And so, we move on into 2010. A new year, a new chapter, and (arguably) a new decade. I have great things in mind for it.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Loculated
It's my knee. Well, a small cross-section of the gigantic cyst in my knee (it continues for a lot of cuts; this is sort of the middle). Which apparently isn't the problem; apparently the pain is coming from the patella being out of place. But, this probably isn't helping.
Also? It's a pretty good metaphor for how my life is going right now....
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Silly naked doggy
Maggie got a haircut this morning.
And has commenced to sleeping in the laundry again. Oy.
We had a relatively productive day, although, I didn't get the things done that I wanted to (I.e., we have no groceries and I didn't unpack a single box). But the laundry's done, the dishes are clean, I'm caught up on outstanding notes, I got a little housecleaning done, I spent way too much money at Ulta, I did my own nails, and I had my ass thoroughly kicked by my trainer. And I got a few other things accomplished. So, you know...
Tomorrow morning I start on the Geropsychiatry/Peripartum Mood Disorders service. My patients will be predominantly postpartum or pregnant women with mood or thought disorders, but whatever room I have left on the service will be filled with old people or overflow patients from the crisis stabilization unit. I've done a couple of days on the units doing coverage over the last two weeks, and a week of intern coverage like 10 months ago, but I haven't reeeeeally been on the units for a year. And I wasn't doing clinic duty then. So I'm a little anxious. I'm sure I'll get a rhythm down, and it'll be fine, and before you know it the whole process will be old hat again...but, I'm not there yet, so - anxious. At least I'm on the gero unit in some form or another for the next four months (two months of peripartum, one of general gero, then one of gero/ECT), so, I'll get chance to settle in before everything gets upended again.
Truth be told, I'm rather looking forward to getting in to the swing of things. I think this is going to be a better year once I get the hang of balancing things, and I'm hopeful that'll happen fairly quickly. So, we'll see how it goes...
And has commenced to sleeping in the laundry again. Oy.
We had a relatively productive day, although, I didn't get the things done that I wanted to (I.e., we have no groceries and I didn't unpack a single box). But the laundry's done, the dishes are clean, I'm caught up on outstanding notes, I got a little housecleaning done, I spent way too much money at Ulta, I did my own nails, and I had my ass thoroughly kicked by my trainer. And I got a few other things accomplished. So, you know...
Tomorrow morning I start on the Geropsychiatry/Peripartum Mood Disorders service. My patients will be predominantly postpartum or pregnant women with mood or thought disorders, but whatever room I have left on the service will be filled with old people or overflow patients from the crisis stabilization unit. I've done a couple of days on the units doing coverage over the last two weeks, and a week of intern coverage like 10 months ago, but I haven't reeeeeally been on the units for a year. And I wasn't doing clinic duty then. So I'm a little anxious. I'm sure I'll get a rhythm down, and it'll be fine, and before you know it the whole process will be old hat again...but, I'm not there yet, so - anxious. At least I'm on the gero unit in some form or another for the next four months (two months of peripartum, one of general gero, then one of gero/ECT), so, I'll get chance to settle in before everything gets upended again.
Truth be told, I'm rather looking forward to getting in to the swing of things. I think this is going to be a better year once I get the hang of balancing things, and I'm hopeful that'll happen fairly quickly. So, we'll see how it goes...
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Anxiety
So Claudia's back in the Chi, but we had a very nice visit (thanks, hon!). We spent her last day here making one more essential stop on the Culinary Tour of the Triangle - it was the abbreviated version, but, it was a good tour. We ate at Top of the Hill, Town Hall Grill, Weathervane, Spartacus, PF Changs (it was in a pinch, but we were able to maintain our streak of dining al fresco), my aunt and uncle's (the best place around, IMHO), and today? Bojangles. A Southern institution.
I met with Gomer this morning, came home, showered, and Claud and I headed out to the Boj. We then went into Chapel Hill to try and find this cupcake bakery my aunt had raved about, which was? Of course? Closed. So we ended up at the Cold Stone (mmm), but still got to sit outside on some picnic benches and enjoy the completely gorgeous day. We came home, and she packed, and then we decided we did indeed have enough time to move the furniture from my room into the other bedroom and vice versa, or at least get a good start on it, which we did. And then I dropped her at the airport, and headed about an hour west to pick up the suit jacket in my size at the store that had it. Because, y'all, I have my fellowship interview tomorrow.
I know, I know. I just found out about it Friday. The whole damn thing makes me even more anxious than I can say, and in fact, I'm making the conscious decision to stop discussing why (which, I've been whining to Peng and Claudia and my mom for a week) until after the interview is over tomorrow. So, Thursday. It's my last day of this abbreviated vacation, and the only scheduled thing I have is a 10:30 with Gomer. So, Thursday? Good post. Promise.
Meanwhile...I have a fabulous new suit. Great new heels (Danskos. Doesn't it figure?). Pretty new jewelry, including a watch, which is something I almost never wear. And a kickass new pocketbook. I have hose. I have makeup. I have...um...chutzpa. And I'll have a mocha in the morning. This interview day will go just fine, of course.
Still.....::whimper::.....
I met with Gomer this morning, came home, showered, and Claud and I headed out to the Boj. We then went into Chapel Hill to try and find this cupcake bakery my aunt had raved about, which was? Of course? Closed. So we ended up at the Cold Stone (mmm), but still got to sit outside on some picnic benches and enjoy the completely gorgeous day. We came home, and she packed, and then we decided we did indeed have enough time to move the furniture from my room into the other bedroom and vice versa, or at least get a good start on it, which we did. And then I dropped her at the airport, and headed about an hour west to pick up the suit jacket in my size at the store that had it. Because, y'all, I have my fellowship interview tomorrow.
I know, I know. I just found out about it Friday. The whole damn thing makes me even more anxious than I can say, and in fact, I'm making the conscious decision to stop discussing why (which, I've been whining to Peng and Claudia and my mom for a week) until after the interview is over tomorrow. So, Thursday. It's my last day of this abbreviated vacation, and the only scheduled thing I have is a 10:30 with Gomer. So, Thursday? Good post. Promise.
Meanwhile...I have a fabulous new suit. Great new heels (Danskos. Doesn't it figure?). Pretty new jewelry, including a watch, which is something I almost never wear. And a kickass new pocketbook. I have hose. I have makeup. I have...um...chutzpa. And I'll have a mocha in the morning. This interview day will go just fine, of course.
Still.....::whimper::.....
Monday, March 02, 2009
Revision
Okay, let me start today's post by saying, the sink was NOT Maggie's fault. I just thought the look on her face sort of said it all...
So yesterday, I got a few things done, I dyed my hair (ahhh, I'm a redhead again...), got out of the shower, set something very dramatic like my hairbrush on the sink, and it fell off the wall again. Which, it's done before, but I caught it, put it back up. This time, I noticed that the U-bend had cracked, but, I put it back up on the wall and it seemed to align very nicely. So, okay, I thought, I'll call the landlord later, and I wandered off to the kitchen (where the laundry is).
Maggie, for the record, was snoozing in her chair in the living room.
Shortly thereafter, there was a giant crash. And Maggie rocketed from the living room to my room, to hide on my bed. I, on the other hand, commenced to swearing. Because, of course, now there was nasty, moldy, sulfur-y water coming out of the drain and leaking all over my bathroom floor. And the sink was on the floor. Oh, here - a recreation, since I had to take the sink out of the bathtub so I could shower tonight...
And then last night - it snowed in North Carolina. Again. All over my daffodils.
Ohhh, but it was beautiful this morning. I wish I'd thought to take my camera. Mike may have gotten some (he thought to bring his, and he has a much better camera than I do), which I'll attempt to steal from him. I did manage to snap this one of my car, with my phone:
That was some 9 or 10 hours after I parked in the garage...it was cold in NC today, yo!
Only one of my patients showed up (out of 9 I had scheduled). And, after getting there at 6:45, I discovered around 8:30 that we were on a 2 hour delay. So, I didn't have to be there until 10. Fab.
Sparrow gave me the wonderful idea of calling all my afternoon patients to see if they were planning to come, and of course, only the 1pm was. So I managed to leave around 3:30 (after a conversation with Sparrow in which she was like, go! Go to the gym! Which was exactly what I'd wanted her to say when I walked in there and was like, but they said they might close early, and it's already 3:30, and my tummy still kind of hurts, and, and, and....) and went to the gym, and as I was dumping stuff in my locker to go work out, I realized...I'd just shut my locker - locked, of course - with both the keys to my lock inside.
Damn it.
So I went and worked out, and then went and got the bolt cutters from the guys at the desk and cut my lock off. And then discovered that the locker wouldn't open anyway. So then I went and got a screwdriver, and that eventually opened it.
Thanks, Sparrow. Going to the gym was a great idea.
(No, not blaming her any more than I am Maggie. I actually did have a good workout...and, after all, I went in there with the express purpose of getting her to tell me to go...)
And then, of course, I came home, and found both garbage strewn all over (I DO blame Maggie for that one) and my sink still sitting in the bathtub. My landlord's response? With the snow and all? He forgot. Meanwhile, I have a SINK IN MY BATHTUB. He swears he'll get it fixed tomorrow, and I believe him.
Oh, but, the best part of today? Tomorrow, clinic's not opening until 10.
And Maggie's wagging her tail in her sleep, which I think is about the sweetest thing I've ever seen...
So yesterday, I got a few things done, I dyed my hair (ahhh, I'm a redhead again...), got out of the shower, set something very dramatic like my hairbrush on the sink, and it fell off the wall again. Which, it's done before, but I caught it, put it back up. This time, I noticed that the U-bend had cracked, but, I put it back up on the wall and it seemed to align very nicely. So, okay, I thought, I'll call the landlord later, and I wandered off to the kitchen (where the laundry is).
Maggie, for the record, was snoozing in her chair in the living room.
Shortly thereafter, there was a giant crash. And Maggie rocketed from the living room to my room, to hide on my bed. I, on the other hand, commenced to swearing. Because, of course, now there was nasty, moldy, sulfur-y water coming out of the drain and leaking all over my bathroom floor. And the sink was on the floor. Oh, here - a recreation, since I had to take the sink out of the bathtub so I could shower tonight...
And then last night - it snowed in North Carolina. Again. All over my daffodils.Ohhh, but it was beautiful this morning. I wish I'd thought to take my camera. Mike may have gotten some (he thought to bring his, and he has a much better camera than I do), which I'll attempt to steal from him. I did manage to snap this one of my car, with my phone:
That was some 9 or 10 hours after I parked in the garage...it was cold in NC today, yo!Only one of my patients showed up (out of 9 I had scheduled). And, after getting there at 6:45, I discovered around 8:30 that we were on a 2 hour delay. So, I didn't have to be there until 10. Fab.
Sparrow gave me the wonderful idea of calling all my afternoon patients to see if they were planning to come, and of course, only the 1pm was. So I managed to leave around 3:30 (after a conversation with Sparrow in which she was like, go! Go to the gym! Which was exactly what I'd wanted her to say when I walked in there and was like, but they said they might close early, and it's already 3:30, and my tummy still kind of hurts, and, and, and....) and went to the gym, and as I was dumping stuff in my locker to go work out, I realized...I'd just shut my locker - locked, of course - with both the keys to my lock inside.
Damn it.
So I went and worked out, and then went and got the bolt cutters from the guys at the desk and cut my lock off. And then discovered that the locker wouldn't open anyway. So then I went and got a screwdriver, and that eventually opened it.
Thanks, Sparrow. Going to the gym was a great idea.
(No, not blaming her any more than I am Maggie. I actually did have a good workout...and, after all, I went in there with the express purpose of getting her to tell me to go...)
And then, of course, I came home, and found both garbage strewn all over (I DO blame Maggie for that one) and my sink still sitting in the bathtub. My landlord's response? With the snow and all? He forgot. Meanwhile, I have a SINK IN MY BATHTUB. He swears he'll get it fixed tomorrow, and I believe him.
Oh, but, the best part of today? Tomorrow, clinic's not opening until 10.
And Maggie's wagging her tail in her sleep, which I think is about the sweetest thing I've ever seen...
Monday, December 22, 2008
Blech.
So, Little Maxine is visiting while Sparrow is home for the holiday.
I guess, at some point today, she liberated a bag of Candy Cane Hershey Kisses off the table (where they're generally safe from Maggie, so I didn't even think about it) and ate them all. When I got home there were red and white foil wrappers all over the floor, and she'd barfed all over the couch. So I cleaned up the couch, called the vet (who said no problem because no actual chocolate in them) and put her up on my bed and was snuggling her because she clearly did NOT feel well, and all of a sudden she picks her head up and yaks all over the bed spread. I have never in all my days seen that much vomit come out of someone so small...my word.
But it helped. She seems to be feeling better. And Mags let her take over the queen's throne.
::sigh:: They're so cute..luckily...
I think the comforter is a lost cause. I tried to wash it three times, it's still covered in puke. I'm oddly sad about losing a ten year old comforter that I've had to stitch up three or four times and is all ragged and sad. Wonder what that's about...
Everybody keep your fingers crossed. I'm on call tomorrow, and am still terrified they're going to try to make a break for it again. Except...I think I've come to the conclusion that I might have had the order of things backwards during their last jailbreak. I think it may well have started with Maggie going over the wall - you know, after the cat or some such thing - and not being able to get back over, so Maxine dug her way out, and then they went on their grand adventure to Sparrow's house. Who knows, really, but the hole is blocked off, and the air conditioner Maggie used to jump over the fence is blocked off, and so...we'll, here's hoping, is all I'm sayin'...
I guess, at some point today, she liberated a bag of Candy Cane Hershey Kisses off the table (where they're generally safe from Maggie, so I didn't even think about it) and ate them all. When I got home there were red and white foil wrappers all over the floor, and she'd barfed all over the couch. So I cleaned up the couch, called the vet (who said no problem because no actual chocolate in them) and put her up on my bed and was snuggling her because she clearly did NOT feel well, and all of a sudden she picks her head up and yaks all over the bed spread. I have never in all my days seen that much vomit come out of someone so small...my word.
But it helped. She seems to be feeling better. And Mags let her take over the queen's throne.
::sigh:: They're so cute..luckily...I think the comforter is a lost cause. I tried to wash it three times, it's still covered in puke. I'm oddly sad about losing a ten year old comforter that I've had to stitch up three or four times and is all ragged and sad. Wonder what that's about...
Everybody keep your fingers crossed. I'm on call tomorrow, and am still terrified they're going to try to make a break for it again. Except...I think I've come to the conclusion that I might have had the order of things backwards during their last jailbreak. I think it may well have started with Maggie going over the wall - you know, after the cat or some such thing - and not being able to get back over, so Maxine dug her way out, and then they went on their grand adventure to Sparrow's house. Who knows, really, but the hole is blocked off, and the air conditioner Maggie used to jump over the fence is blocked off, and so...we'll, here's hoping, is all I'm sayin'...
Friday, December 12, 2008
Kate and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day
(With apologies to Alexander)
Oy.
So, I started out today thinking, great. I've been on walk-ins all week, today should be shorter, I get to see my own patients, it should be a nice time. Here is how I expected my day to go...
-Starbucks
-Get to work around 7:30
-Lecture
-Patient 1 - difficult, probably fragile, teetering
-Patient 2 - fine but cranky
-Interview
-Conference
-Patient 3 - casual, placid, pleasant
-Patient 4 - annoying but manageable, quick
-Patient 5 - ten minutes late, enjoyable, stable
Leave by 4:30-ish. Easy, low-key, early day - woo-hoo!
Here's how my actual day turned out....
-Starbucks
-Get to work at 7:30
-Lecture
-Patient 1 - remarkably stable, doing pretty well. Yay.
-Patient 2 - sobbing, messy, suicidal. Spent half the session trying to coerce her to be admitted. Finally won...well, sort of.
-Interview - nice enough kids today.
-Conference -again, pleasant enough.
-Patient 3 - Like friggin' pulling teeth. Come on, man, you've got to work with me a little. Give me SOMEthing (I nearly fell asleep in this session. It was bad, y'all).
-Patient 4 - Oh, my freakin'...trying to break things. Needs to be admitted. Starts having chest pain. Gets a personal Dr. Kate escort to the emergency room...who, um, realized while alone in the elevator with him that she probably should've called security to do that...
-Patient 5 - fifteen minutes late, enjoyable, a little nutty
-Go back, check voice mail, hear this: "Doc, my husband left me last night, I'm completely distraught, I just don't want to live anymore!!"
-Leave at 6:45 pm. With three notes left to write when I got home.
Bleh.
In good news, though, Peng and Chef have set a date. And - I get to be in the wedding! Whee!! I'm so honored. I almost cried. Differently than all the other times I almost cried today.
Ohhhh, so glad it's finally the weekend. And it should be a nice one - busy, but nice. Tomorrow I've got a charity thing I'm working in the morning, and then Mike is having a tree trimming party in the evening. Hopefully next week will be a little calmer (but...you know....it won't).
Happy Holidays, folks. Ho freakin' ho ho.
Oy.
So, I started out today thinking, great. I've been on walk-ins all week, today should be shorter, I get to see my own patients, it should be a nice time. Here is how I expected my day to go...
-Starbucks
-Get to work around 7:30
-Lecture
-Patient 1 - difficult, probably fragile, teetering
-Patient 2 - fine but cranky
-Interview
-Conference
-Patient 3 - casual, placid, pleasant
-Patient 4 - annoying but manageable, quick
-Patient 5 - ten minutes late, enjoyable, stable
Leave by 4:30-ish. Easy, low-key, early day - woo-hoo!
Here's how my actual day turned out....
-Starbucks
-Get to work at 7:30
-Lecture
-Patient 1 - remarkably stable, doing pretty well. Yay.
-Patient 2 - sobbing, messy, suicidal. Spent half the session trying to coerce her to be admitted. Finally won...well, sort of.
-Interview - nice enough kids today.
-Conference -again, pleasant enough.
-Patient 3 - Like friggin' pulling teeth. Come on, man, you've got to work with me a little. Give me SOMEthing (I nearly fell asleep in this session. It was bad, y'all).
-Patient 4 - Oh, my freakin'...trying to break things. Needs to be admitted. Starts having chest pain. Gets a personal Dr. Kate escort to the emergency room...who, um, realized while alone in the elevator with him that she probably should've called security to do that...
-Patient 5 - fifteen minutes late, enjoyable, a little nutty
-Go back, check voice mail, hear this: "Doc, my husband left me last night, I'm completely distraught, I just don't want to live anymore!!"
-Leave at 6:45 pm. With three notes left to write when I got home.
Bleh.
In good news, though, Peng and Chef have set a date. And - I get to be in the wedding! Whee!! I'm so honored. I almost cried. Differently than all the other times I almost cried today.
Ohhhh, so glad it's finally the weekend. And it should be a nice one - busy, but nice. Tomorrow I've got a charity thing I'm working in the morning, and then Mike is having a tree trimming party in the evening. Hopefully next week will be a little calmer (but...you know....it won't).
Happy Holidays, folks. Ho freakin' ho ho.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Oh, holy shit
So my dad calls. I'm in the middle of a dictation, because I'm in the middle of clinic, but I answer. He's fine (my dad had cataract surgery yesterday...didn't even get an eyepatch. Or a parrot. What's the fun in that?). So I hang up with them and notice I have two voicemails and four text messages. Weird, in the middle of the day and all...
So, apparently, Sparrow went over to my house this morning to retrieve Little Maxine, and not only was there no Little Maxine, there was no Maggie. Because Little Maxine had dug them out. Sparrow says the hole was pure Maxine (she used to break out this way routinely), and she seemed to make it wide enough that flexi-Maggie could make her way through there just fine.
Sparrow found Maxine underneath her car - you know, at her house, two blocks away - and Maggie in a yard near her house. They are both safe and cozy at Sparrow's.
Little conspiratory twerps.
I haven't managed to slow my pulse rate down yet.
Jesus, Mary, and Steve....in the immortal words of Charlie Brown...I can't stand it....
So, apparently, Sparrow went over to my house this morning to retrieve Little Maxine, and not only was there no Little Maxine, there was no Maggie. Because Little Maxine had dug them out. Sparrow says the hole was pure Maxine (she used to break out this way routinely), and she seemed to make it wide enough that flexi-Maggie could make her way through there just fine.
Sparrow found Maxine underneath her car - you know, at her house, two blocks away - and Maggie in a yard near her house. They are both safe and cozy at Sparrow's.
Little conspiratory twerps.
I haven't managed to slow my pulse rate down yet.
Jesus, Mary, and Steve....in the immortal words of Charlie Brown...I can't stand it....
Thursday, October 16, 2008
"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.
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.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Boom.
I fell down today. A lot. And gloriously.
On my way to work. In front of my neighbor's house. It was wet, there was something slick on the ground, next thing I know I'm sprawled out on the pavement bleeding.
I should've just turned around and gone back in my house, really. But no, I kept going.
Metaphoric, really.
I further damaged my iPod, which was of course already agonal. I scraped up my knee and my elbow. I threw my hip and my back and my shoulder out of whack. I'm a little worried that I may have cracked my fibula, but Ruthie and I are reasonably certain it's just a muscle bruise, and besides, that's not a weight-bearing bone, so what are you going to do about it anyway?
Apparently the treatment for my injured toe was to bang the rest of me up so badly I wouldn't notice anymore.
This is so totally not my week.
On my way to work. In front of my neighbor's house. It was wet, there was something slick on the ground, next thing I know I'm sprawled out on the pavement bleeding.
I should've just turned around and gone back in my house, really. But no, I kept going.
Metaphoric, really.
I further damaged my iPod, which was of course already agonal. I scraped up my knee and my elbow. I threw my hip and my back and my shoulder out of whack. I'm a little worried that I may have cracked my fibula, but Ruthie and I are reasonably certain it's just a muscle bruise, and besides, that's not a weight-bearing bone, so what are you going to do about it anyway?
Apparently the treatment for my injured toe was to bang the rest of me up so badly I wouldn't notice anymore.
This is so totally not my week.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Not at all painless
So I've been thinking, today, and for a while, about suicide.
No, not my own (so put the commitment papers away, Peng). But, working inpatient psych, suicidal ideation is probably 60% what we deal with; probably 80% of those admitted to the Crisis service. And it always amazes me, the crazy amount of people that think about, or even attempt, suicide.
I don't understand. I don't understand the people that impulsively down a bottle of tylenol because their girlfriend broke up with them or cut their wrists because they had a fight with their boss. I can't comprehend this idea of, I'm having a bad day, I think I'll kill myself.
Death is so final. It's so....dead. We don't know what dead is. Nobody really knows what death is like. Maybe it's just nothingness. Maybe it's heaven. Maybe it's worse than anything we can possibly imagine in this existence.
And beyond that, it's an end. Which, is why I can understand the patients that are super depressed or really traumatized and think of suicide. I'll admit, I've been there. Not actively suicidal, but, in that place where you're just like, if I died, you know? That would probably be okay. At least this would be over. But it never seemed like a reasonable way out, and certainly never like a quick fix. And let me tell you, when I had - transient, brief, evanescent - thoughts like that, whew, I was in the lowest place I've ever been. It was so far down. I could not have been sitting in the dayroom laughing and watching TV the next day if anyone had locked me up. I understand the patients we have that have no hope, that see no possible light at the end of the tunnel; most of the time they barely see the tunnel. That's a black, black place, and I can understand the need for relief.
I had a friend once who told me that, when she was in high school and realized she was gay, she went to her pastor looking for guidance. And he told her that she was going to burn in hell because of who she was. And she left there, and what kept going through her mind was how she was going to continue to be persecuted while she was here on Earth - she lived in Hicksville, Nowhere and they didn't take too kindly to her sort. So she had a life of hell ahead of her, only to be followed by an eternity of hell afterwards.
So she contemplated suicide, because, why increase her suffering by staying alive? Why not bypass that and go straight to hell? That I get. I'm really mad so I'm going to take all of my klonopin? That's the grown up equivalent of, I'm going to hold my breath until I die and then you'll be sorry. Except, holding your breath until you turn blue? Low lethality attempt. By the time we grow up, we use much higher lethality options. Pills, guns, drugs, nooses...you stay blue.
And that doesn't even address the people you leave behind. Even if you have no family, no friends, nobody at all who loves you and would be distraught if you took your life, I guarantee, it'll matter to someone. It'll matter to your doctor. Losing a patient to suicide is something we all face at some point in our careers, but let me tell you, it shakes every one of us to our core. The very idea of it keeps us up at night. And chances are, there's someone out there - a friend, a neighbor, a family member, a pizza delivery guy - who's going to miss you. Who's going to be upset that you did what you did. Who's going to blame themselves for failing you. Who's going to be saddled with that for the rest of their own life. And suppose you do have a spouse, a parent, a child, a sibling left behind? Who does love you, who worries about you? How the hell are they ever going to deal with that?
I'm just sayin'. Think about it.
And for the love of all things holy, enough with the tylenol, people. If you need to kill yourself, there are ways to assure that you die. I'm not going to tell you what those are, obviously, but I can tell you one that WON'T work - a tylenol over dose. All it's going to do is kill your liver. And then you get to die a slow, awful, excruciatingly painful and uncomfortable death. I'm guessing not the quick fix you're looking for.
Seek help. Everyone has emotions that are intolerable; suicide is never the answer. Think about what suicide would really mean. Get to a hospital ER, call a crisis line, or better yet, seek psychiatric treatment before it gets to that point. Tell someone, tell anyone that you're in trouble.
Every state has a HopeLine. Ours, in NC, is 919-231-4525. The Teen TalkLine is 919-231-3626. You can find your state's by Googling "hope line" and your state. They often have toll free numbers as well. Or you can dial (800) SUICIDE. They're anonymous, they're supportive, and they'll let you talk as long as you need to. So if anyone out there finds themselves in that place, where suicide seems like the best - or only - next step, get help, and get it now.
You'll be glad you did.
No, not my own (so put the commitment papers away, Peng). But, working inpatient psych, suicidal ideation is probably 60% what we deal with; probably 80% of those admitted to the Crisis service. And it always amazes me, the crazy amount of people that think about, or even attempt, suicide.
I don't understand. I don't understand the people that impulsively down a bottle of tylenol because their girlfriend broke up with them or cut their wrists because they had a fight with their boss. I can't comprehend this idea of, I'm having a bad day, I think I'll kill myself.
Death is so final. It's so....dead. We don't know what dead is. Nobody really knows what death is like. Maybe it's just nothingness. Maybe it's heaven. Maybe it's worse than anything we can possibly imagine in this existence.
And beyond that, it's an end. Which, is why I can understand the patients that are super depressed or really traumatized and think of suicide. I'll admit, I've been there. Not actively suicidal, but, in that place where you're just like, if I died, you know? That would probably be okay. At least this would be over. But it never seemed like a reasonable way out, and certainly never like a quick fix. And let me tell you, when I had - transient, brief, evanescent - thoughts like that, whew, I was in the lowest place I've ever been. It was so far down. I could not have been sitting in the dayroom laughing and watching TV the next day if anyone had locked me up. I understand the patients we have that have no hope, that see no possible light at the end of the tunnel; most of the time they barely see the tunnel. That's a black, black place, and I can understand the need for relief.
I had a friend once who told me that, when she was in high school and realized she was gay, she went to her pastor looking for guidance. And he told her that she was going to burn in hell because of who she was. And she left there, and what kept going through her mind was how she was going to continue to be persecuted while she was here on Earth - she lived in Hicksville, Nowhere and they didn't take too kindly to her sort. So she had a life of hell ahead of her, only to be followed by an eternity of hell afterwards.
So she contemplated suicide, because, why increase her suffering by staying alive? Why not bypass that and go straight to hell? That I get. I'm really mad so I'm going to take all of my klonopin? That's the grown up equivalent of, I'm going to hold my breath until I die and then you'll be sorry. Except, holding your breath until you turn blue? Low lethality attempt. By the time we grow up, we use much higher lethality options. Pills, guns, drugs, nooses...you stay blue.
And that doesn't even address the people you leave behind. Even if you have no family, no friends, nobody at all who loves you and would be distraught if you took your life, I guarantee, it'll matter to someone. It'll matter to your doctor. Losing a patient to suicide is something we all face at some point in our careers, but let me tell you, it shakes every one of us to our core. The very idea of it keeps us up at night. And chances are, there's someone out there - a friend, a neighbor, a family member, a pizza delivery guy - who's going to miss you. Who's going to be upset that you did what you did. Who's going to blame themselves for failing you. Who's going to be saddled with that for the rest of their own life. And suppose you do have a spouse, a parent, a child, a sibling left behind? Who does love you, who worries about you? How the hell are they ever going to deal with that?
I'm just sayin'. Think about it.
And for the love of all things holy, enough with the tylenol, people. If you need to kill yourself, there are ways to assure that you die. I'm not going to tell you what those are, obviously, but I can tell you one that WON'T work - a tylenol over dose. All it's going to do is kill your liver. And then you get to die a slow, awful, excruciatingly painful and uncomfortable death. I'm guessing not the quick fix you're looking for.
Seek help. Everyone has emotions that are intolerable; suicide is never the answer. Think about what suicide would really mean. Get to a hospital ER, call a crisis line, or better yet, seek psychiatric treatment before it gets to that point. Tell someone, tell anyone that you're in trouble.
Every state has a HopeLine. Ours, in NC, is 919-231-4525. The Teen TalkLine is 919-231-3626. You can find your state's by Googling "hope line" and your state. They often have toll free numbers as well. Or you can dial (800) SUICIDE. They're anonymous, they're supportive, and they'll let you talk as long as you need to. So if anyone out there finds themselves in that place, where suicide seems like the best - or only - next step, get help, and get it now.
You'll be glad you did.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
The old apartment
(missed the reference? Click here)
So it's 1:20 AM, and I just sent the following email to my landlord...
Dear Landlord,
Attached is a picture of the second roach-like thing I've killed in my bedroom in as many nights. This one had the untimely misfortune of CRAWLING ACROSS MY HAND AT ONE IN THE MORNING WHILE I WAS ASLEEP, which brought about its expedient end. Last night there was a smaller roachie-looking thing crawling on the wall, again in my bedroom, which was also summarily dispatched.
Oh. And did I mention, EW, OHMIGOD, EW, EW, EW, EWWWWWWWWW!! In my sleep. In my BED. Across my HAND. EW, ICK, UGH, BLEH, EW!!
There are ants in the kitchen as well. I keep spraying, but, to no avail.
Please send your favorite exterminator at once. And perhaps on a bi-monthly basis. Which may be about the time it takes me to get back to sleep.
Ew.
Oh, did I mention...EW!!! And just a little too reminiscent of this....
Ewwwwww, ick, yuck, bleh, nasty, ew.....
And then, while I'm typing this post, I killed a tiny little albino-y looking cricket-type thing that was sitting on my other hand. Mags and I are one more tiny little bug away from a stint at the Residence Inn.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww..............
So it's 1:20 AM, and I just sent the following email to my landlord...
Dear Landlord,
Attached is a picture of the second roach-like thing I've killed in my bedroom in as many nights. This one had the untimely misfortune of CRAWLING ACROSS MY HAND AT ONE IN THE MORNING WHILE I WAS ASLEEP, which brought about its expedient end. Last night there was a smaller roachie-looking thing crawling on the wall, again in my bedroom, which was also summarily dispatched.
Oh. And did I mention, EW, OHMIGOD, EW, EW, EW, EWWWWWWWWW!! In my sleep. In my BED. Across my HAND. EW, ICK, UGH, BLEH, EW!!
There are ants in the kitchen as well. I keep spraying, but, to no avail.
Please send your favorite exterminator at once. And perhaps on a bi-monthly basis. Which may be about the time it takes me to get back to sleep.
Ew.
Oh, did I mention...EW!!! And just a little too reminiscent of this....
Ewwwwww, ick, yuck, bleh, nasty, ew.....
And then, while I'm typing this post, I killed a tiny little albino-y looking cricket-type thing that was sitting on my other hand. Mags and I are one more tiny little bug away from a stint at the Residence Inn.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww..............
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Operant conditioning
So today, we started our Academic half day. Which means that we have lecture all Wednesday afternoon. My classmates don't have clinic scheduled in the afternoon. The time is supposed to be "protected" for all residents. Which means they sat in lecture and I got paged all frakking afternoon.
Blah.
Okay, I ignored most of the pages, mostly in the hope of beginning the process of conditioning the floor to not freakin' page me during the hours of 12 and 5:30 on Wednesday. It didn't go so well. Particularly when the medicine resident misordered the blood gas she didn't bother to tell me she was ordering in the first place. Argh.
My dog, though, has the concept of operant conditioning down cold. So, now, Maggie, is useful for keeping things clean around here. We have a good system. I drop something edible on the floor, I say, "Uh-oh, doggie!" (shortened from, "uh-oh doggie, you'd better come here!"), she immediately drops whatever important doggie task she's doing, and she gets a tasty tidbit for her troubles. When this becomes particularly amusing is, like, tonight, I'm making dinner, and I added way too much of something, and I say, "Oh, shit!"
Dog wakes up out of a dead sleep, leaps off the bed, scrambles into the kitchen, and gets all confused when she can't find anything on the floor. It was very cute.
Today was long. And I'm so tired. And I still have six notes to write, but, I came home to write them, and now the electronic medical record won't let me in.
::sigh::
I did get a lot of knitting done during our lectures, at least. And, since I was knitting, I was paying attention, and they were actually enjoyable.
Have I mentioned how excited I am about psychotherapy clinic this year?
Also with the being done with intern year. I'm definitely excited about that as well. 25 more days.
In my continuing efforts to live life on life's terms (to borrow an AA aphorism), I am taking this as a sign from above that I am supposed to snuggle with the dogs and go to bed early.
Oh, but I'll leave you with today's SVU quote of the day, courtesy of everyone's (okay, my) favorite TV psychiatrist, Dr. George Huang:
"Boys are socialized to express their anger. Girls are socialized to be nuts."
Blah.
Okay, I ignored most of the pages, mostly in the hope of beginning the process of conditioning the floor to not freakin' page me during the hours of 12 and 5:30 on Wednesday. It didn't go so well. Particularly when the medicine resident misordered the blood gas she didn't bother to tell me she was ordering in the first place. Argh.
My dog, though, has the concept of operant conditioning down cold. So, now, Maggie, is useful for keeping things clean around here. We have a good system. I drop something edible on the floor, I say, "Uh-oh, doggie!" (shortened from, "uh-oh doggie, you'd better come here!"), she immediately drops whatever important doggie task she's doing, and she gets a tasty tidbit for her troubles. When this becomes particularly amusing is, like, tonight, I'm making dinner, and I added way too much of something, and I say, "Oh, shit!"
Dog wakes up out of a dead sleep, leaps off the bed, scrambles into the kitchen, and gets all confused when she can't find anything on the floor. It was very cute.
Today was long. And I'm so tired. And I still have six notes to write, but, I came home to write them, and now the electronic medical record won't let me in.
::sigh::
I did get a lot of knitting done during our lectures, at least. And, since I was knitting, I was paying attention, and they were actually enjoyable.
Have I mentioned how excited I am about psychotherapy clinic this year?
Also with the being done with intern year. I'm definitely excited about that as well. 25 more days.
In my continuing efforts to live life on life's terms (to borrow an AA aphorism), I am taking this as a sign from above that I am supposed to snuggle with the dogs and go to bed early.
Oh, but I'll leave you with today's SVU quote of the day, courtesy of everyone's (okay, my) favorite TV psychiatrist, Dr. George Huang:
"Boys are socialized to express their anger. Girls are socialized to be nuts."
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Oyyy, I'm still an intern....
Fuck. Somewhere over the holiday weekend I forgot how much work this was.
The new med students are cute, though. They're all super-eager and green. One of them, today, was like, "Can I watch you put in that order?" Aww.
Today was loooooooooong. Which wasn't helped by the fact that I was running on 5 1/2 hours of sleep. Oh, holy shit, was I cranky when I left.
Looooooooooong.
Yesterday, when everyone else was running around being all jittery and anxious and whatnot about their first day, I'll confess, I was sort of glad to be up to my old routine. Today? Today I was a little jealous. *I* wanna be in clinic, too...
I will be soon enough. I cherry picked my first patient today. She's this woman I inherited on the unit who has all of this totally amazing art in our gallery (the coolest thing ever). It was like meeting a celebrity. I saw her name on my patient roster and was like, oh! Oh my God! I can't afford her stuff! And wouldn't you know she needs a new outpatient psychiatrist. So, I flipped open my appointment book and called our scheduler and ta-da! She's my patient now. I'm so excited.
Oy. But I was there a solid 12 hours today, and only left when I did because I had an appointment with my shrink. Tomorrow, we start this "academic half day" thing, where we're in lecture all afternoon. So I have to get all my orders done and patients seen and notes written (HA!) by noon. Yeah, it's going to be another late night. But I'll probably come home and work, at least. My goal is to be OTD at 5 on the nose.
And now, of course, I'm still totally wiped and it's 11:15 because, you know, I came home, and had to talk to my folks (Happy Birthday, Dad!!), and then to my friend who called from California, and then I had to go next door and have a glass of high-quality Riesling with Sparrow and bitch about work (I'm mostly through this post, and she calls and is like "Oh, I see out the window that you're still up. Want wine?" Of course I do). So I foresee that tomorrow's also going to be a highly caffeinated day...
The new med students are cute, though. They're all super-eager and green. One of them, today, was like, "Can I watch you put in that order?" Aww.
Today was loooooooooong. Which wasn't helped by the fact that I was running on 5 1/2 hours of sleep. Oh, holy shit, was I cranky when I left.
Looooooooooong.
Yesterday, when everyone else was running around being all jittery and anxious and whatnot about their first day, I'll confess, I was sort of glad to be up to my old routine. Today? Today I was a little jealous. *I* wanna be in clinic, too...
I will be soon enough. I cherry picked my first patient today. She's this woman I inherited on the unit who has all of this totally amazing art in our gallery (the coolest thing ever). It was like meeting a celebrity. I saw her name on my patient roster and was like, oh! Oh my God! I can't afford her stuff! And wouldn't you know she needs a new outpatient psychiatrist. So, I flipped open my appointment book and called our scheduler and ta-da! She's my patient now. I'm so excited.
Oy. But I was there a solid 12 hours today, and only left when I did because I had an appointment with my shrink. Tomorrow, we start this "academic half day" thing, where we're in lecture all afternoon. So I have to get all my orders done and patients seen and notes written (HA!) by noon. Yeah, it's going to be another late night. But I'll probably come home and work, at least. My goal is to be OTD at 5 on the nose.
And now, of course, I'm still totally wiped and it's 11:15 because, you know, I came home, and had to talk to my folks (Happy Birthday, Dad!!), and then to my friend who called from California, and then I had to go next door and have a glass of high-quality Riesling with Sparrow and bitch about work (I'm mostly through this post, and she calls and is like "Oh, I see out the window that you're still up. Want wine?" Of course I do). So I foresee that tomorrow's also going to be a highly caffeinated day...
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
It's like Lent
Dudes! I'm down to the last 40 days of internship. I'm thinking of giving something up for the occasion. Except, I've already given up free time and sleep...
I'm on call at State Hospital tonight. I was lamenting earlier that I didn't have my camera when I drove over to the adolescent building to put some kid in restraints. The grounds are quite lovely this time of year, and everything is in full bloom. This really is an amazing place, full of history and stories and lives and souls. Although, as I commented to the PA on our unit earlier, when the patient we just started on clozaril (clozaril = big gun antipsychotic) was lying on the floor naked in the middle of the hall and wailing at the top of her lungs in Spanish, this place feels more and more like a "state hospital" every day.
I've got this one patient I admitted yesterday, she's driving me crazy. She apparently was manic and decided it would be a good idea to drive from Manhattan to Florida. And as always happens (you'd be surprised at how many crazy people decide this is a good idea), she broke down in North Carolina. I don't know why they all crash land here. Apparently it's a good halfway point - they can make it through Virginia, but not quite to South Carolina. So she gets lost, starts feeling physically ill, and so what is the logical conclusion to this? She gets out of her car and lays down on the side of the highway.
.....really? That seemed like the best thing to do?
So now she's my problem. Because she got taken to a crappy private hospital where they made five medication switches in seven days, and then her insurance ran out, so they sent her here. And she of course has started refusing to take medications because they're "too strong, too strong!" So I pull her to the side today, and I was like, what gives? And she goes on and on, in full Fran Drescher voice, about how I'm too inexperienced and I don't know my medications and I'm trying to kill her and I'm trying to drug her out I asked very private things about her yesterday and now I'm going to do her like this and she won't take the medication I tried to start because she read about that and it's poison - POISON - and she has a medical background too, you know.
And I'm like, lady, if I wanted to drug you out, you'd be unconscious right now. But now that you mention it, maybe we should give that a try. And two, there's a big difference between being a nurses' aide and being, I don't know, a DOCTOR. What I said out loud was, okay, well, here's the deal. I'm willing to work with you, but, if you continue to refuse your medications, well, the difference between us and ol' Bipolar Hill Hospital (it's an inside joke) is that I can make you take them. WITH A NEEDLE. Don't think I won't. We finally came to an agreement but I so just wanted to duct tape her mouth shut. We'll see if she actually takes anything tonight...
Ohhhh. If she starts with me tomorrow I'm going to kick her in the shins.
I did, however, admit an amazing lady today. She's faced so much adversity I can't even stand it. And she's been working her Twelve Steps for ten years now. She's articulate and insightful and is here because she just got overwhelmed by a life that would overwhelm the strongest of people. She's a breath of fresh air in this place, let me tell you. She's going to be an amazing sponsor some day. I think she's really going to do great things.
She appreciated that I knew about the steps and "the rooms" and could understand phrases like "life on life's terms" and "let go and let God". I didn't tell her that I think the Twelve Steps are...well...I think they're kind of crap.
Okay, that's a giant overstatement - I fully and wholeheartedly support AA and NA and encourage my patients to go and to keep going until they find the right home group. I think it has a lot of solid concepts and the community support from others who've been where you are is invaluable.
I'll tell you one group I can't stand, though, is Overeaters Anonymous. Every OA meeting I've ever been to was like a setup for a hard core eating disorder. Food, weight, numbers, food, weight, numbers. Restrict, banish, eliminate. Seriously, no, that only makes it worse.
I'll tell you a secret. When I hit the end of my rope in NH and had to just let go, my own eating disorder was totally out of control (I've mentioned on here before that I have bulimia). That's the thing about addiction, and eating disorders (bulimia more so than anorexia), and the like - they're not healthy, but they're wicked strong coping mechanisms, and that's why we keep them. The eating disorder is a HUGE repository for anxiety, stress, trauma issues, self-loathing, all of those things. It's a vast, vast hole you can keep pouring your angst into. It was the strongest coping mechanism I had, and I was under so much stress then that even it was starting to fail to compensate. I don't want to know what comes next.
But by the time I got back to Chicago, I was so off-kilter, and I knew that I couldn't just dive back into another residency without making some serious changes in myself. So the program in which I sought help was Twelve Step based, because they treated addiction as well (honestly? Lots of people like to lump addiction and eating disorders together. But when you get right down to it, it's like apples and lug nuts). That's where I learned about the Steps, and that's where I started to feel like they had some serious flaws.
A, so not helpful for eating disorders, let me just say that. The Eight Steps to ANAD? Much better. Particularly Step Two - "Recognize that 'food' and 'weight' are not the real issues, but that other underlying problems in our lives have led to our obsessions with food, eating, and weight."
I cannot tell you the number of times that I scrawled "FOOD AND WEIGHT ARE NOT THE REAL ISSUES!" across the white board when we got off track in our ANAD meetings. Because it really is the whole point.
But B, I think the Steps and the Program are sort of flawed in general. Which, nothing's perfect. But I dislike how, the moment you slip, even a little, you're back to square one. It's a nice idea, but relapse is a part of recovery. You have to accept that and anticipate it, not pretend that it doesn't exist. Because it's going to happen, and the point is to have mechanisms in place to pull out of that nosedive faster every time. To get the point, not to just avoid.
The other thing I couldn't handle was the concept of powerlessness. I had SO much trouble with my First Step (which is the only one I had to do, thankfully), because I couldn't give over to that idea that I was powerless over my disease (some would say that's sort of the point, but, nonetheless). Because wasn't that the very point of being where I was? To gain power over it?
The bulimia, for me, came out of being powerless. It's such a complex entity I can't even begin to explain all the layers to it, but the original point was to distort myself, to become unappealing, in the hopes that it would stop my molester. I was 11 when it began (even though I wasn't diagnosed until my third year of medical school), just starting into puberty, my body was changing, becoming more womanly. This heralded a number of potential disasters. So I fell into this thing, this disease, that accomplished so many of my goals. I was fat and thus disgusting and unattractive, so even if I couldn't keep my perp at bay, at least I could keep other men at a distance to avoid retraumatizing myself (that's about half the reason I'm not a puker, because my other compensatory mechanisms aren't nearly as efficient). It made me look as bad on the outside (or closer to it, at least) as I felt on the inside. It reinforced my negative self image. It was a self-mutilating behavior, in essence. And it helped me strengthen my superpowers of dissociation, it functioned as a place to store all my anxiety, it did all the right things, even if it wasn't so healthy for me. The whole point was taking back some semblance of control over my own body and my own psyche.
Now, of course, where it got me was almost two decades (so far) of being at war with my body and self-loathing and self-punishment and etc, etc. Although, you know, it wasn't the ED that did that. The ED was a symptom of that. But it certainly reinforced things.
So this concept of powerlessness was lost on me. And truthfully, it still is. I'm not powerless over my disease. Neither is my patient. She was telling me about how she found a bottle of gin in her daughter's room last week. She picked it up, she was tempted, but she walked away from it. Because she knew it wasn't the answer, that giving up her ten years of sobriety wasn't worth seconds, minutes, or even hours of gratification. That's a powerful woman, right there. There's nothing powerless about that act. I mean, I understand the concept, you know, but I think the application's all wrong.
And how do you get anywhere if you can't take the first step?
Was that more than you all wanted to know about me?
I'm on call at State Hospital tonight. I was lamenting earlier that I didn't have my camera when I drove over to the adolescent building to put some kid in restraints. The grounds are quite lovely this time of year, and everything is in full bloom. This really is an amazing place, full of history and stories and lives and souls. Although, as I commented to the PA on our unit earlier, when the patient we just started on clozaril (clozaril = big gun antipsychotic) was lying on the floor naked in the middle of the hall and wailing at the top of her lungs in Spanish, this place feels more and more like a "state hospital" every day.
I've got this one patient I admitted yesterday, she's driving me crazy. She apparently was manic and decided it would be a good idea to drive from Manhattan to Florida. And as always happens (you'd be surprised at how many crazy people decide this is a good idea), she broke down in North Carolina. I don't know why they all crash land here. Apparently it's a good halfway point - they can make it through Virginia, but not quite to South Carolina. So she gets lost, starts feeling physically ill, and so what is the logical conclusion to this? She gets out of her car and lays down on the side of the highway.
.....really? That seemed like the best thing to do?
So now she's my problem. Because she got taken to a crappy private hospital where they made five medication switches in seven days, and then her insurance ran out, so they sent her here. And she of course has started refusing to take medications because they're "too strong, too strong!" So I pull her to the side today, and I was like, what gives? And she goes on and on, in full Fran Drescher voice, about how I'm too inexperienced and I don't know my medications and I'm trying to kill her and I'm trying to drug her out I asked very private things about her yesterday and now I'm going to do her like this and she won't take the medication I tried to start because she read about that and it's poison - POISON - and she has a medical background too, you know.
And I'm like, lady, if I wanted to drug you out, you'd be unconscious right now. But now that you mention it, maybe we should give that a try. And two, there's a big difference between being a nurses' aide and being, I don't know, a DOCTOR. What I said out loud was, okay, well, here's the deal. I'm willing to work with you, but, if you continue to refuse your medications, well, the difference between us and ol' Bipolar Hill Hospital (it's an inside joke) is that I can make you take them. WITH A NEEDLE. Don't think I won't. We finally came to an agreement but I so just wanted to duct tape her mouth shut. We'll see if she actually takes anything tonight...
Ohhhh. If she starts with me tomorrow I'm going to kick her in the shins.
I did, however, admit an amazing lady today. She's faced so much adversity I can't even stand it. And she's been working her Twelve Steps for ten years now. She's articulate and insightful and is here because she just got overwhelmed by a life that would overwhelm the strongest of people. She's a breath of fresh air in this place, let me tell you. She's going to be an amazing sponsor some day. I think she's really going to do great things.
She appreciated that I knew about the steps and "the rooms" and could understand phrases like "life on life's terms" and "let go and let God". I didn't tell her that I think the Twelve Steps are...well...I think they're kind of crap.
Okay, that's a giant overstatement - I fully and wholeheartedly support AA and NA and encourage my patients to go and to keep going until they find the right home group. I think it has a lot of solid concepts and the community support from others who've been where you are is invaluable.
I'll tell you one group I can't stand, though, is Overeaters Anonymous. Every OA meeting I've ever been to was like a setup for a hard core eating disorder. Food, weight, numbers, food, weight, numbers. Restrict, banish, eliminate. Seriously, no, that only makes it worse.
I'll tell you a secret. When I hit the end of my rope in NH and had to just let go, my own eating disorder was totally out of control (I've mentioned on here before that I have bulimia). That's the thing about addiction, and eating disorders (bulimia more so than anorexia), and the like - they're not healthy, but they're wicked strong coping mechanisms, and that's why we keep them. The eating disorder is a HUGE repository for anxiety, stress, trauma issues, self-loathing, all of those things. It's a vast, vast hole you can keep pouring your angst into. It was the strongest coping mechanism I had, and I was under so much stress then that even it was starting to fail to compensate. I don't want to know what comes next.
But by the time I got back to Chicago, I was so off-kilter, and I knew that I couldn't just dive back into another residency without making some serious changes in myself. So the program in which I sought help was Twelve Step based, because they treated addiction as well (honestly? Lots of people like to lump addiction and eating disorders together. But when you get right down to it, it's like apples and lug nuts). That's where I learned about the Steps, and that's where I started to feel like they had some serious flaws.
A, so not helpful for eating disorders, let me just say that. The Eight Steps to ANAD? Much better. Particularly Step Two - "Recognize that 'food' and 'weight' are not the real issues, but that other underlying problems in our lives have led to our obsessions with food, eating, and weight."
I cannot tell you the number of times that I scrawled "FOOD AND WEIGHT ARE NOT THE REAL ISSUES!" across the white board when we got off track in our ANAD meetings. Because it really is the whole point.
But B, I think the Steps and the Program are sort of flawed in general. Which, nothing's perfect. But I dislike how, the moment you slip, even a little, you're back to square one. It's a nice idea, but relapse is a part of recovery. You have to accept that and anticipate it, not pretend that it doesn't exist. Because it's going to happen, and the point is to have mechanisms in place to pull out of that nosedive faster every time. To get the point, not to just avoid.
The other thing I couldn't handle was the concept of powerlessness. I had SO much trouble with my First Step (which is the only one I had to do, thankfully), because I couldn't give over to that idea that I was powerless over my disease (some would say that's sort of the point, but, nonetheless). Because wasn't that the very point of being where I was? To gain power over it?
The bulimia, for me, came out of being powerless. It's such a complex entity I can't even begin to explain all the layers to it, but the original point was to distort myself, to become unappealing, in the hopes that it would stop my molester. I was 11 when it began (even though I wasn't diagnosed until my third year of medical school), just starting into puberty, my body was changing, becoming more womanly. This heralded a number of potential disasters. So I fell into this thing, this disease, that accomplished so many of my goals. I was fat and thus disgusting and unattractive, so even if I couldn't keep my perp at bay, at least I could keep other men at a distance to avoid retraumatizing myself (that's about half the reason I'm not a puker, because my other compensatory mechanisms aren't nearly as efficient). It made me look as bad on the outside (or closer to it, at least) as I felt on the inside. It reinforced my negative self image. It was a self-mutilating behavior, in essence. And it helped me strengthen my superpowers of dissociation, it functioned as a place to store all my anxiety, it did all the right things, even if it wasn't so healthy for me. The whole point was taking back some semblance of control over my own body and my own psyche.
Now, of course, where it got me was almost two decades (so far) of being at war with my body and self-loathing and self-punishment and etc, etc. Although, you know, it wasn't the ED that did that. The ED was a symptom of that. But it certainly reinforced things.
So this concept of powerlessness was lost on me. And truthfully, it still is. I'm not powerless over my disease. Neither is my patient. She was telling me about how she found a bottle of gin in her daughter's room last week. She picked it up, she was tempted, but she walked away from it. Because she knew it wasn't the answer, that giving up her ten years of sobriety wasn't worth seconds, minutes, or even hours of gratification. That's a powerful woman, right there. There's nothing powerless about that act. I mean, I understand the concept, you know, but I think the application's all wrong.
And how do you get anywhere if you can't take the first step?
Was that more than you all wanted to know about me?
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Ow.
Last time I saw my God daughter (she's six), she told me this exact story:
"This summer we went to Mexico and we flew in a big plane and we sat in the back and I sat near the window and I kept asking my mommy, 'Are we in Mexico yet? Are we in Mexico yet? Are we in Mexico yet?' And then my mommy got a headache."
My aunt and uncle came over today. And then I got a headache.
I don't think the two are more than coincidentally related, though, frankly.
(It's a random cartoon I found on the internet while doing an image search for "headache". It really amused me. The only credit I could find was that it was filed under "Ben is a dork." I don't know what that means. God, I love the internet.)
You know those days where you wake up and think, okay. I have a plan today. I'm going to do this and this and this, and it's going to be fabulous. And then the dog vomits on your bed and the light fixture explodes and you end up washing ranch dressing off the ranch dressing. You know those days? Today was one of those days.
Oh, it seemed like such a nice day when I woke up at 6:30. Which is a ridiculous hour to be up on a weekend day, but, whatever. Mags and I lounged in bed and watched an early morning prelude to the SVU Marathon on USA today (God, I love USA, aka the all-Law-And-Order network). And I thought, okay, up, shower, go to Starbucks to work, come back, unpack a little, have lunch with the fam, come back, make some espresso, unpack again, go to the new intern thing, come back again, go to bed. What a lovely day, right?
Ha.
I went into the bathroom, and the light made this weird hissing sound. And I thought, oh, the bulb's about to burn out, whatever. And then all of a sudden, the leftmost socket (the only one with a functional bulb in it) EXPLODES in a loud, popping, shower of sparks. I ducked. And then I made sure nothing was on fire (note to self: She who lives in an old house made entirely of wood should really buy a damn fire extinguisher! Anyhow...). And then I put new bulbs in it and flipped the switch. That socket's blown, but the other two still work. When I go back to Lowes to replace the blinds I bought that are an inch too short, I'll get a new fixture. Because if I wait for the handyman to fix it, it'll never get done. ::sigh::
And then I went to Starbucks, and managed to finish all the outstanding Child discharge summaries I had (I still have a couple from the adolescents, but I'm less worried about those because I really want my attending from Child to like me. Not that I don't want the other one to, but I really liked her, and so I want her to think I'm like the best resident ever, right, so she'll take me under her wing and turn me into a really good C&A psychiatrist and vote for me for a fellowship at Baby Blue. Okay, no, that's all secondary. I thought she was cool and so I want her to think I'm cool, too. It's so...well....adolescent....). And dropped my tea. But I only spilled a little. So then I went to Target and bought a $14 rice cooker (because my $40 one always burned the rice) and some groceries. And spent a lot of time standing in the aisles going, now...what the hell was it that I wanted here? And, um...where was I going again?
It was the first of many times I would ask myself today, what the hell is wrong with me??
I came home. I swore a lot and tried to find a place for the groceries (have we talked about my lack of cabinet/counter space?). I unpacked more of the kitchen. I had to stop several times and go into the other room before I started crying about not knowing where the hell to put the glass bowls or not being able to remember the word for "toaster oven" or being a big spaz and dropping things. So I went into my room and the dog hops on the bed and is all smooches and snuggles and rub my belly until, without warning, she yaks all over the blanket.
Oy.
Fortunately, I was able to locate the OxyClean with minimal swearing and fuss. And I rinsed the blanket out in the bathtub because my uncle hadn't actually come over to hook up the washer/dryer yet. Frack.
So they showed up, with tools and a milk pitcher and air filters for the furnace (because my aunt says to me yesterday, "Have you checked the air filter? If you tell me what size it is, we can pick one up for you on our way" And then I sent her a long email saying EW EW EW EW THAT'S THE GROSSEST THING IN EXISTENCE, EW! No WONDER the place still smelled like cats!). We changed the gross filter of disgustingness and went to lunch at an Indian place in Durham. And then we came back, and my uncle and I spent WAY too much time trying to figure out my new espresso machine.
The Starbucks here had a tent sale last weekend, to clear out their old model coffee makers and make room for the new ones. My $50 Target espresso maker didn't survive the move, so I thought, you know what? This is going to be my congrats-on-surviving-intern-year-AGAIN present to myself. So I bought the Sirena, which was originally $600, marked down to $199, and then got the 20% tent sale discount PLUS the manager's additional 10% employee discount (because he knows me. Because I went to that Starbucks every single morning that I lived down the street). Wow, what a deal! And it's so nifty! And it's made by BMW! WOW! I have the BMW of espresso machines, cool!
Leave it to BMW to turn espresso into a ridiculously complicated process.
Now, part of it was, again, I kept dropping things, and I was just generally like, "what?", and my aunt kept coming in and saying "Where do you want this? Where do you want this? Where do you want this?" and I kept getting all overwhelmed and confused trying to make espresso AND arrange the kitchen. And after we finally figured it out and made some damn good espresso (what do you know? The $600 machine really DOES make a better cup of coffee than the $50 one!), then we hung pictures and moved the TV (because the one in my bedroom chose today to die, ps. Not that I didn't buy it, oh, my first year of medical school, and not like I didn't buy it off the clearance rack, but, nevertheless...) and then my neighbor came over to complain that my empty water bottles outside waiting to be picked up were over the property line (no, really! Way to meet the new neighbor, huh? She didn't even bring cookies!). And then my aunt and uncle left and Maxine came over and she and Maggie sniped at each other a lot (jealous, jealous puppies over here). And I tried to do the dishes and make a salad for tomorrow and discovered one of the neat little single-serving cups of ranch dressing I'd bought this morning had mysteriously exploded all over the refrigerator and the other little cups of ranch dressing (which then became part of the dishwashing extravaganza) and nearly wound up in tears again and for the five hundred eighty fourth time thought, Jesus, Mary, and Steve, what the hell is WRONG WITH ME?!
And then I went...
Wait....what's today's date?
Oh.
Nevermind.
And somewhere in that mess of dropping things and verging on tears and stuff exploding, my catamenial migraine hit. That's what all the clumsiness was about (I have no idea why things kept exploding).
You know, most days out of the month I really like being a woman. And most of the time I don't even mind the monthly ritual of sloughing and end up humming Ani DiFranco's well-stated and empowering Blood in the Boardroom, with it's lines like "I bleed to renew life every time it's cut down" and "Men have all the money, they have the implements of death, but I can make life you know. I can make breath". But every now and then I revert back to the real meaning of what I'm commonly heard to say, "I think God took all the souls that couldn't handle being women and made them men."
Which really means, sometimes? Being a woman totally sucks. Bleh.
"This summer we went to Mexico and we flew in a big plane and we sat in the back and I sat near the window and I kept asking my mommy, 'Are we in Mexico yet? Are we in Mexico yet? Are we in Mexico yet?' And then my mommy got a headache."
My aunt and uncle came over today. And then I got a headache.
I don't think the two are more than coincidentally related, though, frankly.
(It's a random cartoon I found on the internet while doing an image search for "headache". It really amused me. The only credit I could find was that it was filed under "Ben is a dork." I don't know what that means. God, I love the internet.)
You know those days where you wake up and think, okay. I have a plan today. I'm going to do this and this and this, and it's going to be fabulous. And then the dog vomits on your bed and the light fixture explodes and you end up washing ranch dressing off the ranch dressing. You know those days? Today was one of those days.
Oh, it seemed like such a nice day when I woke up at 6:30. Which is a ridiculous hour to be up on a weekend day, but, whatever. Mags and I lounged in bed and watched an early morning prelude to the SVU Marathon on USA today (God, I love USA, aka the all-Law-And-Order network). And I thought, okay, up, shower, go to Starbucks to work, come back, unpack a little, have lunch with the fam, come back, make some espresso, unpack again, go to the new intern thing, come back again, go to bed. What a lovely day, right?
Ha.
I went into the bathroom, and the light made this weird hissing sound. And I thought, oh, the bulb's about to burn out, whatever. And then all of a sudden, the leftmost socket (the only one with a functional bulb in it) EXPLODES in a loud, popping, shower of sparks. I ducked. And then I made sure nothing was on fire (note to self: She who lives in an old house made entirely of wood should really buy a damn fire extinguisher! Anyhow...). And then I put new bulbs in it and flipped the switch. That socket's blown, but the other two still work. When I go back to Lowes to replace the blinds I bought that are an inch too short, I'll get a new fixture. Because if I wait for the handyman to fix it, it'll never get done. ::sigh::
And then I went to Starbucks, and managed to finish all the outstanding Child discharge summaries I had (I still have a couple from the adolescents, but I'm less worried about those because I really want my attending from Child to like me. Not that I don't want the other one to, but I really liked her, and so I want her to think I'm like the best resident ever, right, so she'll take me under her wing and turn me into a really good C&A psychiatrist and vote for me for a fellowship at Baby Blue. Okay, no, that's all secondary. I thought she was cool and so I want her to think I'm cool, too. It's so...well....adolescent....). And dropped my tea. But I only spilled a little. So then I went to Target and bought a $14 rice cooker (because my $40 one always burned the rice) and some groceries. And spent a lot of time standing in the aisles going, now...what the hell was it that I wanted here? And, um...where was I going again?
It was the first of many times I would ask myself today, what the hell is wrong with me??
I came home. I swore a lot and tried to find a place for the groceries (have we talked about my lack of cabinet/counter space?). I unpacked more of the kitchen. I had to stop several times and go into the other room before I started crying about not knowing where the hell to put the glass bowls or not being able to remember the word for "toaster oven" or being a big spaz and dropping things. So I went into my room and the dog hops on the bed and is all smooches and snuggles and rub my belly until, without warning, she yaks all over the blanket.
Oy.
Fortunately, I was able to locate the OxyClean with minimal swearing and fuss. And I rinsed the blanket out in the bathtub because my uncle hadn't actually come over to hook up the washer/dryer yet. Frack.
So they showed up, with tools and a milk pitcher and air filters for the furnace (because my aunt says to me yesterday, "Have you checked the air filter? If you tell me what size it is, we can pick one up for you on our way" And then I sent her a long email saying EW EW EW EW THAT'S THE GROSSEST THING IN EXISTENCE, EW! No WONDER the place still smelled like cats!). We changed the gross filter of disgustingness and went to lunch at an Indian place in Durham. And then we came back, and my uncle and I spent WAY too much time trying to figure out my new espresso machine.
The Starbucks here had a tent sale last weekend, to clear out their old model coffee makers and make room for the new ones. My $50 Target espresso maker didn't survive the move, so I thought, you know what? This is going to be my congrats-on-surviving-intern-year-AGAIN present to myself. So I bought the Sirena, which was originally $600, marked down to $199, and then got the 20% tent sale discount PLUS the manager's additional 10% employee discount (because he knows me. Because I went to that Starbucks every single morning that I lived down the street). Wow, what a deal! And it's so nifty! And it's made by BMW! WOW! I have the BMW of espresso machines, cool!
Leave it to BMW to turn espresso into a ridiculously complicated process.
Now, part of it was, again, I kept dropping things, and I was just generally like, "what?", and my aunt kept coming in and saying "Where do you want this? Where do you want this? Where do you want this?" and I kept getting all overwhelmed and confused trying to make espresso AND arrange the kitchen. And after we finally figured it out and made some damn good espresso (what do you know? The $600 machine really DOES make a better cup of coffee than the $50 one!), then we hung pictures and moved the TV (because the one in my bedroom chose today to die, ps. Not that I didn't buy it, oh, my first year of medical school, and not like I didn't buy it off the clearance rack, but, nevertheless...) and then my neighbor came over to complain that my empty water bottles outside waiting to be picked up were over the property line (no, really! Way to meet the new neighbor, huh? She didn't even bring cookies!). And then my aunt and uncle left and Maxine came over and she and Maggie sniped at each other a lot (jealous, jealous puppies over here). And I tried to do the dishes and make a salad for tomorrow and discovered one of the neat little single-serving cups of ranch dressing I'd bought this morning had mysteriously exploded all over the refrigerator and the other little cups of ranch dressing (which then became part of the dishwashing extravaganza) and nearly wound up in tears again and for the five hundred eighty fourth time thought, Jesus, Mary, and Steve, what the hell is WRONG WITH ME?!
And then I went...
Wait....what's today's date?
Oh.
Nevermind.
And somewhere in that mess of dropping things and verging on tears and stuff exploding, my catamenial migraine hit. That's what all the clumsiness was about (I have no idea why things kept exploding).
You know, most days out of the month I really like being a woman. And most of the time I don't even mind the monthly ritual of sloughing and end up humming Ani DiFranco's well-stated and empowering Blood in the Boardroom, with it's lines like "I bleed to renew life every time it's cut down" and "Men have all the money, they have the implements of death, but I can make life you know. I can make breath". But every now and then I revert back to the real meaning of what I'm commonly heard to say, "I think God took all the souls that couldn't handle being women and made them men."
Which really means, sometimes? Being a woman totally sucks. Bleh.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Love (my sweet gimpy dog) Thursday
Initially, I had a very different Love Thursday post planned. That may have to wait for tomorrow...or actually, Tuesday, because my internet access may be spotty between now and then (frakkin' stupid Time Warner can't install it until Tuesday...).
Because my poor sweet puppy dog broke her foot at Day Care yesterday.
I'm not sure how, actually. The vet says she usually sees that kind of break when someone steps on the dog's paw or they get it caught in a door or something. The day care swears they "reviewed the tapes" (what?) and assured me that nothing like that could possibly have happened.
Right. Because I remember every single time I've stepped on the dog and she's been fine.
Maggie has a bad habit, actually, of being underfoot. She's not that small a dog, either, but she likes to be right on your heels to show how obedient she is. And, in fact, the one thing I'm so very going to miss about this place after we move TOMORROW (ahem), she and I have this ritual of racing down the stairs in the morning, her trying desperately not to get ahead of me but wanting to just bolt down them. It's very sweet and quite funny and although I've almost tripped over her about 83,000 times, I've never once stepped on her.
My girl. She's such a character.
So anyway, she was totally fine when I dropped her off on Tuesday morning before call. Yesterday, when I picked her up, she was moving a little slowly. And she kept licking her paw when we got home. So, like I said, I assumed her paw pad was burned or something. And then this morning she wouldn't bear weight on it at all. Wouldn't get off the bed, wouldn't walk any farther than absolutely necessary, didn't even want to go outside. So I took her to the vet (here's my day - pager goes off and wakes me up just before 8am. Talked to my friend in FL for an hour. Went upstairs, got dressed, carried the dog down the stairs, picked her up again, put her in the car, went to Starbucks. My aunt came at 10:30-ish. Mike came to claim his share of the donated bounty about 11. Went to the vet at noon. Donation folks came about 2:20, roughly ten minutes after Mags and I got home from the vet. They quite literally took a full truck worth of donated crap out of here. My aunt and I worked like fiends. Went and got Marble Slab - similar to, albeit better than, Cold Stone - for dinner. She left around 9. Bernie and hubby showed up shortly thereafter for their bounty. They finally left just before 10, with only one of the two book cases they intended to take tied to the roof of their car - they're coming back for the other one sometime later in the weekend, couldn't fit two - but they also took Ming's new carpet scrubber with them to drop off at his house. It's been a long damn day. Anyhow...) and the vet said, hmm, she's sure acting like it's broken. So a couple hundred dollars later (we do have vet insurance, mind you), she comes back, points out this thing on Maggie's x-ray that could be a bone chip. Says, it's really fine, don't worry too much about it, give her these anti-inflamatories, with food, for the next two weeks, and try to ice it twice a day for the next few days.
Ice it? Ice my dog's foot? I gave her the "are you absolutely certain that you're serious?" look I've learned from Mags.
She was a good vet, though. Put up with me and all my armchair doctoring very well. Had an intelligent conversation with me when I said, "are you sure that isn't a sesamoid bone?" And she didn't even laugh at me when we had the following exchange
Me: Do you think that could be a sesamoid bone?
Dr. Vet: Well, you know, I thought of that too, but I don't remember there typically being any sesamoid bones over the DIP...[insert boring - if brilliant, ahem - medical dialogue here between veterinarian and psychiatrist who thinks she can apply her meager knowledge of human anatomy to dog feet]
Me: Hmm. Well, I agree, that seems more likely to be a bone chip. And it would be a weird place for a sesamoid bone. Although, you know *I* have these sesamoid bones in my ankles that are in a weird....[trails off as silly human doctor remembers that she and her dog, are not, in fact, genetically related]...yeah, I know that made no sense. Nevermind. I'm sorry, I'm really tired...
Dude. I so would've laughed at me. Laughed right out loud.
Especially after she brought my dog back in. They gave the pooch a shot of poochie demerol or something for the pain before they took the x-rays.
She was so totally stoned. Like, Jimmy Buffet, Jerry Garcia, pass-me-the-cheetos stoned.
Oh my God, it was hysterical. That's her at the vet. Note the high quality Treo photography.
She didn't sober up for a long, long while.
.JPG)
She really was gonked. It was, of course, the cutest thing ever.
.JPG)
She's doing better, though. I got her evening pill into her without any trouble whatsoever. She's getting the three-legged-shuffle down without much trouble at all now (we had this three-legged cat who used to live across the street from us in NH who loved to torment Maggie, who, of course, loves cats. That little bastard would taunt her and taunt her until she finally took off after him, and then, BAM! he was off like a shot. And remember, Maggie's part Greyhound, she's quick on her feet. But she actually ran into the back of their car one day when Tripod dove underneath it and she couldn't stop in time. I kissed her nose and rubbed her belly when she walked back, all dejected, despite the fact that I was rolling in the grass with tears streaming down my face I was laughing so hard. Anyway, I like to think she learned a little something from him). And she gets twice daily peanut butter and wet food (because she has to eat with the pills so they don't upset her little tummy, and she typically free eats her dry food at some point throughout the day whenever she gets around to it), and she got a new dog bed, and some fancy treats, and I have to carry my 45lb dog up and down the stairs (her timing's actually great, since we're moving to a ranch house tomorrow) and she's being all babied and I won't let her jump onto anything and you know she's going to be totally, totally spoiled.
Seriously. It's very possible I shouldn't ever be allowed to have children. She just broke her toe, for Pete's sake.
Sweet gimpy little girl. How I love her.
Because my poor sweet puppy dog broke her foot at Day Care yesterday.
I'm not sure how, actually. The vet says she usually sees that kind of break when someone steps on the dog's paw or they get it caught in a door or something. The day care swears they "reviewed the tapes" (what?) and assured me that nothing like that could possibly have happened.
Right. Because I remember every single time I've stepped on the dog and she's been fine.
Maggie has a bad habit, actually, of being underfoot. She's not that small a dog, either, but she likes to be right on your heels to show how obedient she is. And, in fact, the one thing I'm so very going to miss about this place after we move TOMORROW (ahem), she and I have this ritual of racing down the stairs in the morning, her trying desperately not to get ahead of me but wanting to just bolt down them. It's very sweet and quite funny and although I've almost tripped over her about 83,000 times, I've never once stepped on her.
My girl. She's such a character.
So anyway, she was totally fine when I dropped her off on Tuesday morning before call. Yesterday, when I picked her up, she was moving a little slowly. And she kept licking her paw when we got home. So, like I said, I assumed her paw pad was burned or something. And then this morning she wouldn't bear weight on it at all. Wouldn't get off the bed, wouldn't walk any farther than absolutely necessary, didn't even want to go outside. So I took her to the vet (here's my day - pager goes off and wakes me up just before 8am. Talked to my friend in FL for an hour. Went upstairs, got dressed, carried the dog down the stairs, picked her up again, put her in the car, went to Starbucks. My aunt came at 10:30-ish. Mike came to claim his share of the donated bounty about 11. Went to the vet at noon. Donation folks came about 2:20, roughly ten minutes after Mags and I got home from the vet. They quite literally took a full truck worth of donated crap out of here. My aunt and I worked like fiends. Went and got Marble Slab - similar to, albeit better than, Cold Stone - for dinner. She left around 9. Bernie and hubby showed up shortly thereafter for their bounty. They finally left just before 10, with only one of the two book cases they intended to take tied to the roof of their car - they're coming back for the other one sometime later in the weekend, couldn't fit two - but they also took Ming's new carpet scrubber with them to drop off at his house. It's been a long damn day. Anyhow...) and the vet said, hmm, she's sure acting like it's broken. So a couple hundred dollars later (we do have vet insurance, mind you), she comes back, points out this thing on Maggie's x-ray that could be a bone chip. Says, it's really fine, don't worry too much about it, give her these anti-inflamatories, with food, for the next two weeks, and try to ice it twice a day for the next few days.
Ice it? Ice my dog's foot? I gave her the "are you absolutely certain that you're serious?" look I've learned from Mags.
She was a good vet, though. Put up with me and all my armchair doctoring very well. Had an intelligent conversation with me when I said, "are you sure that isn't a sesamoid bone?" And she didn't even laugh at me when we had the following exchange
Me: Do you think that could be a sesamoid bone?
Dr. Vet: Well, you know, I thought of that too, but I don't remember there typically being any sesamoid bones over the DIP...[insert boring - if brilliant, ahem - medical dialogue here between veterinarian and psychiatrist who thinks she can apply her meager knowledge of human anatomy to dog feet]
Me: Hmm. Well, I agree, that seems more likely to be a bone chip. And it would be a weird place for a sesamoid bone. Although, you know *I* have these sesamoid bones in my ankles that are in a weird....[trails off as silly human doctor remembers that she and her dog, are not, in fact, genetically related]...yeah, I know that made no sense. Nevermind. I'm sorry, I'm really tired...
Dude. I so would've laughed at me. Laughed right out loud.
Especially after she brought my dog back in. They gave the pooch a shot of poochie demerol or something for the pain before they took the x-rays.
She was so totally stoned. Like, Jimmy Buffet, Jerry Garcia, pass-me-the-cheetos stoned.
Oh my God, it was hysterical. That's her at the vet. Note the high quality Treo photography.
She didn't sober up for a long, long while.
.JPG)
She really was gonked. It was, of course, the cutest thing ever.
.JPG)
She's doing better, though. I got her evening pill into her without any trouble whatsoever. She's getting the three-legged-shuffle down without much trouble at all now (we had this three-legged cat who used to live across the street from us in NH who loved to torment Maggie, who, of course, loves cats. That little bastard would taunt her and taunt her until she finally took off after him, and then, BAM! he was off like a shot. And remember, Maggie's part Greyhound, she's quick on her feet. But she actually ran into the back of their car one day when Tripod dove underneath it and she couldn't stop in time. I kissed her nose and rubbed her belly when she walked back, all dejected, despite the fact that I was rolling in the grass with tears streaming down my face I was laughing so hard. Anyway, I like to think she learned a little something from him). And she gets twice daily peanut butter and wet food (because she has to eat with the pills so they don't upset her little tummy, and she typically free eats her dry food at some point throughout the day whenever she gets around to it), and she got a new dog bed, and some fancy treats, and I have to carry my 45lb dog up and down the stairs (her timing's actually great, since we're moving to a ranch house tomorrow) and she's being all babied and I won't let her jump onto anything and you know she's going to be totally, totally spoiled.
Seriously. It's very possible I shouldn't ever be allowed to have children. She just broke her toe, for Pete's sake.
Sweet gimpy little girl. How I love her.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Ever'ting's gonna be alright, now...
(Love me some Bob Marley. There's a story about why I love Bob Marley, and this pothead boy that I adored in med school - yes, he's a doctor, now, too. He was a wicked smart pothead boy - but I'll save that for another day. Suffice it to say that we had this plan about running away to a Caribbean island and setting up a little free clinic and never having to wear shoes.)
Hmm. It's been an interesting morning. Haven't really gotten much done (well, that's just not true...I haven't gotten any more packing done), but I came home and I sat down, and I decided to do a little blog reading to quiet my latest swell of ohmigodohmigodihmigod that was inspired by what I just left (get there in a minute). And I read Barb's post about her charmed life and I thought, you know...maybe I'll take a moment more, here.
There was this patient we had on the adolescent unit when I was there, we'll call her Autumn. She wasn't my patient, and when you got right down to the nitty gritty, she was there for some pretty unfortunate reasons and some unsettling behaviors. She, too, was a pretty big pothead, about to turn 18, really was sort of doing the best she could with one heck of a messed-up life. But I'll be damned if, while on our unit, she wasn't the most positive force to be reckoned with. She was roommates with one of my patients, a girl who, when I met her, I'll admit it, I was like, oh, God, kid, suck it up and quit being a baby. I got over it, but Autumn, right away, she was all over this kid, calmed her down, comforted her, and made posters for my patient's side of the room saying "It's going to be okay."
This, it turned out, was such an Autumn catch phrase. She wrote it on the windows (they're allowed to do that, there), she frequently referenced it at morning meeting (usually in the form of, "See? I told you it was going to be okay"), I think it was something of a mantra for her.
It's a good mantra. I should really co-opt that.
So this morning, I got up, and went to the hospital to pick up the boxes that everyone's been stashing in the intern office for me. PenguinShrink, who was coming off call, the poor thing, was very sweet and helped me carry them all out. We ran into the clinic manager, who's going to call me later this afternoon so that she can unload her large pile of empty boxes on me (yay!). And then I did some dumpster diving on the way out and found some more - a skill I perfected at the yarn shop, back in the day. Back when the little hand dyed yarn company was just a teetering startup, we'd dumpster dive for shipping boxes two or three times a week. Occasionally one of us would toss little Veronica into the dumpster outside the Sears, and she'd pick out the really good ones. The service guys thought we were crazy, and the Man in Brown was always amused at us shipping boxes and boxes of yarn outwardly disguised as vacuum cleaners and motor parts.
Anyhow.
I then went over to pick up the keys to the new place. Originally, remember, I was renting the house that Sparrow is currently living in, and she was moving in to part of the landlord's house, but then the plan changed and now I'm moving in to the identical cottage next door.
Except, whoa, not so identical.
The kid that lives there, let's call him Kyle (because of the Jew 'Fro. Ever see the South Park eps where Kyle has to take off his hat?), has not taken nearly as good care of the place as Sparrow has of hers. It's a dump, currently. And I have absolutely no doubts that by Friday, when I'm slated to move in there, it will be spic and span and repainted and the refrigerator will be replaced and all the cabinets will have their faces on again and it will be clean and not disgusting and all the crap that he has in there despite the fact that he was supposed to be out two days ago and has been off work for the past three weeks and oh my holy frakkin' wow is that place still full of crap (breathe, breathe) will be gone and it will be lovely. Totally, wonderfully lovely, because my landlord will accept nothing less. Both my current landlord, or the neighbor who bought her place and is about to become my landlord. Won't stand for it being anything short of lovely and wonderful and every bit the seaside-cottage-evoking bliss retreat that I was assuming I would get when I moved into Sparrow's place.
But right now? Oh, holy shit.
I also keep forgetting how very small the place really is. Extremely rough estimate? Maybe 700 square feet. My current place? 1300. My old house in NH? 2000.
You see why this is squeaking me out a little.
But I'm trying (trying) to get rid of as much crap as I can. I mean, I'm putting the buffet in storage and the guest bed, and donating most of the bookcases and my dressers and the coffee table and possibly the couch (I know, Mom and Dad, I know!). I'm donating a lot of general stuff. But still. There's just so much stuff. I have no doubt I can live in such a small space, but, I'm just not sure what I'm going to do with all the crap that I kind of actually have a use for. Like my sewing stuff. And all the damn yarn.
I mean, I do have an attic, and also, I discovered today, a nice shed. But still. The whole thing is sort of overwhelming....
But it's going to be okay.
And I should just go get going....
Hmm. It's been an interesting morning. Haven't really gotten much done (well, that's just not true...I haven't gotten any more packing done), but I came home and I sat down, and I decided to do a little blog reading to quiet my latest swell of ohmigodohmigodihmigod that was inspired by what I just left (get there in a minute). And I read Barb's post about her charmed life and I thought, you know...maybe I'll take a moment more, here.
There was this patient we had on the adolescent unit when I was there, we'll call her Autumn. She wasn't my patient, and when you got right down to the nitty gritty, she was there for some pretty unfortunate reasons and some unsettling behaviors. She, too, was a pretty big pothead, about to turn 18, really was sort of doing the best she could with one heck of a messed-up life. But I'll be damned if, while on our unit, she wasn't the most positive force to be reckoned with. She was roommates with one of my patients, a girl who, when I met her, I'll admit it, I was like, oh, God, kid, suck it up and quit being a baby. I got over it, but Autumn, right away, she was all over this kid, calmed her down, comforted her, and made posters for my patient's side of the room saying "It's going to be okay."
This, it turned out, was such an Autumn catch phrase. She wrote it on the windows (they're allowed to do that, there), she frequently referenced it at morning meeting (usually in the form of, "See? I told you it was going to be okay"), I think it was something of a mantra for her.
It's a good mantra. I should really co-opt that.
So this morning, I got up, and went to the hospital to pick up the boxes that everyone's been stashing in the intern office for me. PenguinShrink, who was coming off call, the poor thing, was very sweet and helped me carry them all out. We ran into the clinic manager, who's going to call me later this afternoon so that she can unload her large pile of empty boxes on me (yay!). And then I did some dumpster diving on the way out and found some more - a skill I perfected at the yarn shop, back in the day. Back when the little hand dyed yarn company was just a teetering startup, we'd dumpster dive for shipping boxes two or three times a week. Occasionally one of us would toss little Veronica into the dumpster outside the Sears, and she'd pick out the really good ones. The service guys thought we were crazy, and the Man in Brown was always amused at us shipping boxes and boxes of yarn outwardly disguised as vacuum cleaners and motor parts.
Anyhow.
I then went over to pick up the keys to the new place. Originally, remember, I was renting the house that Sparrow is currently living in, and she was moving in to part of the landlord's house, but then the plan changed and now I'm moving in to the identical cottage next door.
Except, whoa, not so identical.
The kid that lives there, let's call him Kyle (because of the Jew 'Fro. Ever see the South Park eps where Kyle has to take off his hat?), has not taken nearly as good care of the place as Sparrow has of hers. It's a dump, currently. And I have absolutely no doubts that by Friday, when I'm slated to move in there, it will be spic and span and repainted and the refrigerator will be replaced and all the cabinets will have their faces on again and it will be clean and not disgusting and all the crap that he has in there despite the fact that he was supposed to be out two days ago and has been off work for the past three weeks and oh my holy frakkin' wow is that place still full of crap (breathe, breathe) will be gone and it will be lovely. Totally, wonderfully lovely, because my landlord will accept nothing less. Both my current landlord, or the neighbor who bought her place and is about to become my landlord. Won't stand for it being anything short of lovely and wonderful and every bit the seaside-cottage-evoking bliss retreat that I was assuming I would get when I moved into Sparrow's place.
But right now? Oh, holy shit.
I also keep forgetting how very small the place really is. Extremely rough estimate? Maybe 700 square feet. My current place? 1300. My old house in NH? 2000.
You see why this is squeaking me out a little.
But I'm trying (trying) to get rid of as much crap as I can. I mean, I'm putting the buffet in storage and the guest bed, and donating most of the bookcases and my dressers and the coffee table and possibly the couch (I know, Mom and Dad, I know!). I'm donating a lot of general stuff. But still. There's just so much stuff. I have no doubt I can live in such a small space, but, I'm just not sure what I'm going to do with all the crap that I kind of actually have a use for. Like my sewing stuff. And all the damn yarn.
I mean, I do have an attic, and also, I discovered today, a nice shed. But still. The whole thing is sort of overwhelming....
But it's going to be okay.
And I should just go get going....
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
I really should just go to bed.
I know it's only 7:45. But I'm on call at State Hospital, and I'm a little bit nervous about what the night will bring. And while it's q-u-i-e-t, I should nap, so I can go home and pack (ack!) tomorrow before I go pick Mags up from the day care.
But in new and exciting news, my friend Robin (commonly referred to here as Original Robin) has a new blog all her own, Another Lesson Learned. Check it out. Urge her to post pictures (my nephew is CUTE).
Anyhow.
So it's my mom's birthday, I mentioned that already. It's days like this, things like when Luke was born, stuff like Ali's 30th birthday party, that I get a little more homesick than usual. Especially when I'm all stressed out, because, I don't know, the movers called me like 10 times in 30 minutes today to verify and change things (that was Ruthie's approximation. We spent a lot of time screwing around today, because it was a lazy sort of day. I seriously would've been out of here before noon if it weren't for me being on call. Which is part of why I'm bracing for the deluge to hit). So now I'm moving next Friday, not Saturday (my idea, because of changes Ruthie and I made in the call schedule so I would be able to take the 12th and 13th off), but the movers are coming at 1pm instead of 8am, and I'm confined to one smaller truck (their ideas. Or rather, availability). Although they might be able to get the larger truck with the later move time, because sometimes they go out on short jobs in the morning. And they've officially cancelled packing me. But still with the storage, just one unit instead of two.
Okay, next topic, I'm starting to get a little lightheaded again...
My attending, Dr. Chevy, this morning gave me this whole reminiscent story about how he moved like 11 times in 9 years between college, getting married, med school, having two kids, residency, etc, etc, etc. That was a long time ago, too, dude, the man is old. Okay, I don't really think he's old. But his grandchildren wear him out and he doesn't hear me very well most of the time and he kind of plays up the grandfatherly thing. He's a nice guy. With every intention of getting me out the door ASAP for the next week so I can go home and pack. I appreciate that he's understanding and supportive of these things, you know?
As for the moving company...they run a really tight ship over there, but when you get right down to it, ex-addicts are still not the most organized people, typically. So the fact that the plan is changing so much a week ahead of time is not especially surprising to me, and I think it's positive that at least it's today and not next Wednesday. And I think the coordinator I'm working with just really wants to keep me informed. So I'm not particularly concerned about it.
Okay, that's a lie.
The rational half of my brain isn't worried. Unfortunately, it isn't the dominant hemisphere right now...
This anxiety is of course compounded by the fact that everyone here (at SH) is in a tizzy about what's going to happen and are we really going to close at all and there's all sorts of rallies going on and the attending in Admissions this afternoon gave me a copy of a letter (there's a link on the sidebar of the article) that the physician staff here had written to the head honchos of this whole thing expressing their concern ("pass it around", he says. Dude, whatever, they already conceded to push back the move).
Can I be completely honest? (Of course I can, it's my blog.) I think we should just move in two weeks, when we were slated to go. Maybe the Baby Blue residents should get things up and running, and the Big Blues should come a week later. Not because we're better doctors than them, or whatever, but because Johnny Dix is going to run a lot like our state hospital. And I think, frankly, that another six weeks isn't going to solve the systems issues that are going to be the core problem. And a lot of staff just jumped ship again because of the uncertainty of when they're going to start work. Who can blame them? I say, work like gangbusters between now and then, get the physical plant in the patient-related areas finished, make sure the fire and duress alarms work, etc. I don't actually care if the policy manuals are sufficiently merged or not. We can handle that stuff on the fly for now, and defer to the clinical director if big policy issues arise. I don't actually care if we don't have a credentialing plan in place. I mean, soon, yes, but that's not at the heart of the problem. I don't actually care if all the form paperwork is perfect. Do we have progress notes? Order sheets? What else do we need? Come on, I can write admission orders all by myself, without a little checky-box sheet. I have been known to whip out the ADC VANDISSML in the past. Let's just get on with it already. Let's take care of some patients and let them show us where the problems are. 'Cause they're gonna, whether it's now, or in August when all the paint is dry in the School that they have to convert into offices (I DO NOT CARE if I don't have a "real" office), and the forms are all neat and agreed upon, and they've decided just exactly where to put the lockers in the call room.
Is alls I'm saying. Do it already, people. Do something.
But in new and exciting news, my friend Robin (commonly referred to here as Original Robin) has a new blog all her own, Another Lesson Learned. Check it out. Urge her to post pictures (my nephew is CUTE).
Anyhow.
So it's my mom's birthday, I mentioned that already. It's days like this, things like when Luke was born, stuff like Ali's 30th birthday party, that I get a little more homesick than usual. Especially when I'm all stressed out, because, I don't know, the movers called me like 10 times in 30 minutes today to verify and change things (that was Ruthie's approximation. We spent a lot of time screwing around today, because it was a lazy sort of day. I seriously would've been out of here before noon if it weren't for me being on call. Which is part of why I'm bracing for the deluge to hit). So now I'm moving next Friday, not Saturday (my idea, because of changes Ruthie and I made in the call schedule so I would be able to take the 12th and 13th off), but the movers are coming at 1pm instead of 8am, and I'm confined to one smaller truck (their ideas. Or rather, availability). Although they might be able to get the larger truck with the later move time, because sometimes they go out on short jobs in the morning. And they've officially cancelled packing me. But still with the storage, just one unit instead of two.
Okay, next topic, I'm starting to get a little lightheaded again...
My attending, Dr. Chevy, this morning gave me this whole reminiscent story about how he moved like 11 times in 9 years between college, getting married, med school, having two kids, residency, etc, etc, etc. That was a long time ago, too, dude, the man is old. Okay, I don't really think he's old. But his grandchildren wear him out and he doesn't hear me very well most of the time and he kind of plays up the grandfatherly thing. He's a nice guy. With every intention of getting me out the door ASAP for the next week so I can go home and pack. I appreciate that he's understanding and supportive of these things, you know?
As for the moving company...they run a really tight ship over there, but when you get right down to it, ex-addicts are still not the most organized people, typically. So the fact that the plan is changing so much a week ahead of time is not especially surprising to me, and I think it's positive that at least it's today and not next Wednesday. And I think the coordinator I'm working with just really wants to keep me informed. So I'm not particularly concerned about it.
Okay, that's a lie.
The rational half of my brain isn't worried. Unfortunately, it isn't the dominant hemisphere right now...
This anxiety is of course compounded by the fact that everyone here (at SH) is in a tizzy about what's going to happen and are we really going to close at all and there's all sorts of rallies going on and the attending in Admissions this afternoon gave me a copy of a letter (there's a link on the sidebar of the article) that the physician staff here had written to the head honchos of this whole thing expressing their concern ("pass it around", he says. Dude, whatever, they already conceded to push back the move).
Can I be completely honest? (Of course I can, it's my blog.) I think we should just move in two weeks, when we were slated to go. Maybe the Baby Blue residents should get things up and running, and the Big Blues should come a week later. Not because we're better doctors than them, or whatever, but because Johnny Dix is going to run a lot like our state hospital. And I think, frankly, that another six weeks isn't going to solve the systems issues that are going to be the core problem. And a lot of staff just jumped ship again because of the uncertainty of when they're going to start work. Who can blame them? I say, work like gangbusters between now and then, get the physical plant in the patient-related areas finished, make sure the fire and duress alarms work, etc. I don't actually care if the policy manuals are sufficiently merged or not. We can handle that stuff on the fly for now, and defer to the clinical director if big policy issues arise. I don't actually care if we don't have a credentialing plan in place. I mean, soon, yes, but that's not at the heart of the problem. I don't actually care if all the form paperwork is perfect. Do we have progress notes? Order sheets? What else do we need? Come on, I can write admission orders all by myself, without a little checky-box sheet. I have been known to whip out the ADC VANDISSML in the past. Let's just get on with it already. Let's take care of some patients and let them show us where the problems are. 'Cause they're gonna, whether it's now, or in August when all the paint is dry in the School that they have to convert into offices (I DO NOT CARE if I don't have a "real" office), and the forms are all neat and agreed upon, and they've decided just exactly where to put the lockers in the call room.
Is alls I'm saying. Do it already, people. Do something.
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