Tough Tummy Tuesday

I'm sick. Weirdly, weirdly sick.

I woke up around 4am yesterday feeling pukey and with a significant case of the dry heaves. So I stayed home from work, and slept through most of the day. I didn't feel a whole lot better today, but I sucked it up and went to work for the first half of the day. I canceled my clinic and came home around 1. I wrote my notes from home, and ended up napping between each one. Good times.

I think I may have given myself an ulcer. I've been thinking this for a while, actually. And I'd blame all of this on that, except for the whole sleeping all day thing and the fact that my joints are all sore. But regardless, I picked up some Prilosec at the Rite Aid.

Whine, whine, whine.

It's my blog, and I'll whine if I want to

So this particular blog entry comes with a disclaimer. Believe it or not, I keep a lot of personal shit off the blog. But I'm having one of those days weeks months moments when I just...don't care. To the best of my knowledge, no one who's about to be mentioned reads my blog, so it's probably not you (although you may know the players involved, keep it to yourself). No, I don't know that I want to talk about it. I just want to bitch.

I'm not doing so well. I'm going to be honest. I'm in a pretty dark place right now. I generally hold up the facade remarkably well, and even that is starting to falter. I'm finding myself much more negative these days than I want to be.

Friday was a horrible day. I got chewed out at work by my boss. I cried in her office for 45 minutes, after which I ran into the person I least wanted to see right then and had to walk straight into a family meeting. What almost makes it worse for me is that she thinks she's helping. I'm not going to perseverate any longer on whether she's right or wrong or just looking at part of the picture, because it's irrelevant. Yes, I'm off my game at work, because my entire life seems to be busy imploding. I'm not saying it's okay. I'm saying please give me some consideration for the fact that many people would not look okay from day to day. Please hear me when I say I don't understand what I'm doing wrong in any sort of prospective way. Please understand that I'm a little bit fragile right now and treat me accordingly. And know that my professional identity is such a part of the core of who I am, that right now I'm going to internalize every moment of potential criticism.

Friday after work, I spent an hour sitting outside the hospital in my car waiting for them to discharge my dad. And mostly crying. They finally let him loose, and I took him home, and promptly got into an argument with my parents about what essentially boils down to a tension between their needs and mine. I'm trying to keep my head above water, and I'm feeling like no one is acknowledging what I need. I don't care if that need doesn't get met, truly; I just want someone to recognize the kind of pain I'm in from the fact that my life currently sucks in multiple ways and both my parents are actively dying.

Meanwhile, I have this friend who is being remarkably ambivalent about what kind of friends we are. No, that's not true. I'm interpreting this friend's actions as ambivalence; in truth, they may be clear in a way I can't currently see, there's no way to know. But I feel it very acutely right now. I'm as needy as I get, which frankly isn't usually asking too much. I just want some consistency. I just want to know where I stand. And I just want, mostly, to feel like I have consistent support. I don't want anything to be this complicated right now.

And then, of course, there's this particular circle of friends that I have. And there's a developing schism in that group. I, truly, have no idea what to do about this. I feel like I'm going to need to choose a side in the near future, and I don't want to. It's not fair. I don't want to feel like my friends are choosing a side of this division over me, and I don't want to feel like I'll have to relinquish those friendships to stay neutral. Because then I might as well have chosen a side, which  feels like a lose/lose for me. I really value people on both sides. And I don't like being strewn akimbo in this process.

I'm feeling so unbelievably incompetent in pretty much every corner of my life these days. Personal, filial, romantic, professional, familial. I feel like a failure as a grown up. I pretty much hate my life right now. And in the middle of all of this chaos, on goes my personal work in therapy - dealing with my issues, figuring out who I am, what I want, and what's authentically me, trying to understand the things that repeatedly get in my way.

I want my life back. I want myself back. And I don't know how to get there.

Damn insomnia

So, I haven't slept well in like...I dunno...a decade or so. Actually, I used to sleep fairly well during naps, but even that's fallen off these days.

I was going to go to bed at 7. Decided that was too early. It's now nearly 10, and I have a 7am therapy patient tomorrow, so I really should be asleep. But what am I doing? Not sleeping.

This annoys me. Which is sort of all I have to say today. I'm grumpy and annoyed at so many other things right now, but this seems to be my issue of choice at the moment. Mostly because it's my own fault for not having good sleep hygiene, which I'm sure isn't helping the cause.

Whine, whine, whine...

::whimper::

I'm so sick.

I'm rather done with this. Please and thank you.

I have to wonder....

...think this'd work?

The morning after

First of all, watch this (for some reason, I can't seem to embed it, so you'll have to settle for a link).

It's a parody. We sang that one year (in four-part harmony, of course) in Madrigals. It still cracks me up.

Today was a very delightful day of doing pretty much nothing. My mom made bread, I ate some of it. We had a crackling, lovely fire. I read some Hawaiian ghost stories in a book I bought while we were there in October, that I finally cracked at the airport. All three of us did some napping. I did leave the house, once, when my mom and I went to Starbucks for breakfast.

Yesterday was....I dunno. Not what I remember holidays being when I was a kid. Which isn't new, really. Things haven't really been "right," I guess, since my yiayia (grandmother) died, but that was almost 20 years ago, now. There was a lot of contention in the family after that, for a while. Then my grandfather died, then my aunt's mom, then her dad. Now it's just us, my aunt and uncle, my cousins, and my aunt's sister, sitting around a table, making too much food for eight people and sniping at each other. It's a far cry from the jubilant, boisterous holidays of my kidhood, when D an I used to complain about sitting at the kiddie table, my grandmother made too much food for the 12 of us and whatever distantly-related (or not) koumbari happened to be joining us for the holiday, and we all clustered around the tables and argued loudly. Now it's like we're white people or something. But with more food.

My cousin brought his girlfriend to Thanksgiving. That was sort of monumental - none of the three of us cousins has ever brought anyone to a holiday dinner. Apparently she was lovely (I say "apparently" only because I was in NC). I was hoping she'd come for Christmas...I've suspected for a long while that they were involved but have never met her in person. Alas, though, she was off visiting her own family in a whole other state.

Lucky her.

I can't figure out why I'm so irked after this particular Christmas dinner. It's not like anything has really changed with our little family. My aunt makes me feel inadequate and worthless. My uncle doesn't say much. My one cousin is sullen, the other is beige and answers any direct questions in monosyllable responses. My aunt-in-law (my aunt's sister) is kind of funny but spends a lot of the time sniping with her sister. My mom gets anxious about the food. My dad tells stories. I? Wish I drank more.

So I don't know why it was so painful this time. Maybe I'm paying more attention to what I want it to be. Maybe I'm more sensitive to my own internal responses (damn my shrink and my progress in therapy)(no, not really). Maybe NC is really starting to feel more like home than home. Maybe I'm different with them than I am with other people.

I just wish I felt like my family liked me more (and by "family," here, I'm referring to my extended genetic family. My parents, and my non-genetic relations, seem to like me just fine. Weirdly). It's amazing to me how no matter how old I get, no matter what I manage to accomplish or that at which I manage to fail (because sometimes it seems like the accomplishments are more problematic), I never feel like I'm even close to good enough. And I can't ever seem to figure out what it is that would make me so.

I could keep whining, but I'm not sure it's useful to anyone outside my head.

It also finally caught up with me that I don't think I really have a whole lot planned for the week, unlike my typical whirlwind home visits. I think a lot of my non-core friends are out of town. So maybe I'll get to spend some actual quality time with some of the core group this time? That'd be cool.

Sunday stuff

Y'all, it's been a rough month.

I know I've been less than awesome about posting useful or interesting things, but there's been so much more going on than I could even start to tell about. The big stuff? My dad's been sick. Someone else who's really important to me was just diagnosed with cancer (I'm not trying to be cryptic, I'm just not sure it's my story to tell, here), and that's been a tough thing for the whole family. And I went to the sports medicine guy on Friday, who stuck a needle into my knee and added even more fluid (with steroids in it), and then gave me a string of diagnoses about what's wrong (patellar subluxation. Plica syndrome. Gigantamous, multi-loculated, huge-ass Baker's cyst. Meniscal tear. Patellofemoral syndrome. Osteochondral damage. Effusion).

And then there's a large pile of little things. For whatever reason, Matt and I ended up being the designated people to fuss over Eva while she was having kind of a difficult end to her pregnancy (which, of course, ended happily). Little Amelie has joined us, albeit a bit early, which of course involves a little worrying on Thea Kate's part. Dude, there's been a lot of baby-ness going on lately, which is kind of making my ovaries anxious. Being on the eating disorders unit is actually kind of fun, but really, really triggering - in ways both positive and negative, often at the same time, which is in itself exhausting. There are a number of things going on with my friends right now that are weighing on me. I'm leaving to go home in three days (which, yay), but my house is a mess, I'm completely exhausted, and haven't even figured out how I'm getting to the airport, much less even really thought about the fact that I'm going to be, you know, home. For the holidays. Oh, right, and it's the holidays, which are difficult for a lot of people, one of whom is me, and a lot of whom are patients of mine who are suddenly in crisis. And on and on and on.

Whine, whine, whine.

So, given the chance to be social yesterday or be seclusive...well, I was kind of hoping the predicted snowpocalypse would give me an excuse to go with seclusive, but since it didn't, I chose not to make up another excuse and went out and made like a butterfly. As I said, I spent the first part of the day trying frantically to finish that blanket, but then I actually made it to the shower for the newest member of the Ming psychiatric dynasty. We had fun. It was more of a party with gifts than a shower, really (i.e, no stupid shower games). What was decidedly weird about it, though, was about an hour or two into it, talking to my recently-married (like, this past week. Well, sort of) friend, I realized that Matt and I were the only two single people there. But, you know, that's okay, and that's part of what I like about my friends here.

Later in the evening Edie had a Yule party. Which was cool, actually; I like her a lot, of course, but also just find her kind of fascinating. She's a practicing witch, and is one of those people who's just really open and tolerant, which of course, also brings with it a good deal of endearing quirkiness. Edie and Peng were sort of the only people I knew there for most of the time, which was kind of interesting, but Edie's friends are of course also a quirky bunch, so it was entertaining as well. And from there, Peng and I went on to Wayne's overgrown frat party (seriously. There was beer pong). We met back up with Matt...and, Wayne's random neighbor, who was very awkward, and walked into the party with us even though he wasn't actually invited. Fortunately, he also didn't stay long (Did I mention? Weird guy). Wayne has a kind of hilarious conglomerate of friends (I told you about the random Australians, right?), which was very entertaining. Mike and his girlfriend were there, too, as was Tony, and Wayne's brother, and one of the girls from work, though, so we at least knew some people. It was also apparent early on that Peng and I were partially there to protect Matt from the scary cool people, which is sort of amusing, considering the coolness quotient that is me and Peng....

So, you know, some good stuff this weekend. I also made it back to the gym today, finally, after like a month. Slowly, but, it's progress. And, well, on we go, with another week. We'll see what happens. At least it isn't dull around here...but damn, I'm tired...

With the way this week has gone...

....I'm just not taking any chances tonight.

Defenses.

Yeah, there's something going on. I'm fine, my folks are fine, Maggie's fine. I spent a long time tonight trying to compose a post, but I'm just so confused about the whole thing that I can't quite put it into words.

It's one of those occasions in which something is so unreal that I don't really know what to do with it. I keep saying, yeah, yeah, I'm fine, because, well, I am, but mostly because, there just aren't words. I keep trying not to tell people, because that's what I do, I just go on quietly when my life is falling apart. Actually, a number of bad things have happened to the people around me lately, and it's definitely taken its toll on me, but only a few close people know anything about it. I'm always "fine."

Truth is, I'm not sure I know how to let myself be not fine.

I got into a little tiff with Scott this morning. I walked in, ridiculously early, as always, and was bantering with him and Sonia for a while (they were the overnight call team). And we were talking about this patient we all know a little better than we'd like to, and he makes this sarcastic comment about a subject which is sort of a running thing between us. It was standard fare; we've debated this rather jocularly on multiple occasions. Unfortunately, this just happens to be the topic related to the recent badness in my life.

So today there was no joking or debating. Today there was me, sniping, which wasn't fair. He didn't know that today was not the day to confront that. But instead of "Not now, man," what came out was, "Oh, you can fucking bite me."

He dropped it, we moved on, things lightened. And I felt bad about this all day. So I texted him before I left work and was like, I'm sorry. Here's why I snapped at you this morning. In truth, it was maybe 10% of the reason I actually snapped at him, but that was the best explanation I could give. He was like, I didn't even think of it as a snap. Figured you were tired. Really sorry I went there, and about what happened.

My first thought about that was, great, I love that I'm even blowing this out of proportion, that I (as always) made the assumption it was as bad outside my head as it was inside, but apparently I can't even let that kind of stuff show very much. My second thought was, God, I so incredibly HATE that I told him. That I let him see even that tiny crack of vulnerable and crazy. Hate hate hate.

But, it is what it is. And what it is, is that I'm way too defended.

I know this about myself. I know why it's there, and I'm not sure how to make it not so.

So tomorrow, when I don't have to be up at 5am after another night of tossing and turning, I'll have more to say about this. Meanwhile, I have some unsettling dreams waiting for me...but that's pretty much the same as every night.

Darkness

Oh, for Pete's sake...

So I get home tonight....long day at work. Whiny patients. Lots of crap to deal with. Endless paperwork. 7am therapy patient.

Fortunately, I had my very first spinning class to look forward to tonight. And it was awesome. It wound up being a private lesson, because there were only two of us signed up and the other woman didn't show. And I LOVE it. She sent me home with a drop spindle and some roving, but I am so totally in love with the wheel. It's very....zen. I could just treadle for hours (and, in fact, did, for about an hour). I had lanolin all over my hands and left with about 11 yards of handspun from the wheel, and a huge ball of Blue Leicester Top roving to spindle. I am pleased. I have two more lessons, on the next two Tuesdays.

So I stop and grab some dinner on the way home, walk up to the door...and the dog is whining. And I notice it's awfully dark - usually the dog walker leaves the front room light on, and I always leave my porch light on. Hmm. So I go in, flip the switch, and....nothing.

Turns out, last week or so ago when I paid the bill that the power company finally sent me, the online bill payer never actually sent the payment. So they disconnected us. Also? My rent check "bounced" this month (more bank weirdness), and I came home at 7pm yesterday to a note telling me I was about to be evicted.

We have power again (when I started writing this, I was stealing my neighbor's wireless...). And are not being evicted. And I will get the bank straightened out eventually (because, you know, they're not open when I'm not at work...). But still....jeebus.....

In better news, only three more days until the weekend.....

Stormy weather

It's raining out there. A lot.

Fortunately, I made it home well in advance of the storm. Maggie was pretty happy about that. And we even got to pal around with the pup next door for a while.

Today was...nuts. I mean to tell you, I don't know how we're supposed to get all this stuff done. Ohhh...so I've got six inpatients (today, thank God, I only had five) and roughly two hours a day of clinic or therapy (three on some Mondays). And lecture at lunch on Mondays and Tuesdays. Oh, and because I'm the peripartum resident, I'm supposed to do a peripartum therapy group twice a week (ha!!). And I've got to come up with a Journal Club article for Thursday. Not to mention Tuesday night classes and all the attendant reading. And my workouts in the morning. And did I mention I'm working this weekend?

Kinda makes me want to curl up in a little ball....but, I think it'll get better...

Grown up

Today was loooong. And scattered. And involved too much traffic.

In other news, I bought new pants. The size I had is too big. The size down is too small. Argh. I opted for the smaller size, which won't fall off, but also only came in longer than my legs.

And I'm very disappointed in the selection of bachelorette party accoutrements at the local Adam and Eve (I never thought I'd be sentimental about the overpriced campiness at Lovers' Lane).

I did a lot of work today too.

So I'm going to bed. My goal was to be in bed by 8:30. Because I'm old. My revised goal is to be in bed by 9. Which is when I've been trying to go to bed anyway.

Dudes. I'm so tired.

And PS, my spell check just misspelled "accoutrements."

(See? Friday Fragments aren't really all that different from the norm around here...)

Bleh

So I woke up this morning just feeling like crap. Crap-tastic, even. I had a weird migraine-y thing going on. So I snoozed for half an hour whining in my aching head about how awful I felt and how my tummy was unhappy and how I got kind of dizzy whenever I picked my head up...but I got up, and I got dressed, and I slumped down the stairs...and then had a conversation with my mom, who was like, are you nuts? Be a real person. Take care of yourself and go back to bed.

Wise, my mom.

And wouldn't you know it, a couple hours' sleep in a dark room helped a heck of a lot more than six hours of distracted therapy and two lectures would have. And as guilty as I felt about cancelling, my mom also pointed out that for the hourly rate they charge for me (which is, what, about $180 an hour more than I make), my patients deserved to have a doctor who was actually paying attention and not trying not to throw up on them.

I did get paged twice, though, out of my quiet, dark little den. One was Magical Corrina the All-Knowing, who needed my parking application (why do they create all this paperwork? I had parking. I'm still employed here. I want to keep my parking. Done. Is that so hard? Magical Corrina and I have other things we could be doing with our time), which was fine, because Peng was already on it and forging my signature on the paperwork I left on my desk and forgot to sign. The second page was this woman from the medicine service. It went something like this...

Medicine: Hey, I just had a few questions about this guy.
Me: Um, yeah, so, I think I only saw him, like, once. Remind me who he is?
Her: He's the guy with CF.
Me (amazed that that description actually did the trick, because, you know, like there's only one patient in the whole world with cystic fibrosis): Oh, yeah. What's up?
Her: Well, he's in the hospital.
Me: Okay.
Her: (silence)
Me: ...with a CF exacerbation?
Her: Yeah.
Me: Okay. So...
Her: Well, you know, there's a significant psychological component to it, too.
Me: Um...can he breathe?
Her: Oh, it's getting better.
Me: Uh-huh.
Her: Right.
Me: So...um...how can I help you?
Her: Well, I was wondering if you wanted to do anything.
Me: Uh, you know, I only saw him once, in the intake clinic, like a week ago.
Her: Right. And he's been taking the medication you prescribed, and went up to the full dose about two days ago, and seems to be doing pretty well on it.
Me: So, psychologically, he's doing better?
Her: Yeah.
Me: And...um...he can breathe?
Her: Yeah.
Me: (pause) Okay.
Her: So we were just wondering if you wanted to do anything else, you know, while he was in.
Me (trying to think of a way to put this tactfully): I...um...no.
Her: Oh.
Me: I mean, I guess if you feel like his medicine needs to be increased, you could go up another 5mg, but I think the thing he really needs is therapy. And we've discussed that, but if you could reiterate that, it'd be great.
Her (clearly frustrated that I just prescribed "therapy" for a "psychological problem"): Yeah, okay, whatever. Thanks.
Me: Well, glad I could help.

Here's a tip, for all of you consultants of psychiatry or future consultants of psychiatry or people upon whom others may consult psychiatry... Corrina aside, we're not magic. As our chairman is fond of saying, "We heal minds, we don't read them."

I still have no idea what she wanted me to do. The real reason they sent the guy to me was because they want him to stop coming into the hospital. I failed to do that with one 30 minute visit (he was 30 minutes late for his intake appointment) and ten days worth of homeopathic doses of an adjunct medication.

Uh....NO KIDDING.

I got a consult this weekend to come "talk" to a kid in the ICU who drank himself into alcohol poisoning because the team was too busy to find out "what was really going on." Yeah, like this kid's going to tell me. Surely they must realize that "Hi, I'm Dr. Kate, I'm one of the psychiatrists on call" translates, in the patient's head, into "Hi, I'm another random doctor. Clearly the team thinks you're crazy, which is why they called psych to come talk to your crazy ass." And when I balked a little at the consult, the resident call it in was like, "okay, and, so this is the second kid in two weeks we've had from his peer group with the same problem. We need to you to find out what's going on with them, see if there's like some abuse issues or something."

I? Am neither Colombo, Kreskin, nor DSS. And I do not speak the mythical language that makes teenagers give polysyllabic answers (I, too, still get "fine," "yeah," and "stuff"). But I couldn't actually seem to get out of doing the consult, and I figured (like so many of the ones that we do) it would actually be better for the patient to talk to me about it than the crazy Pedes lady who was overestimating my ESP, so I went and saw the kid. And discovered that, a, he'd already figured out this alcohol poisoning nonsense was a stupid thing to do, and 2, the other person from his peer group who'd had the "same problem"? Was a kid on our unit who tried to overdose to kill himself, not one with a raging case of bad judgment.

Sometimes I really have to wonder...what is it that everyone else in the hospital thinks we do?

Commence to spinning wheels...

So I'm on day three (officially) of my vacation. I've gotten a few things accomplished that I wanted to - Maggie had her yearly comprehensive checkup today (they kept her for FIVE HOURS at the Banfield. I think they did a tire rotation and chassis lube or something, too). I went to yoga once and might go again tomorrow, and will likely go Sunday. I'm probably going to get my oil changed tomorrow. I went to the grocery and cleaned out the fridge. And I've driven approximately 83 bazillion miles looking at potential places to live.

Currently? I'm thisclose to moving back to my old complex. I liked it there. The commute was long, but I'm not always sure that's bad...

Am I a total moron if I move back to where I came from?

I dunno. More searching tomorrow...we'll see what I find.

And I haven't packed a single box, and my house is still a disaster.

Oy.

If you give a Maggie a margarita...

No, I did not actually give my dog alcohol. But I commented on my FB status that Maggie was all freaked out by the thunderstorms, and my aunt in Texas suggested a margarita might be a good solution (a little hair of the dog, if you will). So then I started musing about what turned into the title (a reference to the If You Give A Mouse A Cookie and If You Give A Pig A Pancake books, which, are, like, a couple of my favorite children's books EVER). If you give a Maggie a margarita, she's going to want a wedge of lime. If you give her a lime, she's going to think it's been far too long since you dropped any food on the floor...hmm. If you give a Maggie a margarita, she's going to want some salt for the rim. If you give her some salt, she's going to think it's been far too long since you dropped any food on the floor...or, okay...If you give a Maggie a margarita, she's going to think it's been far too long since you dropped any food on the floor...

I do love that dog.

So I tried to wear the goofy ski boots last night. Remember how I said I couldn't even keep socks on my feet at night (by which, by the way, I meant that I take my socks off in my sleep if I can even stand to keep them on that long. I could totally wear socks with the boots if I wanted to)? I had 'em on for like an hour before I actually went to bed, and then managed to sleep about 45 minutes before I woke up because I was kicking myself trying to take them off in my sleep. And, honestly, my legs hurt a LOT more today. Which may have been all the walking of yesterday, or all the manipulating of my feet, but I think a big part of it was all the fussing with the boots.

So now I have a large, furry hot pack applied to my left shin and I'm NOT wearing the boots tonight. Because I'm on weekend call tomorrow, and as the second year, I get to walk all around the hospital seeing consults. Which is painful in so many ways.

Stupid defective feet.

Gomer, today? I said, "So the podiatrist said this and blah blah blah and then he gave me these stupid splints I'm supposed to wear and is going to make me special orthotics or something," and he gets this devious little grin on his face and says, "You're like Forrest Gump!"

So now we both have sore shins.

(No, I didn't really kick him in the shins. I said something really clever like "shut uuuuup!" and then let him kick my ass around the gym for half an hour...but, the story's always better with a little secondary revision.)

The podiatrist also told me, incidentally, that he'd "be remiss" if he didn't mention my weight. I was like....really? He then went on to tell me that, well, obviously he wasn't going to manage my weight loss but I needed to pay attention to my calories as well, not just my physical activity.

....?

I resisted the urge to say, "What? My weight....oh, my god! When did I get fat?! Why didn't anyone tell me this before you did?! Thank God you were here, I never would've known!" or "uh, yeah, jackass, I get it, because, see, I'm a real doctor, not a doctor of feet." And I resisted the urge to kick him, too (which was hard, because he was right at prime kicking height when he said this). And I said something like, "right, yeah, no, I know that, and part of the reason I came in now, since, you know, I've had pain like this pretty much for the last quarter century (I distinctly remember my pediatrician telling me, "Oh, you'll grow out of it." Oops), is because it's starting to impede my progress at the gym. And it's probably worse now because of all the time I'm spending there."

And furthermore...why...well, I mean, don't assume, period. But why the comment about "watching my calories?" It's not like I was sitting in his office eating a donut. Do I have the best diet? Of course not. I'm a stressed-out, overworked resident. And in fact, I'm a stressed-out, overworked, PTSD-addled resident with an eating disorder. But that doesn't mean I live on chocolate cake, know what I mean? I generally do okay. Don't assume you know.

Which may not have stimulated much more than a big eye roll from me on a good day, but I also spent an hour on Wednesday getting criticized by one of my psychotherapy supervisors. Apparently she thinks I'm "too unsettled" and it's "interfering with my learning experience." A, how the hell does she have any idea what my "learning experience" is? That would be the very nature of an experience, in that, it's mine, and defined by how I, well, experience it. And 2...I mean...come on, lady. It's no great insight that I'm unsettled. I get the sense that she thinks I should be so grateful for these big interpretations she makes (because, remember, she's the one that told me they weren't admitting me to the institute - although they weren't not admitting me, either - because they were concerned that I didn't seem to have much reflective capacity), but in point of fact, I'm a big ball of reflective capacity. I reflect, ponder, analyze, debate, discuss, and ruminate on every morsel of my life until it's ground into a fine powder. I don't always see things right away, but sometimes that's because of the defenses in place, not because I'm shallow and not paying attention. Chances are, if she asked me what was going on instead of told me, I'd have plenty of ideas about it. And I don't mind feedback, because sometimes people who can see less detail have a better grasp on the big picture. I'm more than happy to listen to considered, measured insights - right or wrong - in the right context. But I think she's just trying to take my inventory without really knowing what's in stock, and as it stands, I don't feel like I can disagree with her, lest she decide I'm just being obstinate and defensive. So I shut up, stay defended, and take it. Which, let's face it, is not helpful.

And, let's face it, is a common response that I have, which has gotten me in a world of trouble before.

::sigh:: I just want to be normal, Spud.

Backwards

Ugh, so, come tomorrow night, I start Night Float again. So, currently, it's 11:30, I'm awake and have all the lights on and I'm watching CSI to try and pass the time because, y'all, it's been a hellish long week and despite the very nice nap I took this afternoon I am tired and can't actually bring myself to do anything.

Bleh. I want to go to bed....

Well, I always wanted a pony...

I'm a little hoarse.

Between my office mates, my patients, and my ACT team - ALL of whom have been trying very hard to infect me with things - someone finally succeeded. Currently it's mostly in my chest, although...it's been sort of interesting, actually, to watch this develop over the course of the day. Usually I wake up with these things, and the only real warning I have is that I went to bed feeling "not quite right", or, on the best of occasions, I have a prodromal day or so of scratchy throat or mild stuffiness. But this has been coming on all day...when I left supervision this morning, I could still chalk my tight chest and scratchy throat up to the cold air. I was a little cough-ful in the LYS, but, well, the yarn fumes were soothing (oh...my...God, they have this cashmerino silk stuff...I wanted to knit myself a cocoon out of it....but that would be more money than I make in a month, I think. I settled for a little cuddle before I put it back on the shelf). I started coughing for real and producing mucous in earnest towards the end of lecture. And by the time I left my housestaff meeting, I was all scratchy and wheezy and febrile (but the chocolate cake was SO worth sitting through the meeting).

I stopped on the way home and bought Airborne and a thermometer. And am now going to take my dog and go curl up under the electric blanket. Maybe I'll wake up all fixed. It could happen!

This little PIGgy

Tonight marks the beginning of the 2009 recruitment season. Tomorrow is our first set of interviews for next year's intern class, and so tonight is the traditional pre-interview gathering, affectionately known in our department as a PIG. It's pretty standard - the night before interviews at pretty much every program in every discipline, there's a meet-and-greet with the current residents at a local bar or restaurant, or when I was interviewing here, at one of the residents' houses. It's a nice, supposedly informal way to kind of get to know the people in the program, it gives you a feel for what people are like outside the hospital, and if you're particularly astute, it gives you a excellent way to gauge the dynamics of the people involved - are they snooty and distant? Generally relaxed and happy? Do they talk about work with each other or just when they're giving you their sales pitch (for those playing along at home, remember that we spend roughly twice as much of our awake time at work than not, so, if they're not talking about work at all, something's awry)? Are they snippy about it? Jovial? Excited? Dry? That can tell you an awful lot about peoples' attitudes toward their work and their patients. Do they generally avoid each other, or do they have inside jokes, ask about kids, family, hobbies? Do they volunteer positive information about each other ("Oh! Martha's really interested in community psychiatry, you should talk to her about our AHEC stuff," or, "Kate knit her own socks!" or, "Mike just ran a half marathon two weeks ago, you should talk to him about the running clubs around here")? Now, of course we're all on our best behavior, but, there's still a lot to be learned. And the residents - who often have a say in the rankings - can gather useful information as well. Generally, I like these things, and am hoping to go to as many of them (and the lunches during the interview day) as possible.

You'll notice, however, that tonight, this little piggy is blogging and making pizza.

Let me tell you how my day went...

I got a late start this morning. Way, way later than I wanted to. And I finally get out the door, and I get a table at the Starbucks, and read through some stuff....and then I get this text message from Sparrow:

"Dogs out."

I looked at that a moment...thought, huh? Is she just making a pop culture reference? Does she want to go take the pups somewhere? Is she...and then, it clicked.

Dog's out.

My dog.

Is out.

Shit!

I immediately started packing my stuff up and making a beeline for the door as I called her. Juan, our lawn guy/man Viernes had called her and said that Maggie had made a break for it. They were off to go corral her. I said something along the lines of "i'llberightthere!" Fortunately, Mags was standing right in front of the house (although Juan said she had started off towards Sparrow's house), and was easily redirected into my house, where the dog door was subsequently slammed shut. Sparrow called, and I stopped driving like a felon with a two-second headstart. By the time I got back home, Maggie was like, "Guess what happened! Guess what happened! Guess what...ohhhhhh, wait, I'm in trouble, aren't I? Ohhhhhhhhhh......"

It was cute. I hugged her. Sparrow'd already told her she was crazy.

Near as we can tell she did indeed go over the fence from on top of the air conditioner. Which is a dilemma I hopefully have solved, at least for the moment, as I took one of my old plastic shelving units and set the shelves upside down on top of the air conditioner. And there's a ladder in front of it. Maggie seems disappointed. For the record, I did NOT think she would go over that fence, certainly not more than once. It's a five foot drop, for Pete's sake! But then, Maggie is nothing if not spry and resilient...

I also discovered that there's been a large grey housecat living under my house. The entrance to which is right on the other side of the fence from the air conditioner (and which has again been sealed off). Dollars to donuts Maggie saw her and was all, "KITTY!!!" And, boop, over the fence she went.

(It was particularly amusing watching me try to explain this theory to Juan, I'm sure, given my pathetic command of Spanish and his limited English. It was a lot of me going, "Perro...con gatto..." and making leaping and scampering motions with my hands. The best part of that whole exchange, though, was when he picked up the recycle bin that's sitting next to the fence covering the hole that Maxine dug during their last jailbreak. He looked down and saw the hole, and all I said was, "Perrita Maxine." And he said "Ohhhhhhhh" in that knowing way, and laughed, and put it back down...)

::sigh::

So then I met up with Sparrow and Martha at this little deli in town, and we chatted and hung out and I had really good falafel. I then went to the Lowes Foods, where I suddenly discovered I was not feeling so well. Which perplexed me. Until two things happened: a, I finally got to the point where I felt so awful I was like, crap, I just need to go home, and 2, it finally occurred to me where we were in the month. So I attempted to finish shopping, checked out, and drove home, not yet realizing that I'd forgotten about half of what I'd gone for, including most of the components of tonight's dinner. Like, you know, cheese, and, say, pizza crust.

I curled up into a ball for a while, thinking some nasty things about Eve and bemoaning the five weeks I have left until Larry (my doc) puts in a shiny new progestin-eluting IUD and hopefully remedies a lot of this (have I mentioned that my insurance company is giving me a Mirena for Christmas? I'm so excited. Soexcited. In fact, never have I been so excited about a sharp poke in the cervix. I am hoping, however, this goes better than the last Mirena that Larry and I tried to put in together). But eventually I got up and realized that it was 4:30 and I'd forgotten about half the things on my list. And that this little piggy was going to have to go back to market.

So I got up. Went to Target. Went to Whole Foods. Came home, went to start dinner...and realized I still hadn't remembered to buy mozzarella cheese.

There was a long string of expletives, but fortunately the six cheese Italian blend I'd bought a month ago had a little mozzarella in it, so we converted from Greek pizza (because it turns out I didn't have any non-moldy feta, either) to fancy six cheese pizza (which I forgot to put seasonings on. I just remembered that. The leftovers have been in the fridge for over a half hour). I then started a load of laundry, and started doing the dishes. And promptly ended up looking at the clock, covered in dog hair and dishwater and swearing at anything in sight, and deciding that this? Was NOT the image I wanted to project to prospective interns.

I'm all for realism, and being up front, but, there is a limit to how much crazy I let people see. Even y'all.

I'm giving up and writing this whole weekend off. Tomorrow will be better. Even if I am on call twice this week. And then again next week.

Never mind. I'm going to go hide under my covers and snuggle with my jailbird dog...

Sea legs

Oy. Two days off of work, and I'm exhausted.

But dudes. It was a long-ass day.

Long.

Ass.

Day.

Addendum

Note to self:

Brown flannel attracts light-colored dog hair LIKE A FRIGGIN' MAGNET.

I didn't even put it on the bed. It got all full of dog hair in the dryer. Or to be more properly named, the still damp-er.

Oy.

It's really soft, though. And currently hanging over the bathroom door to fully dry.

AND THEN, guess what just happened? My bathroom sink fell off the wall. I didn't know they could do that! I got it back on, but, dude. And it looks like it wasn't on right when it was caulked in place.

Dude.

I hate this house. Stupid Kyle, who stole all the light bulbs and let the place run down. Why did I move here again? Oh, right, Sparrow, Maxine, and Melody. None of whom live here anymore. And then there was the walking/biking distance to work. Which, we all know how that has thusfar worked out.

Oy.