Life and Love and Wings

2011-02-16T02:05:00.001-05:00

dog days

2010-10-31T09:38:00.000-04:00

Jack and I are, rather suddenly, now the proud (well, proud except when he FREAKS OUT WITH EXCITEMENT in Petsmart and everyone stares) owners of a 1-year-old energetic spotted mix named Ollie. He's very good generally, though he's exhaustingly fond of playing fetch. On the bright side, though, he'll play fetch with himself by rolling his ball off the edge of the couch, too, which is fairly amusing.

back, with an embarrassing story

2010-08-15T09:11:00.005-04:00

So the other day I'm working in the peds ER, doing all sorts of peds-ER-related things... which mostly involve reassuring parents, and wondering why they bring non-emergencies to the Emergency Room where they have to wait 5 hours, instead of to their pediatrician where they have to wait maybe 45 minutes. The world is full of mysteries.

But SOME Emergency Room visits are legit, such as the small child I saw next with a big deep nasty-looking cut. Ouch. Definitely needed stitches. So the attending and the ER tech (both guys, which is vaguely pertinent) and I get everything ready, numb the kid up, and set about repairing skin.

ATTENDING:

[pulling back skin flap] Whew, this is a deep one.

EMILY:

[holding child's extremity still so attending can work]

Wow, it is. Yikes.

CHILD'S MOTHER:

[turns slightly pale and quietly leaves the room]

ATTENDING:

[begins to squirt sterile water under skin flap to clean it]

CHILD'S WOUND:

[begins oozing copious amounts of blood]

CHILD'S OLDER BROTHER:

[turns slightly pale and quietly leaves the room]

EMILY'S THOUGHTS:

...Is it getting hot in here?

ATTENDING:

[lines up skin and prepares to suture]

EMILY'S THOUGHTS:

...Um, okay. Feeling kinda woozy. This is not good.

CHILD'S FATHER:

[stoically watches from a corner of the room, arms folded]

ATTENDING:

[lifting skin flap once more and dabbing away blood]

Oooh. I think that might be the bone we can see in there. Or the tendon at least.

ER TECH:

[peers calmly at wound, shaking head in sympathy for child]

EMILY:

[also peers at wound, genuinely interested]

EMILY'S THOUGHTS:

Wow, that's kinda cool. I mean, not for the kid, but... OKAY, WHY AM I FEELING DIZZY?! BLOOD DOES NOT BOTHER ME!!

ATTENDING:

[begins suturing]

EMILY'S THOUGHTS:

What the heck, body?! You can't go all vasovagal on me now!

CHILD'S FATHER:

[continues to stoically observe]

EMILY:

[surreptitiously leans on table in an attempt to recover without being noticed]

EMILY'S THOUGHTS:

Must. Not. Be. Nauseous.

ATTENDING:

[wields needle-holder with expertise]

EMILY'S THOUGHTS:

Okay, fine. I give up. You win this time, autonomic nervous system. I shake my fist at you! ...Only not literally, because that would be weird right now.

EMILY:

[pulling off sterile gloves, sheepishly]

I um... this is kind of embarrassing, but I think I need to go sit down for a minute.

ATTENDING:

[looks at her mildly]

ER TECH:

[with mild concern]

You are looking a little pale.

EMILY:

[halfway out the door, almost running]

I'm really sorry!!

EMILY'S THOUGHTS:

Wow. I am super-lame. And apparently, super-girly... and not in a good way.

how quickly we forget

2010-05-03T13:29:00.000-04:00

So after putting in a load of laundry and starting up the Roomba (my birthday present from Jack... which I love), I was preparing to wash a massive amount of dishes. And I was thinking idly to myself how cool it is to live in such a time when machines can do chores for us. I mean, back in the day, women would have to drag out their washtub and clothesline to do laundry, and it would take all day. And most people still clean their floors themselves, with a broom or a vacuum cleaner, and it takes just way too long to be fun.

And then as I turned on the faucet, I thought, "Man, wouldn't it be nice if there were some kind of machine that could wash dishes, t..... oh. Right."

(Also, here: have a video of my Roomba in action, and be suitably envious.)

keeping busy

2010-04-08T13:06:00.000-04:00

What have I been up to?

Knitting (of course):

Munching on Easter candy:

Trying my hand at making bagels (they were good!):

Doing seemingly endless paperwork for my residency program:

Preparing for a friend's wedding:

Baking cookies (chocolate chip meringue... yum!):

Getting ready for graduation (eep!):

Celebrating spring with fresh flowers:

sentiment

2010-04-06T06:49:00.005-04:00

Apologies for the long hiatus (if anyone is reading this). Just here briefly to post this image, which is so true, and random, it makes me laugh.

whoops

2010-03-16T17:42:00.001-04:00

So does this mean if I didn't bring a pet, I won't receive service? Wish I'd known that ahead of time...

brainwashed

2010-03-12T13:44:00.002-05:00

You know there's something wrong with you when you actually develop quite a fondness for hospital vending machine coffee.

tv show pet peeve

2010-02-22T05:47:00.003-05:00

Picture this scene (you know you've seen it many a time):

A terrible accident has occurred, and now a character whom you've come to know and love is lying in a hospital bed, barely clinging to life (and, I might add, looking remarkably attractive and well-groomed for someone so Critically Ill... usually without even a nasal cannula, much less an endotracheal tube, to spoil the effect).

Suddenly, the rhythmic beeping in the background gives way to an ominous hum, and you know the terrible truth. The heart monitor swings into view to show you the all-too-recognizable flatline.

Instantly, doctors and nurses rush in. What is the first thing they do? Check the Airway, Breathing, Circulation? Start chest compressions? No way, baby, because in medical drama there is nothing more glamorous than the all-powerful defibrillator. One of the (also remarkably attractive) doctors grabs those paddles, slams them on the patient's bare chest, yells "CLEAR!" and the patient jerks violently.

Lather, rinse, repeat. This goes on for a grand total of about 30 seconds (despite the fact that real codes can last more like 30 minutes at times... and do, in fact, typically involve chest compressions) before the Doctor In Charge wipes his/her brow, fights back tears, and says, forcing stoicism, "Call it."

So what is the pet peeve here? The unlikely attractiveness of... well, everyone? The fast-forwarded code blue? The lack of oxygen therapy (or any kind of medical device) on a patient who is evidently Hovering Near Death? Actually, no.

People. Asystole is NOT a freakin' SHOCKABLE RHYTHM!

four things

2010-02-17T11:48:00.003-05:00

Thing #1- Hello, smog. Lovely to see you this fine morning as I gaze from the hospital window.

Thing #2- Why do I always manage to spill coffee on myself the mornings when I'm post-call?

Thing #3- The computers in the pediatric conference room are using a 10-year-old operating system. Awesome.

Thing #4- My school-distributed pager has them beat, though, because whenever I change the battery and the date resets, it asks me if I would like to set the year to 1999. Um, no.

five stars

2010-02-12T18:27:00.000-05:00

So today I'm On Call. This basically means I'm in the hospital for 24-30 hours, doing admissions, helping out the residents, etc. I don't have to work the entire time, necessarily; I just have to be there. There's actually a room where I can sleep if/when I get the chance. (Incidentally, the reason residents are called "residents" is that they used to be On Call in the hospital all the time. Residents of the hospital, you see.)

And now, without further ado, this is the peds student call room, where I'll be spending the night tonight!

Look! Swanky, no?

I'll also have a desk (of sorts) and even my own sink. What more could a girl want?

I especially like how, if you look closely, you can see where past students have been practicing their surgical knot-tying skills.

(I really do like it, by the way; I'm not just saying that. It makes me feel sort of connected, in a weird way... to all med students, past and future, who have ever sat in a stark call room in ill-fitting scrubs, whiling away the wee hours of the morning practicing the intricacies of surgical knots on leftover sutures donated by some thoughtful scrub nurse... or something along the same lines. Oh, med school. How very un-glamorous you are.)

marshmallow world

2010-02-10T18:51:00.003-05:00

View from the Pediatric Student call room in the hospital:

Some of us had to dig out our cars, but even with a Level 2 snow emergency in place, all 10 people on the ward team made it to morning sign-out on time!

(Because kids still get sick when there's a 9-inch snowfall within a 24-hour period. In case you didn't realize.)

the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth

2010-02-08T18:04:00.003-05:00

In pediatrics, usually one finds oneself taking the history from Someone Other Than The Patient. Because, y'know, the patient is a wailing 21-month-old. So for every pediatric H&P, it's important to include the line "history given by ______" and it's not uncommon to add a comment on the apparent reliability of said history-giver.

More often than not, the historian's reliability-- or lack thereof-- is pretty apparent. For example:

EMILY:
So, has she ever had any other medical problems?

PATIENT'S MOM:
Nope, nothing else.

EMILY:
Great. [writes this down] And does she take any medications?

PATIENT'S MOM:
Um, no.

EMILY:
Okay. Any surgeries?

PATIENT'S MOM:
Just the biopsy I mentioned.

EMILY:
Okay, good. [makes a note of this, then turns the page] Now I'm going to ask about family history, okay? Anyone in the family have a history of asthma?

PATIENT'S MOM:
Well, she does. [indicates the patient]

EMILY:
[taken aback] Oh... she has asthma?? Um, okay. [flips back to the Past Medical History section and adds this] Does she take any medications for that?

PATIENT'S MOM:
Well, yeah. Singulair, and Pulmicort. And albuterol.

EMILY:
[resignedly writing this down] Do you happen to know the doses?

PATIENT'S MOM:
[looking puzzled] No.

EMILY:
Okay. That's okay. Now. Anyone in the family have seizures?

PATIENT'S MOM:
[indicating the patient again] Well, she had seizures. That's why she's on the Keppra.

EMILY:
[sighing, flipping back to the Past Medical History section again and writing this down] Okay. Seizures. Keppra. Got it.

[after a few more questions]

EMILY:
Has anyone ever told you she had a heart murmur or anything like that?

PATIENT'S MOM:
Yeah, she had one when she was a baby, but not anymore.

EMILY:
Oh, okay. Did she have a congenital heart defect?

PATIENT'S MOM:
Yeah, a PDA.

EMILY:
[remembering the lack of surgical history] Oh, so they just closed that using medicine?

PATIENT'S MOM:
Oh, no, she needed surgery for that.

EMILY:
[not even surprised anymore]

can't we all just get along?

2010-02-04T21:16:00.004-05:00

Anyone who has ever gone through medical education has some familiarity with the type of nurse depicted in this comic. (For those too lazy to click on the link, I'm talking about the Nurse Who Eats Medical Students For Breakfast.) I had a run-in with just such a nurse today, which I shall now replay for your enjoyment.

EMILY:

[writing busily in chart while copying lab values from computer-on-wheels]

NURSEZILLA:

[approaching with two nursing students in tow] Oh, THERE it is! We were looking all over for that! I need to use it.

EMILY:

[thinking she means the computer] Oh sure, no problem, let me just log out.

NURSEZILLA:

[impatiently] Yeah, the patient's going down to ultrasound, so I need the chart.

EMILY:

Oh... um... okay... [removes her progress note from the chart so she can finish writing it]

NURSEZILLA:

[grabbing the chart] Is that just your note, or is someone else's on the back of the page?

EMILY:

Oh, right, there is another note on the back.

NURSEZILLA:

[in a tolerantly amused tone, as though speaking to an idiot] See... they'll need that information. We have to make sure allllll the information goes with the patient.

EMILY:

Right, of course. [starts to put it back, then realizes Nursezilla has now opened the chart to a different place]

NURSEZILLA:

[with an air of great patience and long-suffering] Nope, not there. You have to look at what you're doing. [turns to nursing students] See, now if we do things right the first time, then mistakes won't be made.

EMILY:

[fantasizes about beating Nursezilla over the head with the chart, but instead turns back to the computer and starts copying down all the labs... again. sigh.]

more cuteness

2010-02-04T05:50:00.001-05:00

My favorite patient this week so far has been a 2-1/2 year old who, whenever I asked him, "Can I look in your ears?" "Can I listen to your heart?" "Can I feel your belly?" would grin and say "No way, Jose!" in his squeaky little toddler voice, and then giggle. And then let me do whatever anyway.

See? This is why I love peds!

prepare to die of cuteness

2010-01-30T09:39:00.001-05:00

Just a brief entry, to provide you with a link to one of the blogs I read. Click and then scroll down to see the most adorable child who ever lived, before you collapse from the overload of sheer cuteness.

Link

oh brother

2010-01-19T09:42:00.005-05:00

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who had (besides two older sisters) a baby brother, who was not-quite-two years younger than she was. And he was pretty cute.

He liked to do things like ride his bike, play Super Mario Brothers, eat dill pickles, watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, beat all his siblings at chess, and play soccer.

(Sometimes he also liked to be annoying and yell "TORNADO" and then knock all his sister's Barbies over and destroy their Barbie houses, and then laugh. Mostly he didn't, though.)

Then, as we all do, he started to grow up and turn from "cute" to "awkward."

(That's as awkward as we'll go. We'll skip high school. See what I do for you? See what a good sister I am?)

Anyway, after the awkward bit, he was grown up. He still liked to play video games and eat pickles and play chess. He also developed a penchant for medieval trivia, playing saxophone in school bands, weight-lifting, and wearing funny t-shirts.

(This shirt says, if I remember right, "I used to be schizophrenic, but we're okay now.")

He danced in his sister's wedding (actually, all three sisters' weddings, but this is the one I have pictures of, unsurprisingly).

And he was a great favorite among his many nieces and nephews, who (depending on age) enjoyed being wrestled, chased, tickled, or tossed into the air, among other things.

Anyway.

Happy 24th birthday, Sam! Love you, little brother!

a tale of danger!

2010-01-16T08:40:00.000-05:00

Imagine this:

You're riding in the passenger seat as your husband drives down the highway on a DC evening. He merges onto another highway, and the driver already in the right lane on that highway takes issue with the fact that your car is now in her lane.

Aaaaand pretty soon she's so close behind you that you can't even see her headlights when you turn around and look. Don'tcha love a tailgater?

a PSA from Florida! woohoo!

Unfortunately, you soon learn the reason tailgating is illegal. A second car pulls in front of you, and proceeds to suddenly decrease in speed. Your husband slams on his brakes and manages to avoid hitting the car in front of you. However, the driver behind you (being approximately two inches from your rear bumper) is not so successful.

(In case you haven't figured it out, this story is not so much a hypothetical "imagine this" as something that actually happened to Jack and me a few days ago. Had you figured it out, smart ones that you are, hmm?)

Miraculously, despite being involved in an accident ON THE FREEWAY, we weren't hurt, didn't lose control of the car, and (it turns out) escaped with only a slight displacement of one bumper panel.

But! The story is not over!

Now, seeing as we were in a not-so-good part of a large and unfamiliar city, at night, we didn't feel particularly safe pulling over. We were only a mile or two from the navy base where we were staying, so we decided to just head there, figuring that the driver behind us would cut her losses, flee the scene, and never be heard from again.

However, incredibly, she followed us onto the base. To make a long story short, it turned out she apparently had some idea that she could:

show up on a military base after rear-ending another vehicle (belonging to an officer in said military, no less) on the highway
have no proof of insurance to show the police who showed up
have no plausible story other than "I just know something hit me, I don't know what"
point out only front-end damage on her car
and think she could get some money out of us to repair what actually seemed to be previous damage.

Needless to say, it did not work out well for her, and she not only received several tickets, but will no doubt be a major character in humorous anecdotes told by the gate guards for weeks to come.

interview season

2010-01-15T17:46:00.000-05:00

Because of Jack being in the military, and thus already knowing where he matched, I limited my interviews to programs in the same geographical area. That means I only have five, and they're all in the same two-week span... which is good, because even just five is still enough to get sick and tired of them.

The basic outline for an interview day in pediatrics, I have learned, is generally as follows:

7:45 AM- Show up. Start consuming free bagels and coffee.
8-9 AM- Observe morning report.
9-10 AM- Hear a presentation (likely PowerPoint) about the program, designed to intrigue applicants and/or answer potential questions, likely repeating information given on the website.
10-11 AM- Two 30-minute interviews, where the most popular question seems to be, "So where do you see yourself, career-wise, in 10 years?"
11AM-12PM- Go on a tour of the hospital. Ignore growling stomach.
12-1 PM- Lunch. (Most common? Sandwiches. Most interesting? Indian food. Yum.) Talk to the current residents.
1-1:30 PM- Wrap-up talk, then leave.

Now, I am not stupid enough to actually type out my opinions of said programs and post them on the internet before Match Day. But I do have a favorite, yes. And I actually have a second-favorite, too.

After the interviews, the rest of the residency-application process is pretty easy. Make a rank list in February, get your answer in March. Can't wait until it's all over and I can relax (aka, freak out about something new).

whoops

2010-01-14T08:41:00.002-05:00

Wow, I am a blogging slacker.

To make up for it, here are some cute videos of my adorable two-(almost three!)-year-old niece.

Lucy speaks Spanish:

Lucy sings the Beatles:

Lucy shows us how to get down:

the answer

2009-12-23T08:53:00.002-05:00

Sorry I kept forgetting to post and instead left the blog on a cliffhanger. The Navy gave Jack his first choice for residency!

Merry Christmas-eve-eve!

down to the wire

2009-12-14T15:15:00.003-05:00

Two days from now, the military match results come out, which means that the Navy tells Jack where he'll do his residency... and thus, where we'll spend the next three years-- and to which location I'll have to limit my rank list in a few months.

I've been telling everyone for weeks that I'm no longer freaking out about this. God knows what He's doing, everything will work out, I'm sure it'll be fine, I got the worrying out of my system months ago, etc. etc. etc. All true.

But realizing that it's happening NOW? That in LESS THAN 48 HOURS the results will be final? That a large governmental bureaucracy is about to announce its decision that will affect the REST OF OUR LIVES in a rather large way?

Yeah, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.

(This also has the effect of causing me to avoid, for the past week or so, my usual hobby of intermittently checking out apartments on Craigslist in the cities where we could be sent. Because apparently my subconscious has decided that by looking, I would somehow affect the decision and jinx our entire future. Logical, no?)

exposé

2009-12-09T20:26:00.005-05:00

First, a warning, prominently posted in the student break room of the radiology department:

We were greeted on our first day of radiology with extensive exhortations not to take food or beverages into the reading room (the room with all the computers where the radiologists work). The food rule, it was explained, was to avoid mice. Fair enough. Then we were told that beverages used to be allowed, until the day some hapless student dropped an unopened can of Coke on the floor and it exploded all over his attending. From that day forward, no drinks.

This news was heralded with some mild grumbling, of course, but we took it in stride.

Then, what did our innocent disbelieving eyes see, but this:

What is that, there, in his hand? we asked ourselves. What is that attending holding?

The answer? Coffee. (If you can't make it out in the blurry cell-phone close-up taken in a dark room, trust me. That's what it is.)

Was this for real? Surely it was just a fluke! After all, Beverages Aren't Allowed In The Reading Room.

Alas, we learned it was not just an aberration, as we became more and more jaded over the following weeks. Observe (and note that all the photos in this post were taken over the course of one day).

Illegal water bottle:

Illegal pop can:

Illegal (and very hard to see from across the room, I'll grant) coffee:

Yes, it's true. With our naive acceptance of the "no beverages" rule, we hadn't realized that the rule apparently only applied to us. Students may not take drinks into the reading room, because evidently students are not capable of holding drinks.

It's good to know we'll gain this valuable skill once we're granted our MDs, isn't it?

screen time

2009-12-08T15:27:00.001-05:00

So Jack and I decided that our Christmas present to each other this year would be a new TV.

Not that the old one doesn't work, mind you. It works fine... and it was free (from Jack's aunt), which is even better. But it was just.... huge.

I mean, seriously, look at this thing. It's massive, and almost unbelievably heavy.

The observant among you will note that in the above picture, the morbidly obese TV has been relegated to the basement. This should be a clue that we got a fairly exciting UPS delivery the other day!

Ain't it purty? It's all sleek and shiny and... non-enormous.

The screen is actually a few inches larger, but it takes up a much smaller footprint in our living room.

Now for review purposes....

Tired and hopelessly overweight TV:

Thin, svelte, glamorous TV:

(Note: My intent is just to be mildly humorous, not to offend those who have weight problems, nor to suggest that they cannot be glamorous and should thus be relegated to the basement. This should be a "duh," but with the internet, you never know.)

o come all ye faithful

2009-12-07T15:14:00.000-05:00

Last round of showing off our Christmas spirit!

The advent calendar:

(you can tell it was only the 3rd when I took this picture)

The advent wreath:

(for those unfamiliar, here's a link which explains the tradition and the colors)

And the Nativity scene:

(last year our then-3-year-old little friend Evvy broke the shepherd's legs off by accident... he's good as new thanks to the magic of super-glue, but we still laugh about it)

let it snow

2009-12-06T14:51:00.000-05:00

No, it's not snowing here yet. But our living room and kitchen are bountifully decorated with paper snowflakes!

these are left over from our wedding centerpieces last year

just barely visible through the sheers

see? pretty

We also have stockings hung-- not by the chimney, because we don't have one-- but in the window in the study. (Also left over from our wedding.)

And the family calendar made by my in-laws is also quite festive this time of year!

o Christmas tree

2009-12-05T14:35:00.000-05:00

We got our tree last weekend!

When I was growing up, we always had artificial Christmas trees. I loved the ritual of taking the tree out of the box and putting it together with the family. But Jack was adamant that he had to have a real tree. It was a point of contention for awhile, but after last year and now this year, I think I'm sold. I love that it's a living (for a while) part of God's creation... I love the little imperfections. And really... making sure it has enough water and cleaning up a few needles aren't really that big of a deal.

We also set up the mini tree... which is artificial, obviously.

It's probably older than I am... I think my sisters took it to college, and then I did. And then I kept it. (The plastic stand broke years ago, so my dad handily made me a new one out of a few layers of plywood sandwiched together.)

When we got our tree, the nursery also had wreaths for sale, so we got one of those on a whim, too.

I love the sharp piney smell that I get a whiff of every time I open the front door!

And the tree nursery also throws in a (small) free poinsettia when you buy a tree. Pretty.

(I prefer the red poinsettias by far. I can deal with the yellow ones though they're not my favorite, but I see people selling all kinds of bizarre colors. Blue sprinkled with gold glitter? Seriously?)

God rest ye merry

2009-12-04T14:06:00.001-05:00

Seeing a little Christmas cheer in our windows as I got into my car early on a weekday morning is just bound to make the day a little brighter.

adventures in the reading room

2009-12-03T14:54:00.000-05:00

I'm currently taking a radiology rotation. Now, at most schools, radiology rotations entail strolling down to the reading room, looking at x-rays and CT scans with the doctors for a couple hours, then heading home. At our school, the radiology rotations entail 40 hours a week of... watching radiologists do their jobs.

In any case, the rotation is divided into four weeks of different types of images. The first week, I was assigned to watch musculoskeletal images being read (x-rays of broken bones, knee MRIs, etc.).... this week it's neuro (brain CT scans, spine x-rays)... next week it's gastrointestinal/genitourinary stuff, and the fourth week it'll be cardiopulmonary images.

Now we have a weekly schedule telling us which radiologist will be reading which types of images on any given day, so we know whom we'll be with on any given day. The other morning I was assigned to Dr. E, with Dr. S scheduled for the afternoon.

The morning went fine... Dr. E was nice and a good teacher. Then we went to lunch conference, which was being led by my resident. Halfway through, another resident stuck his head in and told him, "Oh hey, apparently Dr. S isn't going to be in until 3:30 or 4."

Now, here is a vitally important difference between third year and fourth year. My third-year self, upon hearing this news, would have gotten dejected, sighed, and thought resignedly, "I guess I'm going to be here late." My fourth-year self immediately thought, "Oh heck no!!!" and instantly began planning how to get out of there.

As soon as the hour was over and we began filing out of the room, I turned to my resident and said incredulously, "Is Dr. S really not going to be here until 4??" ...hoping that he would realize my situation and say, "Oh, you know what? There's no point in you sticking around until then. Why don't you go home?" But instead, he just shrugged. Hmph. Well, that didn't work.

Upon re-entering the reading room, I spotted Dr. E still sitting at a computer monitor. I positioned myself strategically beside him, hoping that he was just finishing up some images from the morning and would soon leave... giving me the perfect opportunity to leave as well. But instead he smiled and said, "Oh, I'm not doing neuro this afternoon, but you're welcome to stick with me anyway," before turning back to the screen.

Oh no no no no no. This would not do. I might very well learn valuable information from Dr. E if I stayed with him through the afternoon, but I was not about to risk being kept there with Dr. E until 3:45, and then having Dr. S show up and being obliged to follow him until who-knows-when.

So I did what a third-year student would never do. I waited until an appropriate pause in his dictating, then spoke up smilingly, "Um, Dr. E? If you're not doing neuro this afternoon, and Dr. S isn't going to be here until 4, is it okay if I just go home and get some studying done?" "Oh, sure, go ahead," he replied benignly.

Fourth year? Is awesome.

make like a tree and get outta here

2009-12-02T14:35:00.003-05:00

The other week, the city came and collected all the leaves on our street that people had raked to the curb.

This may not seem interesting enough to be the subject of a blog post, but it was interesting to me. I was home when they came to collect them, and I was bizarrely delighted and intrigued by the whole process.

When I texted my friend Jax to share my excitement, she replied, unimpressed, "Haven't you ever seen a leaf truck before?"

And the answer is, no! I lived in the country until I went away to college... then I lived in a dorm until I went to med school... then I lived in a shabby little apartment complex until I married Jack. I didn't even know cities collected leaves until last year.

And now my inner 7-year-old was looking out the window with glee, thinking nothing but, "THERE'S A BULLDOZER MAKING A GIANT PILE OF LEAVES IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE!!!"

Let me tell you, I was this close to going outside and taking a flying leap into that puppy. Well... at least in my head.

oooh, burn

2009-11-21T10:01:00.000-05:00

In yesterday's inbox:

We have begun our review of applications for possible interview invitations at [prestigious medical training program]. We have over 700 applicants and can only offer approximately 250 interviews. We have reviewed your application but are unsure at this point if we will be able to offer you an interview. We would like to finish our review of applications and see if we have enough space left to schedule applicants on our "hold" list. We hope to be able to extend you a firm offer to interview in the near future.

Ouch, I'm on the hold list! I wonder, is that like the blacklist? Or the sh--list? Evidently not at all like the wishlist. Hmph.

oh hey

2009-11-20T08:31:00.004-05:00

I'm totally going to start greeting people like this.

waxing poetic

2009-11-16T11:30:00.006-05:00

Ohio, how do I love you? Let me count the ways:

I love you for your changing of the seasons.

I love you for your prices within reason.

I love you for your waving fields of corn,

...and 'cause you are the place where I was born.

I love you for your Krogers and your Meijers,

...and for your pleasant lack of wildfires.

rain has to be good for something besides agriculture, right?

I love you 'cause your traffic's not a mess.

I love your honest unpretentiousness.

likely to be understood only by Ohio State Fair attenders... here's an explanatory link for the rest of you

(I even love your icy winter streets...
And that, you must admit, is quite a feat.)

veterans day

2009-11-11T16:46:00.001-05:00

Also, just feeling the need to mention the day. According to the VA, the United States has had 48 million veterans, 23 million of whom are living.

cool/uncool

2009-11-11T10:28:00.002-05:00

One problem often faced in medical education is that, when seeing a particularly rare, serious, or classic presentation of a disease, the first impulse for students and residents is usually to say, “Oh, cool!” …after which, the immediate second impulse is to feel like an insensitive jerk.

I’m guilty of this myself. Of course I don’t think it’s cool that the patient who was admitted with anemia is discharged with a diagnosis of soon-to-be renal failure. But following the course, and observing the lines of reasoning, and then watching the pathologist point out the problem on the biopsy? That’s pretty exciting, from a learner’s perspective. (The resident, looking at the slide, exclaimed, “Wow, that’s so cool! --Well, I mean, it’s not cool for the patient…”)

On my Ob-Gyn rotation last year, a fellow student and I were discussing this problem. We were both killing time in the pre-op area, and I was animatedly describing the surgery I had just seen, in which the middle-aged woman who went in for a hysterectomy (she had endometriosis or something, I think) was discovered, on the operating table, to have what looked like cancer.

And all of a sudden we looked at each other and realized how much that sucked, and how weird and kind of disturbing it was that we were smiling and chattering about it like football fans reliving a particularly thrilling touchdown. So right then and there we coined a new word for such situations: learnful.

Not that I actually say “learnful” in most situations… because really, almost no one would know what I meant, they’d give me weird looks, and I’d be no better off. But still, it’s a good way to think about it. The best way to learn about disease is by seeing it, and yes, learning is cool. But we’re still talking about real people here, and real lives being ruined. And that is definitely not cool.

jargon, the sequel

2009-11-06T07:45:00.000-05:00

Check it out! Answers!

jargon

2009-11-05T07:12:00.000-05:00

So I've noticed that in Southern California, the lingo requires that you put a "the" in front of all highway names. So whereas in Ohio, we say "take I-75 until you get to the exit for 475"... here people talk about "the 5" or "the 101."

Why is that? And is it strictly a SoCal thing-- as this Wikipedia article might lead one to believe-- or do people do it elsewhere too?

It's kind of a hard question to Google.

And now, a slightly-related video! (Song introduced to me by my youngest sis-in-law when she burned me a pair of birthday CDs. Thanks, Clare!)

LINK BECAUSE THE VIDEO CAN'T BE EMBEDDED

knit one

2009-11-04T09:25:00.006-05:00

I've been knitting fairly steadily for over 7 years now... a variety of hats, scarves, socks, gloves, mittens, baby clothes for the nieces & nephews. But I never got brave enough to tackle an adult-size sweater.

UNTIL NOW! (Dun dun dunnnnn...)

I'm working on knitting this cardigan. I started it back at the end of September... at first I worked on it a lot, so it was going very quickly, but since I started this rotation in SD I've been going much more slowly.

Here's the sweater as it was just before I left Ohio (so, maybe 3 weeks ago).

Sadly, I'm not much further than that. The second sleeve is a few inches longer now, but I've still got a couple inches to go.

Here's a close-up of the "pintucked" panel on the front. The other picture is much more accurate in terms of the color of the yarn, though.
It's this yarn, in the colorway "Cordovan," which is #863 (far right in the second picture from the bottom, if you click the link). It's this very dark brown with reddish undertones. Pretty. (It's much prettier than the picture in that link, actually. Which goes to show that it's almost impossible to accurately photograph yarn for some reason, because I never would have chosen this color from that picture alone.)

What I'm most nervous about is that I'll finish it, weave in all the ends, block, and it'll still turn out looking amateurish and awful and not something I'll ever want to wear.

That's the problem with knitting... it's such a time-commitment for something you can't see the results of until you put in the time! So you just have to keep going and trust in a wish and a prayer that it'll be worth it. (Of course, I do enjoy the knitting itself. But it does kind of suck to put in a lot of effort and have nothing to show for it.)

Seals (not the Navy variety)

2009-11-02T09:57:00.007-05:00

My resident this month really, really wants me to have fun during my rotation here in San Diego. She keeps making suggestions and giving me ideas of fun things to do and saying things like "If it's 4:30 and nothing interesting is going on, I want you to go home." Since she doesn't know me very well, though, she gives me suggestions all over the spectrum, from the coolest places to go out and experience the night life, to winery tours, to beaches and parks, to restaurants, etc.

Last weekend (the one a week ago, not the most recent one) Jack and I took her up on an idea and drove up to La Jolla to see the seals.

First we went to the nearby La Jolla Cove beach.

We climbed down (there were stairs, no worries) and got sand between our toes.

We may or may not have thrown caution to the wind and let our jeans get soaked with saltwater. (Okay, we did.)

We messaged pictures like these to our friends and family back in Ohio:

Then we walked over toward the Children's Pool area. We spotted some pelicans along the way:

Then we came up to where we could see the seals lounging and frolicking on the beach.
I don't think I've ever seen seals in real life... not in a zoo or anything. And certainly not in the wild as these were (though they didn't seem to mind our close presence).

They're so funny-looking, really! All long slippery torso, with tail and flippers added on almost as an afterthought.

But pretty, too. They were so awkward on the sand, hoisting themselves up and squirming along, but so graceful in the water. And so cute in their weird, unfamiliar way.

Sound off!

2009-10-29T10:13:00.003-04:00

(No, I'm not telling you to turn your sound off. In fact, you should turn it on.)

These Navy guys jog past our room on the base almost every morning. I'm absurdly delighted by the fact that these leader/follower type military chants aren't just from the movies.

(My apologies for the poor quality of the video.)

"Join the Navy, see the world!"

2009-10-26T19:24:00.007-04:00

In case I haven't been clear (or, um... saying much of anything at all), I've been in San Diego for the past week, doing a rotation at the Children's Hospital here. Jack got here 2 weeks before I did, which means he'll be leaving a week from now.

And that means I'll have to move, because currently we're staying on the Navy base here-- well, one of them; there are several-- and since I'm not military, I won't be able to stay here once Jack's gone. It's a good deal while it lasts, though. And it's quite interesting to present your ID to a camo-clad Marine every time you want to come home!

Also, this kind of cracks me up:

Nope, definitely not on a ship. But instead of calling the different floors on a building, well, "floors," the Navy calls them "decks." I get a kick out of it every time.

We're staying in the BOQ, which stands for "Bachelor Officer Quarters"-- though in fact you don't have to be a bachelor (obviously) to stay here. (And actually, it's not technically a BOQ-- it's combined bachelor quarters, which means both officers and enlisted can stay here.) It's kind of a cross between a hotel and a dorm. It's a hotel in function-- electronic room keys, private bathrooms, daily housecleaning and fresh towels, etc. But it's definitely more dorm-like in appearance. The carpet and furniture are ancient and kind of ratty, for instance. And we also have the time-honored dorm-room-style painted cinderblock walls:

And the bathroom-- though clean-- is lined with grubby tiles, and the sink and toilet have a vibe more industrial than domestic.

But. One excellent thing about being a military wife whose husband is Navy?

As opposed to other branches of the Armed Forces (I enjoy the joke "Join the Air Force, see the Midwest!"), Jack and I will tend to be sent to slightly more scenic locales, on average.

view from our balcony the first evening I arrived (the only cloudy day so far), looking west from Coronado island

view from our room to the west (we've decided, with the help of Google Maps, that it must be San Clemente island we can see there in the distance... or at least, that's our theory)

view from our room to the southeast (where you can see mainland San Diego across the bay)

nerd humor

2009-10-23T20:04:00.001-04:00

A new medical joke, as related to me by my resident today:

So a bunch of doctors go duck hunting. Before long, a huge flock of ducks flies overhead.

The family practitioner looks up and says, "Looks like a duck... sounds like a duck... let me just check with a specialist."

The internist looks up and says, "Looks like a duck... sounds like a duck... I'd better go look it up just to be sure."

The psychiatrist looks up and says, "Looks like a duck... sounds like a duck... but does it know it's a duck?"

The pediatrician looks up and says, "Looks like a duck... sounds like a duck... aww, but he probably has little baby duckies and a cute little mama duck waiting for him at home..." then puts the gun down and bursts into tears.

The surgeon looks up and immediately raises his gun and shoots. Then he turns to the pathologist and says, "Go make sure that was a duck."

bookworm

2009-10-12T09:05:00.004-04:00

Whoops, I guess I have a blog or something, don't I?

So this weekend I took it upon myself to organize our books. The textbooks are now in a separate section from the other nonfiction books, which are organized by subject, which are now in a separate section from the fiction books, which are in alphabetical order by author.

The mysterious thing is, somehow I ended up with more books than I started with. At least, they all fit on the shelves before I organized them... but afterwards, I had to pile a good number on top. Weird.

the newly organized fiction section, with books atop the shelves

the newly organized nonfiction section (yeah, we have a lot of books)

seasonal

2009-09-30T12:35:00.001-04:00

Look! It's fall!
(And construction season is still in full swing, too.)

Don't yell "fire" in a crowded theater unless you're sure

2009-09-28T12:02:00.004-04:00

The other night, I was sitting at the dining room table and happened to glance out the window. Across our back yard I could see the back window of a house on the next street over.

"Oh, someone has a fire lit," I commented to Jack.

"I was wondering why it smelled like smoke," he replied.

I could clearly see the flames through their window, and idly thought what a coincidence it was that I was at just the right angle to see their fireplace.

Then I looked harder. Those were awfully big flames, and from where I was they seemed to be filling the whole window of the house across the way. I couldn't see much else of the house, since there were trees and fences in the way. "Huh, that's weird."

Jack came over to look. "Wow, that's a pretty big fire."

Then I saw the windowsill start to glow reddish orange, and skepticism started to change to panic. "Um, I don't think that's in their fireplace."

"I don't either. What if there's someone inside? We'd better call the fire department."

So he did. Since we didn't know the address of the house, we gave them the name of the street it was on, as well as our address, for reference. When he hung up the phone, he went out to go drive by the house to see what he could see.

After he left, it occurred to me to go into the back yard to see if I could make anything out better. So I padded across the grass in the dark, and peered through a gap in the fence.

The only fire there was a fire pit in their back yard, a good ten feet from the house. There were no flames leaping in the window. There was no windowsill glowing red-hot. There was just a cozy urban campfire, with the kids likely just inside, impaling marshmallows on sticks.

And then I heard the sirens.

Three or four enormous fire trucks had pulled up onto the street. Our street, not the next one over. In front of our house. The lights were flashing and the sirens wailing..... and alllllll the neighbors were out on their front porches, bewildered and wondering what was going on.

It was kind of surreal. I walked back around to the front of the house, swallowed hard, and stood on the driveway as three large firefighters in full gear got out of the trucks and came toward me.

Now, just try explaining that you called the fire department because of a neighbor's cookout, without feeling stupid. Try leading several firefighters through your back yard to peer through the gap in your fence (while still feeling really confused as to how you could have been so, so mistaken). I was just glad it was dark enough that no one could see how red my face was.

To their credit, they were really nice about it. I kept apologizing, and they kept saying things like, "That's okay," and "Probably when they first lit it, the flames looked really high," and "They do have some candles in their window." Then they called in and explained that it was a false alarm, got in their trucks, and drove away.

And I went upstairs and shut all the drapes that were still open, and hid my face and hoped I would never run into any of the neighbors for the next month.

(It wasn't until Jack came in and we looked out the window again-- where it still looked remarkably like the house was on fire-- that we realized our mistake. It was a reflection in the window. We were just at the right angle to see the leaping flames of the back yard fire reflected in the dark glass. And the metal windowsill was glowing red... with a blurry reflection of the red-orange fire.)

So, thus ends this cautionary tale. The moral of the story is.... if you think your neighbor's house is on fire, feel free to call the fire department, but you might want to check from another angle first.

Can you dig it?

2009-09-17T12:12:00.004-04:00

Perhaps out of respect for the ferocious winds that make Northwest Ohio winters especially chilly (it's known as the wind belt of the state, apparently), my med school campus has tunnels conveniently connecting nearly every building. This means you can go from the child psychiatry building to the clinic to the education building to the hospital to the library, all the while never poking your head above ground level.

However, some of these tunnels are downright... creepy. Especially because often, you're the only one walking through them. And the ventilation system makes eerie clanking noises. And it's dim and full of echoes.

And also, mysteriously, many of the tunnel walls are painted in wide stripes, in tones of avocado green, mustard yellow, and rust orange. They're kind of hard to see in this picture (though the creepy vibe is plainly apparent).

And when I walk through there, I can't help wondering... am I going to die down here, underground, amid a color scheme from the 70s?

Safety First!

2009-09-13T10:28:00.002-04:00

If you are going to fly in an airplane, the TSA wants to make sure you will be safe. So they conveniently provide pamphlets for every passenger, full of detailed pictures illustrating various safety tips. However, as these pictures don't come with captions, I thought I would explain some of them here. FOR YOUR SAFETY, you understand.

First of all, you should know that there are some things that are FORBIDDEN on airplanes.

Remote control cars, for instance. I know how tempting it may be to bring your favorite battery-powered vehicle, but we must insist. None of this.

Record players. No record players allowed, not even if you use eraser-pink headphones.

Also-- and I know this may be difficult for all you evil supergeniuses-- you're not allowed to bring your favorite walkie-talkie-computer-communicator-device for relaying orders to your minions (no matter how cleverly disguised it may be with "TV" emblazoned on it in large letters).

And finally, no lighting your cigarette before you get to the bathroom. For goodness' sake, people, at least wait until you're inside the lavatory. The door doesn't take that long to open.

Once we've got that settled, here's a diagram for the benefit of everyone who hasn't been inside a car since 1950:

Okay, now that everyone understands the basics, it's time to cover What To Do If The Plane Crashes.

First, there are several possible reasons the plane might crash.

This picture explains that the plane might crash if it only has one wing:

While this picture illustrates what happens if the pilot overshoots the runway and, instead, careens into the air traffic control tower. Unfortunate.

Now. If you think the plane might be crashing, and you have a baby, it's important that you smash the baby's face into your bosom, as illustrated here:

If, on the other hand, you are accompanied by a dysmorphic midget man-child with a beer belly, feel free to help him with his oxygen mask.

On the other hand, if you ARE a baby, things are a bit different. First you have to make sure to aim a good kick at whoever might be messing with the straps on your life jacket:

Then once you escape from those interfering adults and get into the water, you'll have a brilliant idea that will allow you to save everyone.

Okay. But suppose the pilot manages to skillfully crash-land the plane, and everyone's okay? How do you get out of that flying tin can?

Well, first look out the window to make sure there are no SCENES OF DESTRUCTION outside.
Thunderstorms, forest fires, and giant piles of razor-sharp icicles are some common things to look out for.

Next, if everything looks okay out there, you can attempt to open the door. However, your efforts will be in vain, and you'll likely get really angry, like this guy:

But all is not lost! All you have to do is hold your arms out in front of you and clap your hands, and the door will open!
Hooray!

Once the door is open, get the @*&# away from there. None of this staying around to help people. That thing could explode.
See that arrow? It means RUN. The guy in yellow knows how to follow directions. The guy in blue does not. Obviously he did not thoroughly read his TSA safety pamphlet.

deep in the heeaaaart.....

2009-09-12T09:56:00.004-04:00

...of Texas, people. Texas.

We traveled this past week to go take Step II CS, the last part of our Big Bad Board Exam. It's just like an OSCE (which is a test where you interview/examine a pretend patient), only there are 12 pretend patients so it's an all-day thing, and it costs around $1000 to take, and it's a licensing exam so it's nationally standardized and really important. And also, in Houston.

This is how we knew we were in Texas:
Very... direct. ("That's not a threat, y'all. It's just a statement of fact.")

(Also, the test went fine.)

sunrise, sunrise, looks like morning in your eyes

2009-09-06T12:19:00.002-04:00

Sunday morning at the hospital. An almost-empty parking lot and V-shaped flocks of geese flying overhead.

stitches in time

2009-09-05T10:11:00.004-04:00

I'm lucky enough to possess three quilts which were made by my great-grandmother. They were delivered to my family when I was in high school-- I don't remember why or from whom. I have a feeling it may have been shortly after the death of an elderly relative. But in any case, I immediately snatched up the quilts and claimed them as my own.

I just love old quilts. Old-fashioned yet fresh, prim yet determined, rigidly patterned yet softly comfortable, plain and straightforward yet intricately beautiful. They're such a vivid reminder of times long past, nearly forgotten. You can imagine a quilt was the work of some desperately poor yet proud and determined pioneer woman. Or a shining-eyed girl who folded it carefully away in her hope chest. Or an amiably gossiping group of housewives at a quilting bee. In some ways, quilts are a legacy of women.

As I sit here with my crocheting (and yes, that's my geeky spreadsheet) and my coffee and my music, in my own home with the sun shining through the trees outside the window, cuddled up in a quilt made long ago with love by my own ancestor.... well. Then sometimes I wonder why I ever thought this whole "career" thing was so great.

(Don't worry, I'm not quitting medicine. Just... you know. You can't have everything.)

obsessive

2009-09-04T06:30:00.002-04:00

Remember those granny squares I was crocheting? Well, it occurred to me that it was going to get awfully hard to remember which color combinations I had used already. And if I'm going to eventually make them into a blanket (which I hope to), I'd like to try to avoid having just a couple randomly identical squares.

So, uh.

*cough cough*

I may or may not have made a ridiculously detailed Excel spreadsheet for myself to keep track of the color combinations.

Um.

Did I mention I might have a little, tiny bit of a tendency toward Type-A nerdiness?

tragedy

2009-09-01T15:02:00.004-04:00

We have a patient on the service this week, an elderly lady who recently had a massive stroke. As in, she was fine when she went to bed, and woke up the next day unable to speak or swallow properly or move her right side. It's an interesting and difficult case, because since she is unable to talk, it's hard for anyone to know just how much she still understands, beneath it all.

But I was reminded today-- and it's good to be reminded-- that she's not just an "interesting case."

Her husband was in the room when we went in to see her, sitting in a wheelchair facing his wife. The attending asked cordially, "So how is everyone doing today?" And the patient's husband looked at him and replied, "Well, I'm not doing so good." And two tears ran down his face as he looked back at his wife. And at the end, before we left, our attending put his hand on the man's shoulder and said, "We don't know just how much she understands. But she knows you're here with her." "I hope so," he replied sadly.

Their granddaughter had informed us that they've been married for 57 years. And I thought of how many Christmases and sunsets and cups of coffee and Sunday dinners they had shared together, and how young and beautiful she probably was when they got married, and all of a sudden she wasn't just an old lady who couldn't talk, and he wasn't just a hospital visitor. For a moment they were the hero and heroine of some great Shakespearean tragedy or epic tale.

I once read a quote-- I can't remember it exactly, or even who said it-- but the idea was... if we could know all the joys and sorrows of a person's life to their fullest extent, then every life would be as fascinating to us as the greatest novel.

O-H-I-O

2009-08-30T20:14:00.003-04:00

After 7 1/2 hours of solid driving by myself, I'm back home-- where the soybean fields line the highway, the cicadas chorus endlessly, the screen doors slam, the acorns drop all over the sidewalk, the lawnmowers can be heard droning several streets down, the traffic is sensible, and the people wear hoodies and flip-flops without feeling underdressed.

Mmm, it's good to be home. Big cities on the East coast are all well and good, but I really am a Midwestern girl at heart.

my life as a smuggler

2009-08-26T04:48:00.004-04:00

Bringing my contraband coffee brazenly into semi-forbidden areas of the hospital. Oh, the excitement! The danger!

(What? Extra caffeine is necessary when you get up at 4 AM.)

picture this

2009-08-24T09:32:00.000-04:00

"See that?" Jack pointed out as we drove by a tower on the base. "That's where the President gets his healthcare."

(Please excuse the weird slanted-ness of the fence and buildings. I don't know what happened. In real life they're normal and vertical.)

"The whole tower?" I asked.

"Well, it's used for other things too. But when the President gets healthcare, that's where it is. He doesn't have to go sit in random doctors' offices."

I began to giggle at the imagery. "I guess that makes sense. It would be kind of awkward. Can you imagine?"

But then as I began picturing it, it made me realize that-- aside from the paparazzi issues or other fame-related things-- the things that would be awkward about the President being in a doctor's office or a hospital are the exact same things that are awkward about being there for anyone. We just notice it more when we imagine it with someone all high and important.

Picture this scene:

The setting is the waiting room in an internist's office. Barack Obama is here, sitting on one of those ubiquitous chairs with wooden arms and ugly upholstery, flipping through a 3-month-old copy of People magazine (if he's lucky) or Golf Digest (if he's not so lucky). The tired-looking woman a few seats down is trying to console her whiny toddler, while the guy on the other side keeps looking at his watch and sighing loudly in an irritated manner. President Obama's appointment was scheduled for 2:30 PM, and he dutifully arrived ten minutes early. It is now 3:05.

A 23-year-old newly-minted nurse, in a cute pink polka-dot scrub top, appears at the door. She glances at the manilla folder in her hand, then looks up toward the waiting room and calls, "Barack?" Letting his breath out in relief, the President stands up and follows her.

The smiling young nurse leads the President through a maze of hallways and directs him to stand on a scale around one corner. He does so, and she fiddles with the metal weights, then reads the number aloud before writing it down, commenting, "Two pounds more than last time." He can't help but notice that at least three other people he can see were within easy hearing of this.

Okay, let's play the game of See How Many Things Are Wrong with this little scene.

For one thing, why should ANYONE have to wait so long? I mean, I certainly understand-- more than many people, probably-- that doctors can run behind after a complicated patient earlier in the day, but sometimes appointments run consistently 30 minutes late (or more), and that's just ridiculous.

The name issue was actually pointed out to me by a standardized patient my first year of med school. Why do 20-something healthcare workers feel free to call strangers, 30 or more years their senior, by their first names? Seriously, in what other field is this acceptable? Do, say, customer service representatives call your 68-year-old neighbor "Rose?" No, they call her "Mrs. Henderson." Do lawyers call their clients by their first names? Do businesspeople immediately use the first names of people they want to make deals with? They wait until they're INVITED to do so, people.

And finally, I know it's not really a HIPAA violation unless people can hear personally identifying information about you, but seriously, who wants their weight broadcasted to everyone in the immediate area?

Picture the scene continuing on and I'm sure you could think of more to add!

mystery

2009-08-23T09:17:00.002-04:00

Every day I walk back from the metro station through the Navy base to our hotel. And every day I am mystified by this:

Yes, it's some kind of door into underground tunnels (like a sewer manhole or something).... which always, 24/7, has copious amounts of steam billowing from it.

I mean, seriously, what is going on down there? I've tried and tried to imagine it, but I just can't come up with anything. Giant, terrifying basement laundry facilities? Secret mad scientist labs? Steam-powered generators with amazingly huge leaks in their pipes?

The best, though, is the accompanying sign:

What? You mean I shouldn't enter the BOILING UNDERGROUND WELLSPRING OF DEATH?? Oh, I'm so glad you said something, I was going to jump right in.

I also like that the danger apparently isn't related to the frightening amount of scalding-hot steam which would presumably fill the tunnels. No, the danger is that it's a "confined space." Claustrophobics beware! But the rest of you, just get your permits and climb on in.

character sketches

2009-08-22T09:07:00.004-04:00

Remember when I mentioned the wide variety of people one sees on the metro? Well the other day I was bored on my daily commute (iPod batteries had gone dead, if you must know) and began looking around and writing down descriptions of my interesting fellow passengers. So here's a real-life list of some of the people who were riding the red line at 5:30 in the morning, and here's what you might have noticed if you were on that train:

1) A man in his 50s or 60s, reading the newspaper, with a truly amazing gray comb-over across an almost entirely bald head, and a mustache that looks like it belongs on a sheriff in the Old West

2) A middle-aged man in an unexpected combination of baseball cap, short-sleeved button-down shirt with a tie, elbow brace, wire-rimmed glasses, hiking-type shoes, and a briefcase on his lap-- and is that a pocket protector, or does it just look like it from here?

3) A 40-something woman in a rather stylish suit and-- literally-- rose-colored glasses, her hair dyed an unlikely shade of burgundy with lipstick to match, complete with lip-liner carefully drawn just outside the actual borders of her lips

4) A pretty Asian girl in a cute lime-green top and carrying a Coach purse, bravely applying mascara on a moving, jolting train-- an impressive feat

5) A trendy-looking, college-age Latino guy with gelled hair and a cigarette tucked behind one ear, wearing Nikes and a t-shirt that reads "chicks dig boarders" or something similar, dozing in his seat

6) A middle-aged man in a plaid shirt and hair that clearly hasn't changed a bit since he styled it after his favorite rock stars in the 80s (except for going gray)

7) A 40-ish guy in black jeans and a bright purple Oxford shirt, with a mustache, his hair cut into a flat-top, and carrying a red backpack

8) A 20-something girl with somewhat frizzy hair, in scrub pants and an oversized pullover, creepily looking around at the other passengers and scribbling in a small notebook-- oh wait. That's me.

down-home fun

2009-08-19T13:57:00.001-04:00

This past weekend we went with our friends Mike and Emily to the Montgomery County Fair. I haven't been to a county fair in years, and I forgot how much I enjoy them.

The animals are usually my favorite part.

This cow (I forget what kind it is) came over to us and let us pat her on the nose:
(Actually, I'm not sure it's a cow. It might be a bull or steer. I don't know.)

Some alpacas, which I think are oddly graceful with their long necks and long eyelashes:

Miniature horses, which apparently to qualify for the breed have to be less than 36 inches high at the shoulder:

And a cow with her four-hour-old newborn calf (aww!):

Then, despite the fact that I find county fair rides to be somewhat terrifying in their rickety-ness, we had to take a ride on the ferris wheel. Because seriously? To go to a county fair and not ride on the ferris wheel? Travesty.
The view from the top:

Then we went home. (The fair was open until midnight, but we were all nervous about missing the shuttle back to the parking lot and how awkward and unpleasant that would be.)

vertigo

2009-08-18T11:02:00.001-04:00

Some of the metro stops have very long scary escalators.

I am not particularly afraid of heights, but these escalators always make me slightly dizzy. I feel like, "What if I leaned just a little too far forward?" I would tumble to my death, that's what. So I always grip the handrail probably a bit more tightly than necessary. And if I have to move from the right side to the left side, I can't just casually step across. No, I have to stretch out my arm and grab the left-side handrail before letting go of the one on the right.

Also? The handrails move faster than the steps. I'm not sure how that's exactly possible, since I'd guess they're run by the same motor, but there you have it. If I were to start at the bottom with my hand on the moving handrail right next to me, and didn't let go for the whole ride, by the time I reached the top, my hand would be a good three feet ahead of me and I'd be leaning forward on a diagonal parallel to the escalator itself.

a short piece of advice

2009-08-17T10:45:00.000-04:00

If you're ever in DC on a Sunday, you should go to church at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. It's apparently the largest Catholic church in the Western Hemisphere, or something like that, and it's beautiful.

sittin' on the dock of the bay

2009-08-16T10:25:00.003-04:00

(Though I think technically it may have been a harbor, not a bay.)

Last weekend Jack and I drove to Annapolis, where we walked around, saw the boats and water, relaxed, and got mildly sunburned.

It seems so funny to be on a (rather large and well-known) Navy base like Bethesda, and have the ocean be nearly an hour's drive away. We figured we had to get some salt air into our lungs at some point during this trip. So we did do quite a bit of dock-sitting, watching the people on their sailboats and idly wishing we had enough money and time for such a hobby.

Apparently Annapolis is famous for their seafood, especially crab, so we got some of that. Here's the view from our table at the restaurant where we got lunch (no, we did not order the all-you-can-eat buffet):

We got ice cream. I insisted.

Well, okay, technically I got ice cream. Jack was weird and-- eschewing the 50-plus flavors of cold creamy deliciousness-- ordered a milkshake.

We walked around some charming neighborhoods:

We walked onto the Naval Academy campus and looked around.
(It was really, really pretty. And there were fancy houses where Admirals live.)

And then we drove back to DC, satisfied that we would not be ocean-deprived for our entire month.

Hooking like there's no tomorrow

2009-08-12T08:00:00.000-04:00

Lately I was reminded of a post I read on another blog awhile ago. (Dang, I guess it was a year ago.) (And yes, that is a knitting blog.) So if you didn't already click on the link, click. Read the post. It's short and funny, so you won't regret it. I'll wait.

*hums tunelessly*

Okay, back? Now, just to clear things up (this is for you, Jack), knitting is done with two needles. Crocheting is done with one hook.

So I've been knitting for about seven years now and was perfectly happy with the craft I'd chosen. Oh, I knew enough crochet to make a chain of stitches, but only because it was occasionally required by knitting patterns.

But then? I saw this. And I fell in love. And that? That is a granny-square blanket, 100% crocheted.

Now, I learned how to crochet long ago. Well, sort of. My sisters tried to teach me the basics when I was a wee tiny little thing, but A- I never really learned how to get past one row, and B- I kept forgetting how to actually do it.

So I bought this book. (Don't laugh. Its sister book was how I learned to knit.)

And I've been crocheting it up!

And though I still think I'm definitely more of a knitter than a crocheter, I'm learning that crochet actually has its place. I don't think it's as nice for clothes, since knitting tends to make a softer, stretchier, more flexible fabric. But crochet is wonderful for more structured things, and actually gives you a lot of freedom to do whatever you want with it.

So although I'm still loyal to the Knitting?

Shh... I'm loving the granny squares.

Come on, baby, do the locomotion!

2009-08-10T17:31:00.001-04:00

So in Ohio? There's no public transportation. Oh, I mean, there are usually bus systems in fairly large cities, but no one who can afford a car actually uses them.

Well in DC? It's different. Lots of people do use cars, true, but lots of people also use the metro. (That's, like, DC-speak for "subway," except part of it is above-ground.) So for my month here, I've been joining the crowd and taking the train to work. You know, "when in Rome" and all that.

The most amazing thing to me about the metro is how, even though I get on the train at 5AM (having to be at the hospital at 6 will do that to you), the cars are already at least half-full. It's crazy. I actually had to wait for people to stop using the escalator before I could get a picture of it without feeling like the paparazzi. (I know it's just an escalator and you know what escalators look like, but humor me, okay?)

One thing I've learned about the metro station escalators in DC? "WALK LEFT, STAND RIGHT." Even I, who have been a commuter here for only one little week, feel enormously irritated when someone stands on the left. And it is always a tourist.

The other amazing thing about the metro is the variety of people who use it. You'll see businesspeople reading the newspaper and looking important, trendy twenty-somethings reading the latest New York Times bestseller, angsty teenagers with iPod headphones permanently implanted in their ears, blue-collar workers carrying hard hats under their arms, retired men wearing black socks with shorts who sit pleasantly not doing anything at all... not to mention tourists. Though I guess I did mention them. (The other day I saw a young Asian guy reading a tourist book called "USA," where everything but the title was written in Chinese.)

Even when I took this picture at 5AM, there were already (besides me in my scrubs) several suits, at least one twenty-something, and a whole mess of construction workers.

Guess where

2009-08-08T08:31:00.004-04:00

Apologies for the blog hiatus, but I've been pretty busy. This week I started a new rotation, but far far away from Toledo.

I'll give you a hint. Here's the view from one of the windows on the floor where I'm working:
That domed building in the middle look familiar?

Here's another:
If you squint hard enough, you might recognize the tall monument in the middle. (It is far away... it might be easier if it were closer.)

Yup... we're spending a month working in our nation's capital. Jack actually got a rotation at the Navy hospital in Bethesda at the same time, so we're here together!

More later.

Exam Day

2009-07-31T08:00:00.000-04:00

Dictated and signed by a just-turned-four-year-old friend of ours.

Prayers and good wishes wishes appreciated! (Even retrospective ones, if you don't see this until after Friday. I'm sure God isn't limited by such paltry things as time.)

restaurant review

2009-07-30T08:51:00.005-04:00

So there's this restaurant where we often hang out, and which Jack is absolutely ga-ga over. It's this Mexican place over on Secor, called El Vaquero (which apparently is a chain, albeit a small one).

They do have charming decor-- the seats are all slightly different, so I'm pretty sure they were hand-decorated.

See, even two-year-olds (this one is the son of our friends Patrick and Christine) are pleased with the decorations:

Their margaritas are particularly delicioso:

They give you unlimited chips and salsa:

(Mmmm, salsa!)

And they have an extremely large selection of meals from which to choose:

Unfortunately, I don't much like Mexican food myself, so this is the only thing I've found which I enjoy.

I'm sure most normal people would find everything fabulous, though!

hypothetically...

2009-07-29T09:20:00.005-04:00

Everyone knows that packing and preparing for a trip (unless it's a vacation, and even then) is stressful. But what if it's a month-long trip to a city 500 miles away where you know pretty much no one, and where you'll be trying your darnedest the whole time to make a good impression and where you'll be expected to work like crazy?

Maybe your study would look something like this:

And if you're really anal like us, maybe you would have multiple lists of things to pack and do, like this:

Everyone knows that studying for an exam is stressful. But what if it's an 8-hour nationally standardized test that's required for your medical licensure, that you paid hundreds of dollars for the privilege of taking, that you'd better get a good score on if you want even a chance of getting the residency you'd like... and that both you and your spouse are taking on the same day?

Maybe your dining room would look something like this (and that's after straightening):

And, what if you were taking that test on Friday, and then leaving for that trip on Saturday?

Maybe your blood pressure would look like this:
(Kidding. That's not my blood pressure reading. At least I hope not.)

craft closet, part 2

2009-07-24T08:00:00.002-04:00

Don't you love sequels? Well, okay, no, scratch that. Don't you love the idea of sequels, even if they often don't live up to your expectations? So with that in mind, here's the EXCITING CONCLUSION of a previous post.

I ended up finding the exact same desk that the nervous-Nellie Craigslist seller was so anxious to part with. I got it at Wal-Mart (I know, gag) for only about $10 more than the Craigslist price.

So here's the largely-completed craft closet!

The homemade spool storage board:

The repurposed jars for storage:

The craft books:
Mostly knitting ones. And don't laugh at my Knitting For Dummies book, that's how I taught myself to knit!

The yarn bin:

I'm looking forward to getting it more organized and useful (just as soon as I've taken Step 2 of the Boards)...

how does your garden grow, part 2

2009-07-21T07:36:00.004-04:00

More surprises from the back yard, this time in shades of purple!

First, some morning-glory-ish flowers, taller than I am:

Then some trumpet-shaped, vaguely columbine-like ones along the fence:

There was also another rose on a different bush-- hot pink!-- but it looks like the downstairs neighbor might have clipped it to take inside, before I could get a picture.

battle of the geeks

2009-07-14T08:54:00.007-04:00

Okay, now remember how I said in the sidebar over there that you would soon find out how much of a Nerd I am? Well, now is that time.

See, there's this show called Star Trek: The Next Generation that I have always been totally enamored with. No, I'm not a Trekkie, I have never been to a Convention, I don't own any pointy Vulcan ears and I don't speak Klingon. But the show? It is awesome.

Now, it has recently come to my attention that there is, apparently, among the Super-Super-Way-More-Nerdy-Than-I-Am-Nerds, a huge rivalry between fans of Star Trek and those of Star Wars. Now, I like Star Wars. I do. They're fun movies which were pretty darn innovative when they were first made. (I'm not going to bother making fun of the newer three, because hello, original Star Trek series? Cheesy.) But I still maintain that The Next Generation is superior to the older Star Wars movies. Let's compare characters.

1. The Main Protagonist

Star Wars: Luke Skywalker.
I don't have anything against Luke. But honestly, at the beginning, Luke is kind of whiny and annoying. Then he mysteriously becomes an entirely different character (I know, I know, he's channeling The Force) and he kind of loses all personality and is a little boring. Sorry.

Star Trek: Jean-Luc Picard.

Okay, Picard is just The Man, and that's all there is to it. Awesome Shakespearean accent, awesome Patrick Stewart acting. I'm going to show my nerdiness when I quote Tasha Yar (after her DEATH), "A man with the heart of an adventurer and the soul of a poet." And may I add: never, ever whiny.

2. The Token Hotshot

Star Wars: Han Solo.

Okay, there's no denying that Han Solo is the coolest character in Star Wars, at least from my perspective. And Harrison Ford is generally always an entertaining actor. But Han? He is totally a self-absorbed mercenary at the beginning. He does redeem himself, fortunately... but still.

Star Trek: William Riker.

Will starts off the series as kind of a friendly jerk, but then he gets older, puts on some weight, grows a beard, and mellows out. He's all friendly and good-natured (and also a total womanizer but apparently that's okay because it's The Future), but constantly demonstrates that he is a Hotshot with Mad Leadership and Tactical Skills. He gets offered positions as captain on various starships like three billion times but decides to stay on the Enterprise, which is admittedly a little contrived, but what are you gonna do?

3. The Token Female Character

Star Wars: Leia.

Leia, like her brother, is all about Total Character Shift midway through. She goes from being a white-robed, weird-hairdo-ed damsel in distress ("Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi!") to being kind of kickass, riding around on speeders and zapping storm troopers. A little weird, don't you think? Also-- bizarrely incestuous romantic gestures, anyone?

Star Trek: Beverly Crusher.

Dr. Crusher runs around sick bay, shattering gender boundaries left and right. She always makes the diagnosis (thanks to the handy-dandy tricorder thingy), and when it's a brand-new never-before-seen illness, she just figures out a cure all by herself. Also, there's some romantic tension with Picard thrown in for good measure, but no incestuous moments. Fortunately.

4. The Token African-American Character (hey, blame the times, not me.)

Star Wars: Lando Calrissian.

Forgive me if I misunderstand the plot nuances, but isn't Lando kind of a slimeball who betrays his "friends" and hands them over to the bad guys? Despite his inevitable subsequent redemption? Man. The dude even just looks kind of sleazy, doesn't he?

Star Trek: Geordi LaForge

Geordi, on the other hand, is never a slimeball. (In fact, none of the Enterprise crew is ever anything but totally honorable, dutiful, and caring. If that's what the future will be like, then I'm all about it.) He knows a ridiculous amount of crazy things about quantum physics and stuff, but is charmingly inept when it comes to relationships.

5. The Token Know-it-all Robot Character

Star Wars: C3PO

C3PO is annoying, and everyone knows it. For one thing, he may speak a lot of languages, but he doesn't know nearly as much as he thinks he does. Also, he's a total wuss. And far too shiny.

Star Trek: Data

Data, on the other hand, knows exactly the amount of information he thinks he does. And he's always doing heroic things like offering to use his own body to shield other crew members from electricity, fire, and who knows what else. And trying endearingly to be more human.

6. The Token Whiz Kid Character

Star Wars: R2D2
Okay, R2D2 isn't exactly a whiz "kid," but he (she? it?) serves the same function. And he is oddly appealing, and saves the day frequently, but.... wtf? Why can't he talk? Wouldn't it be easier to just program a robot to talk than for everyone to apparently learn his "language" and translate his beeps and buzzes for the benefit of the audience?

Star Trek: Wesley Crusher

Wesley is almost unbearably geeky and naive for the first couple seasons, but he gets better as he gets older (and gets rid of that awful 80s rainbow-stripe sweater). And he has an IQ of like, 340.

7. The Token Scary Warrior-Type Character

Star Wars: Chewbacca

Again, what is up with the lack of dialogue? Obviously Chewie understands English, so why can't he speak it? I mean, seriously, how weird would it be if you had a friend from another country, and you both understood each other's languages, but you each insisted on carrying on your side of the conversation in your own native tongue?

Star Trek: Worf

Man, if you think the rest of the Enterprise crew is all about being honorable, they've got nothing on Worf. And when the other Klingons are mocking him for hanging out with humans? He just growls and takes it, because he's a freakin' Starfleet Officer, even though you know he would otherwise smash in their skulls. With his bare hands.

8. The Token Mystic Character

Star Wars: Yoda
I'm not dissing Yoda. But is there any particular reason he has to talk that way?

Star Trek: Deanna Troi

Fine, she's an empath, not really a mystic, but close enough. Admittedly, not as awesome as Yoda.... but definitely way hotter. I don't know exactly why she doesn't have to wear the Starfleet uniform like everyone else, but I suspect it has something to do with her rather impressive cleavage.

So there you have it. Not only evidence that Star Trek beats out Star Wars, but also evidence of the frightening magnitude of my geekiness. Be afraid, be very afraid.

Fourth Year vs. Third Year: A Critical Analysis

2009-07-09T07:09:00.005-04:00

All I have to say is, THANKS BE TO THE HEAVENS ABOVE, GLORY HALLELUJAH THIRD YEAR IS OVER!!!! This is my fourth day of fourth year, and so far, this year gets the big thumbs-up from me. So in honor of this momentous occasion, I'm going to call upon my second-grade skills and do some Comparing And Contrasting.

Third Year

Students are absolutely clueless at the start of this year.
Students are constantly yelled, mocked, and berated.
No choice in what classes to take.
White coat required every day.
All rotations are done in Toledo, except for a few in outlying towns an hour or so away.
Freaking out about every little thing.
Have to take huge and scary exam after every clerkship.

Fourth Year

Students actually have some clinical experience.
Students are winked at when they are not ignored.
Complete freedom in what classes to take.
White coat only required for certain rotations.
Only a few rotations need to be done in Toledo, and the rest can be anywhere in the country.
Really don’t care anymore, just want to graduate.
Only one clerkship the entire year has an exam at the end.

Hmm, yes, I think it's clear that Fourth Year takes the prize in betterness. What I don't think can be made clear iss quite how much better it is, so just take my word for it: IT'S A GAJILLION TIMES BETTER.

Easy as...

2009-06-28T21:27:00.006-04:00

Can she make a cherry pie,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy? '
Can she make a cherry pie,
Charming Billy?

Indeed, she can.

There were fresh cherries at the grocery store this week, along with a useful item I never really knew existed: a cherry pitter. (Mine is not as fancy as that one, being plastic; however, it is cuter, as it has pictures of cherries on it.) So in a fit of domesticity, I decided to bake a gen-you-wine, bona-fide homemade cherry pie. Fresh cherries, crust from scratch, and all.

Here's the aftermath:

Of course, that doesn't show the splatters of bright red cherry juice that went everywhere during the pitting process. Our kitchen trash can looks like the scene of a very small, contained triple homicide.

And I had to make brown sugar snails from the leftover crust, just like my mom always does. (Some people call them pinwheels, evidently, but I grew up calling them snails, so snails they shall remain.)

(Look closely and note the imprints where several of the goodies had been located.... before I ATE THEM.)

In Which I Am Unwittingly Aided By The Shady Toledo Underworld

2009-06-27T16:35:00.003-04:00

The other day, I woke up to a not-so-pleasant sight:

Yes, some ambitious soul had taken it upon himself (or herself, I suppose... vandalism and petty theft can be equal-opportunity crimes) to smash in the driver's side window of my car.

Safety glass shatters quite prettily, doesn't it?

Fortunately, the perp (that's my Law-and-Order knowledge of Police Jargon showing itself, right there) took nothing but an old purse which was completely and totally empty. Ha! Joke's on your, would-be purse-snatcher! I know, though, I know, it was stupid of me to leave anything purse-like in full view in my car. I have learned my lesson.

It strikes me odd that they didn't take anything else, though. I mean, it's not like I keep bags of diamonds in my backseat or anything, but they didn't mess with the CD player or anything like that. That's one good thing, at least.

So! With that thought, I'm counting this as a Blessing In Disguise. Doubtful? I shall list my reasons:

1- The smash-and-grab happened the night before nothing. I didn't have to go in to the hospital the next morning; in fact, I have no real need of my car for over a week. Seriously, what are the odds of such good timing?

2- Cleaning up the glass forced me to do some cleaning, in general, which my car desperately needed.

3- I spent the morning outside in the sunshine and fresh air (again, cleaning up glass, but whatever).

4- I met the neighbor across the street, who came over to put her hands on her hips, shake her head, and cluck her tongue in dismay that such a thing had happened. She also said she had been awake at 3AM and had seen a couple teens in a white Grand Am messing around in the street, and helpfully offered to report the incident to her brother-in-law, who is evidently a police officer.

And last, but definitely not least:

5- My car had been making a grinding sort of noise for a while now, but I had been procrastinating on taking it in to a mechanic. Well, this gave me a reason to do so, and surprise! The brakes are completely shot. I've apparently been driving around for weeks with no discernible brakes. Comforting thought, that.

So thanks, Petty Criminal Of Toledo, Vandal Extraordinaire. You never know, maybe you just saved my life!

the nerdiest room in the hospital

2009-06-26T16:02:00.006-04:00

On the fourth floor of the hospital, in the little-known D wing, beyond a keypad-locked door... lies the Resident Call Suite. Or the Resident Lounge. Or whatever you want to call it. Most people just call it 4D.

4D consists of a long narrow hallway flanked by small rooms... mostly call rooms which contain nothing but a bed and a desk, where the residents sleep-- if they are so lucky-- when they work overnight at the hospital. There is also the Learning Lab, containing computers (for looking stuff up and checking one's email) and phones (for paging and dictating).

At the far end of the hallway, through a couple doors which seem to serve no real purpose, is the kitchen which is stocked with a couple fridges, a microwave, and free food (bagels and chips if you're lucky, string cheese and saltine crackers if you're not). Last in the string of common spaces is the lounge, which contains sagging couches, a large TV which is endlessly on, a ping-pong table, and a pop machine which gives out free pops. (Score!)

Probably the least-used common area in 4D, though, is.... well, actually, I'm not sure what it's called. It's got shelves lining one wall, a whiteboard on the other, and a large table in the middle strewn with textbooks:

(Really old textbooks, I might add:)
I've only ever seen this room used for two purposes. The first is for the occasional medical student who wants a quiet place to study-- since the so-called "Learning Lab" is usually full of not learning so much as seven or eight twenty-something young doctors engaging in loud and often profanity-peppered conversations about their families, their superiors, their work schedule, the latest exploits of their favorite athletic team, etc.

Note the sutures tied to a chair, where some medical student had no doubt retreated to practice tying surgical knots in peace:

The other purpose for the room is for the residents who occasionally feel pangs of guilt about making their medical students stand around, and really honestly want to make the rotation a Good Learning Experience for the students. So during some down time, they drag their students to this room and give them an impromptu lecture on IV fluid management, antibiotic use in septic shock, or (in this case, apparently) the physiology of the heart:

And so ends your tour of the Nerdiest Room In The Hospital. (I wish I had something witty to say to end this blog post, but I don't. So there you go. The end.)

Anatomy of a White Coat

2009-06-15T21:33:00.010-04:00

Medical students are easy to spot in hospitals, for three main reasons:

1. They wear short (butt-length) white coats.
2. They are often seen following people with long white coats (the doctors), many times with a practiced, forced smile of pleasant expectation habitually on their faces.
3. Their pockets are loaded full of more stuff than the saddlebags on a pack mule.

see the smile? she will get a better grade than her bored classmate in the back.

The med student white coat, you see, is not to be confused with the attending physician white coat. Attendings are the head honchos of any medical team, so they are far too important to risk looking like pack mules. Their pockets are generally empty save for a shiny pen advertising Celexa or Zetia, the list of their patients, an iPhone or some equally fancy device, and-- if they're really on top of things-- perhaps a journal article they want their residents or students to read.

look how glamorous!

So here shall be revealed what the lowliest person on the medical team (the third-year medical student) is carrying around. Or at least, what I carry around, but I'd guess it's pretty typical.

Breast pocket:

1. Multiple pens, including one favored clicky or gel (or both!) pen, which I'll use until it runs out of ink... and at least one backup, a cheapy or found-on-the-floor pen. The backup is the one that, if a doctor asks, "Anyone have an extra pen?" I'll offer up. This way I appear helpful and avoid losing my favorite pen when the doctor then absentmindedly pockets it.

2. Penlight, for shining in patients' eyes and mouths.

3. Maxwell's Quick Medical Reference, much beloved by all medical personnel.

4. Smell-good lip balm... because I am, after all, a girl.

5. Alcohol pads for cleaning my stethoscope-- when I remember. Here's a comforting thought: your doctor's stethoscope may be the germiest thing in the whole hospital.

run away! run far far away!

6. Extra AAA batteries, because my cheap, school-distributed pager eats through them like you wouldn't believe.

7. Cell phone, for surreptitious text-messaging of the husband when I get bored on rounds.

note: my phone is not this cool

Left Outer Pocket:

1. My "cheat sheets"-- laminated cards outlining the basics of taking a history, listening for heart murmurs, reading EKGs, and deciding which antibiotics get used when.

2. Whatever snack or drink bottle I'm carrying around at the moment to quiet my grumbling stomach or keep myself from passing out from dehydration.

Left Inner Pocket:

1. Change purse (a cute one I got here) for storing my driver's license, debit card, and various cash & change... since neither the cafeteria nor the vending machines take plastic.

Right Outer Pocket:

1. Cheap, school-distributed pager mentioned above.

2. Handy-dandy little book of medications listing various info about the 1,000 most commonly used drugs-- brand & generic name, how it works, what it's used for, dosing, side effects, etc.

3. Highlighter(s), in constant rotation because they run low on ink so darn fast.

Right Inner Pocket:

1. Keys. (Self-explanatory.)

2. More laminated cheat sheets, these outlining differences in vital signs, lab values, etc. between adults & children. Most students probably don't still carry these around (they handed them out during our pediatrics rotation), but I do, because I want to go into peds and all that. Kids are my peeps, man. *insert fake gang sign, or something*

yeah, like this. you go, little dude.

3. Calendar/planner, which I mostly use, not so much for scheduling, as for (shh!) writing down the codes to all the keypad-locked doors in the hospital that I've learned so far. Don't go stealing my secret code book, now, or I will hunt you down!

Other:

1. Stethoscope slung around neck, unwisely without any kind of tag to identify it as mine if I misplace it (which has happened a couple times, but so far it's always been where I left it).

dr. miller has more foresight than I do

2. Some kind of study book, either carried around and used as a makeshift clipboard, or stuffed clumsily (if it's small enough) into a pocket.

3. Various other papers stuck wherever is handy-- patient lists, progress notes, hastily scribbled lab values, outlines of topics I've been told to read up on, etc.

4. ID badge clipped to lapel, identifying me as a MEDICAL STUDENT, complete with unflattering oily-faced photo. Oh, and the phrase "how may I help you?" in larger letters than my name... because if there's one thing med students learn during their third year? It's that really... we don't matter.

Just in case

2009-06-14T07:30:00.002-04:00

Spotted this sign at the bottom of one of the hospital stairwells... a bit of a remnant of a bygone era. (It's a pretty old hospital.) It made me giggle, though I suppose it's good to know where it is.... you never know what might happen, right?

Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?

2009-06-13T08:12:00.007-04:00

Jack moved into our house last July (and I moved in after our wedding in December), so this is the first time we've experienced our place in June. It had some surprises for us!

The other day, I looked out the bedroom window into the backyard-- which is mostly taken up by the driveway and garage, with just a tiny fenced-in strip of grass-- and what did I see?

Roses! We have a rosebush in our yard! This thrills me to an unreasonable extent, because my mom always refused to even attempt roses in our yard when I was growing up. Too finicky and hard to care for, she said. I feel as though this neglected-but-still-beautifully-thriving rosebush proves her wrong once and for all, and makes me determined to grow roses (if and when I ever have a house of my own for any extended period of time).

But that's not all!
Honeysuckle, if I'm not mistaken! And...

I'm not sure what these purple flowers are, but they've got tall slender stems, they close up at night, and a passing bumblebee seemed to be getting positively drunk on their nectar. Also...

These aren't in bloom currently, but I recognize them as lilies-of-the-valley-- pretty little white bell-like flowers.

I immediately felt the need to bring some summer into the house:

(Don't you love Mason jars? They're so homey and comfortable, somehow.)

Anyway, I'm kind of absurdly excited. I feel like Mary Lennox or something, finding a garden all coming to life even without anyone to tend it.

(Please excuse the poor-quality cell-phone pictures. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.)

I'm not happy, Bob. Not. Happy.

2009-06-06T09:49:00.003-04:00

Thanks for the line, Mr. Huph. My feelings exactly.

The next-door neighbors (yes, the ones with the Evil Tree in their yard) are having their roof redone. I'm sure that's all very nice, improving property values, yadda yadda yadda. But it is so ridiculously loud. There's all this machinery roaring all the time, they're throwing boards and shingles and who knows what else into the dumpster they set up, and sawing with power saws, and hammering, and yelling to each other, and...

And did I mention that, since we live in an old neighborhood where the houses are close together, the neighbors' roof is like, 8 feet from our open windows?

See? This, courtesy of Google Maps, is our house (the brick one) and our neighbors' house (the white one)-- and yes, that is the Evil Catkin Tree in their front yard. And we only have the upper floor since our house is a duplex... so there's no escaping to the first floor to get a little farther away from the noise. I don't think the downstairs neighbor would appreciate us breaking and entering, you understand.

Also, since I don't appreciate workmen peering in at me (not that they would, probably, I'm just paranoid and like my privacy), I'm having to keep all the curtains closed on that side of the house, robbing me of my much-loved sunlight.

*indignant glare, complete with fists on hips*

Hmph!

Curses, foiled again!

2009-06-05T07:18:00.004-04:00

A few days ago, I had something of an inspiration. A couple of the blogs I follow always have the cutest sewing projects, and it's been occurring to me that I'd like to learn to sew better so I can join in the fun. The problem is, if I have to drag the sewing machine in and out of the closet every time I use it, I'm never going to want to bother.

Then it hit me: I could totally do my own Craft Closet.

Over on Apartment Therapy, they've blogged about quite a few people who've turned closets into mini offices or craft rooms. Here's a particularly charming one:

Fortunately the closet I have in mind is not that funny shape-- and since we rent, I don't want to bother with built-ins that we won't be able to take with us when we move in a year. So I had it in mind to find a basic, inexpensive little desk on Craigslist and set it up in the closet.

Two days ago I found the perfect one! Plain flat top, not a lot of drawers to bother with in a closet, looked to be the right size, and only $20. So I quickly emailed the seller:

"Hi there! Is the desk you're offering for sale still available? If so, I wonder if you'd be able to give me the dimensions for it. Also, is it dismantle-able? (I have only a medium-small car in which to transport stuff, and if the legs can come off that would help quite a bit.) Thanks in advance for your reply!"

To which he replied:

"Yes, its dismountable, and its 3ft in length and 20inches in width, and 30 inches off the ground. Thanks."

YES! I was right, it was indeed the perfect size! Yesterday afternoon when I received the above, I responded with:

"Great! I would definitely be interested in buying it. Is there some time this weekend that my husband and I could come pick it up? (Do we need to bring any tools to dismantle it?)"

Pretty clear interest, right? I mean, I understand that Craigslist sellers do sometimes deal with people who back out of deals, but I'm basically asking, "When can I come and put money in your hand and take the desk away?"

The reply came:

"Would you be able to pick it up tomorrow? Or even Sat before 4pm? No need for tools, I got a screwdriver. If its easier just call me at [number]."

I got the message, then spoke with Jack about when we could go pick it up. Just as I was about to write back with specific details, I realized I had gotten another email in the interim:

"I want to apologize someone just bought the desk. But thanks for your interest."

What?!?? Dude, what the heck?!? I thought we had a deal here, I thought we had a partnership going!

I thought "When can I come pick it up" implied that I, you know, wanted to buy the thing, but evidently my language was not clear enough.

*shakes fist in fury*

The perfect desk still eludes me!

the good stuff

2009-06-04T15:05:00.006-04:00

Disclaimer: I would like to clarify that the last entry was classified as "amusing" not because of the unfortunate patient receiving incorrect bad news... that part isn't amusing at all. It's amusing because it illustrates the absurdity of situations that can go on in medical education.

And on that note! More gallows humor!

Working on the floors in city hospitals, you do tend to see quite a few more examples of drug problems than you might otherwise. Now, I am definitely not downplaying the struggles these individuals have, and no, I don't think drug addiction is funny. But it can lead to some somewhat humorous and ridiculous situations... at least if you have a warped sense of humor like everyone in the hospital seems to have.

Some real life* examples:

1. Nurse: "The overnight nurse wanted me to let you know she found a syringe stashed in that guy's sock. His sock! And you know what he said to her? 'You're not going to tell on me, are you?'"

2. Doctor: "Oh, the arm abscess patient. Did you hear how he got it? He ground up some narcotic tablets, mixed them with water, and tried to inject them! Yeah, good thing he missed the vein, or he'd have lung fibrosis on top of the abscess... the talc in those pills is not meant to be injected."

3. Nurse: "The patient in that room is not the most pleasant person. She keeps yelling at us whenever we pass by, 'GIVE ME SOME F-ING DILAUDID!!!'"

4. Med student: "Patient denies alcohol use or smoking.... but then again, she denied cocaine use too, until they found it in her tox screen...."

5. Doctor: "Yeah, that guy admitted to using marijuana, but his eyes bugged out to here when we told him we found traces of barbiturates in his system. I bet when he gets out of here he's going to have some choice words with his dealer..."

*Real life, yes. But I'll always either change a few details or leave things vague enough to still protect patient privacy. You hear me, HIPAA police?

Mistaken Identity

2009-05-29T11:55:00.006-04:00

An amusing story from the halls of the university hospital!

The other day, Jack was rounding in the hospital with the Internal Medicine team he's rotating with this month. Before they headed into one patient's room, the attending physician handed him an EKG and said, "Here, read this patient's EKG, and when you're ready, come in and tell us what it says." Then the attending, the residents, and the other students went into the room to see the patient.

A few minutes later, having duly studied the EKG tracing (it's more than just wiggly lines!), Jack followed them in to report.

JACK:
So, the tracing shows some Q-wave changes in the inferior leads... and some S-T elevation over here... [insert further medical jargon]

ATTENDING:
[takes EKG to look at it himself] Very good, it does show those changes! Hmm, we'll have to change our treatment plan based on this...

PATIENT:
What does that mean, doc?

ATTENDING:
Well, it basically means that we're pretty sure you had a heart attack.

PATIENT:
What?!?? Are you serious?? They told me my heart was completely clear!

ATTENDING:
Umm...

JACK:
[to another student, whispering] Are we sure this is the right EKG?

Well. As it turned out, he was right on both counts. The EKG did show changes suggesting a heart attack... but it was the EKG of a different patient. Whoops.

(Non sequitur PS: The allergy medicine I got is totally working! Callooh! Callay!)

Loathing

2009-05-21T07:30:00.007-04:00

I've been plagues by allergies since I was, I don't know, eleven or twelve. Since before there was Claritin (and I know, because I've taken it daily since it was a prescription med). I get the itchy eyes, the sneezing, the whole nine yards. Normally, the Claritin pretty much takes care of it.

But this year? This year we're living in a new place. And while I love this place (though I'm not so crazy about the landlord, but that's a post for another day)... the neighbors have this Tree. I don't know what kind of tree it is, so I just call it the Evil Tree. It drops gigantic bundles of pollen (apparently known as catkins) that look like this:

This tree drops so much pollen that my car, before the rain last week, was totally covered with yellow powder.

(Note: This is neither my car nor my tree-- owing to the Lack Of Camera mentioned earlier-- but the resemblances are uncanny.)

I hate, hate, hate the Evil Catkin Tree. Loathing, you understand. Unadulterated loathing. Hence the video. (*squee* to Wicked, though.) This tree is torturing me to the extent that yesterday, for the first time in probably ten years, I went to the doctor for my allergies. Since then, not only do I have my lovely Claritin tabs, but I also have Flonase spray and some antihistamine eye drops. To the tune of $40, I might add. You would think the insurance provided by a medical school to its medical students would be really particularly good, but no.

Let's hope they work, because otherwise I may have to take drastic measures. And I don't think the neighbors would appreciate me setting fire to their tree.

Cue addiction.... now.

2009-05-17T10:11:00.006-04:00

Okay, I have a confession to make: I get angry at inanimate objects.

Now, I think most of us do this to some extent. Everyone has at some point in their lives felt as if, say, a traffic light was out to get them. Most people can probably commiserate with getting frustrated at a window that won't close properly, a key that refuses to turn, a chair that seems determined to trip them. In college, my roommates used to laugh at me for yelling furiously at my homework, "What are you even asking??"

But I also get angry at books. I love to read, don't get me wrong. And I don't bother getting angry at books that aren't any good, because... let's face it, they just don't deserve that kind of attention and emotional response. The books I get angry at are the ones that pull you in, that demand every speck of your mind, that won't let you put them down, that worm their way into your heart.... and then leave you shouting, "What? That's the end?!?"

Ufff.

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins just did that to me. It's a wonderful book, really, and I highly recommend it, but it should come with a warning label: "Caution: This book will mess with you."

You know how, with a lot of books (and movies), even very good ones, you can kind of predict which characters are going to live and which will die? "Oh, they'll never kill off that one." "Uh oh, she's a goner." That kind of thing. This book? Not a chance. You're not even sure about the main character (even though she's the narrator and it's hard to think how that would work out). I found myself making deals with the author in my head: "Oh, please don't make this terrible thing happen. This other terrible thing, I could live with that."

Also, I didn't realize when I read it (*cough* in a matter of hours, nonstop *cough*) that it has a sequel. A sequel which hasn't been published yet.

And if there's anything more frustrating than shouting, "That's it???" at the end of a book, it's shouting, "What?! 'End of Book One'?!? You mean, that's not it???"

Because then you know you're hooked.

Stop! Thief!

2009-05-15T07:18:00.007-04:00

My phone got stolen.

At first I thought I just lost it.... which, technically, I sort of did. Jack and I were at the movie theater last weekend to see the Star Trek movie (love!!!), and the next afternoon I couldn't find my phone anywhere. In a burst of inspiration, I called the movie theater and asked about it.

EMILY
Hi, I was just wondering if anyone found a cell phone last night?

MOVIE THEATER EMPLOYEE
Um, what kind of cell phone?

EMILY
Verizon... it's a silver one.

MOVIE THEATER EMPLOYEE
Okay, lemme check. [Returns after brief pause.] Well, there was a silver phone, but it was already claimed.

EMILY
Uh... okay then. Thanks anyway.

So naturally, I figured, Guess that wasn't my phone after all. Right? Otherwise how could it have been claimed? Wouldn't there be some kind of test or proof? For example:

WOULD-BE PHONE THIEF
[sidling up to counter] Hi, uh.... were there any cell phones found recently, perchance?

MOVIE THEATER EMPLOYEE
Yeah, actually, there were. What kind did you lose?

WOULD-BE PHONE THIEF
[taking a gamble] Well, you know, my phone... um.... my phone is sort of metallic in color. And it, uh, flips open?

MOVIE THEATER EMPLOYEE
[suspicious] Well, hmm, we did get a phone like that.... but... Well. One more question. [Opens phone, presses a few buttons.] Whose name do you have under "In Case of Emergency"???

WOULD-BE PHONE THIEF
Curses! Foiled again!

So I went to the Verizon store to get a new phone. Which I did. (And it's purple! I am not particularly girly but this nevertheless secretly fills my heart with glee.)

Later on I called my mom to give her my new number. And my mom told me that the theater called her the very day I lost the phone (evidently they dial the number labeled "Mom," not the one labeled "In Case of Emergency"-- which, FYI, would have dialed my husband and ultimately been much more helpful). They told her that I just needed to go in and claim my phone and provide some proof of ownership. So she, allegedly, emailed me to tell me this. Apparently cyberspace ate that email message in a fit of malevolence, because I never got it.

But in any case. Do you know what this means? It means the theater did have my phone, and let someone claim it who wasn't me! Despite the fact that they apparently were going to require "proof"! So evidently the situation actually went a bit more like this:

WOULD-BE PHONE THIEF
[approaching counter with wide, innocent eyes] Hi, um, I lost my cell phone.

MOVIE THEATER EMPLOYEE
You did? Well, that stinks. Let me see if we found any phones..... oh, yep, we did! [holds up phone] Is this one yours?

WOULD-BE PHONE THIEF
Why yes, yes it is. That's my phone, all right.

MOVIE THEATER EMPLOYEE
Oh good, I'm glad you got it back. [hands it over] Have a good night!

WOULD-BE (AND ULTIMATELY SUCCESSFUL) PHONE THIEF
Score!

life and love and what?

2009-05-13T08:38:00.003-04:00

The blog title may be a bit cryptic, I understand. (I'm also paranoid that people will think the "wings" part refers to, say, Buffalo Wings. No. While I am rather fond of them on occasion, they do not go in my blog title.) It comes from a line of one of my favorite poems. I'm not a huge e.e. cummings fan, but I do love this one.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-- lifted from the no
of all nothing-- human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

post the first

2009-05-12T19:11:00.005-04:00

So.

I had a blog (once-upon-a-time) on Xanga. When I was in college, Xanga was the blog Place To Be. All my friends were on Xanga. In fact, Xanga became a verb ("I'm totally going to xanga this") and even occasionally an adjective ("ooh, this conversation is extremely xangable"). But when my friends graduated, most of them started posting less and less. Posts were months apart when a few years before there would have been multiple posts in a day. Most of us eventually abandoned our Xanga pages.

But-- there's always a "but," isn't there?-- since then I've discovered the wonder that is Google Reader, and the really truly good and entertaining blogs out there. You know, the ones that people read because they're good to read, not because the writer is your bestest buddy and you never know when they might post an AIM conversation you were in on (yeah, AIM was the Place To Be too). And I remembered that blogging was actually kind of fun.

So here you go. I'm starting another blog. I'm not going to send the link to all my friends far and wide, and I'm not going to make any promises about how often I'll post or what it'll be about. I'm not even sure myself, yet. (I do know that for awhile yet things will be boringly picture-free, because I accidentally left my camera at my parents' house when we were there for Easter.) We'll just have to wait and see.

I'm not sure how one goes about getting readership. I mean, I'm not desperate to win any Most Popular Blog Awards or anything, but it does seem a little pointless to write entries if no one is going to read them. Does one simply start commenting on other people's blogs with a link to one's own site at the bottom? Is there a special way to link to blogs you like, such that people can then see yours? Do you join a theme sort of group (difficult, since I have no particular theme)?

Hmm. I can see a have a bit to learn... and this time, just posting the link at the top of my AIM profile probably isn't going to work.