frivolity

because i can't leave those heavy posts on top. wouldn't want a top-heavy blog, would we now?

legacy

leaving work i was afflicted with a most devastating thought. it had to do with being alone, and dying alone, and what exactly would my life have been for?

"i must leave behind something beautiful," i thought to myself resolutely.

it could not be a child. what, then? a song, a poem, a work of art, something? the saved lives of my patients was now not enough— someone else would have saved them had i not done so. and all those other things seemed trivial trinkets anyway.

and very clearly i knew. the fundamental elements came to the forefront of my mind.

the answer is, as it is for every man,

spiritual legacy.

oh, crap.

clarity

grasping my heartstrings i pulled, and pulled, and dug in my heels and pulled against the growing weight on my heart. a valiant effort i put forth, but when i wasn't paying attention, things slipped, and down it sank to find a place in my chest just below my xiphoid process and above my stomach. oh. a familiar feeling.

i was driving at the time, and someone cut me off. i didn't care. it was then that i realized that sometimes it's good to have issues, a little something weighing you down, to keep you grounded. the little trivial things that might normally have one flying off the handle are again appropriately trivial.

i couldn't find a parking spot. patiently i circled around to the top level, where the birds were thick. bird poop was inevitable. oh well. i parked my car. i pushed the down button for the elevator and waited, contemplating the clarity that comes with being alone. my issue tonight was indeed loneliness, and though it had weighed me down, submerging my heart in a puddle of muddled emotion, it brought me to a place of surprisingly lucid insight. again it was about myself, and the world, and my place in the world, and God, and existence, and all that stuff that people don't usually think about.

the elevator stopped on every floor on the way down. seven. six. five. no one got on. on four a maintenance man enetered the elevator. the flashlight in his back pocket was on. i said nothing and kept staring at the floor. he must have noticed my funk from the expression on my face, because he took it upon himself to ask me how i was doing. "just fine," i lied. pause. "your light is on." "oh, i left my taillight on!" it was kinda funny.

i exited the elevator and then the garage. a flock of birds took off from the top of the garage in a winding, climbing motion. i noted the oddly curved trajectory of their flight path, and then thought to myself how odd it was that i'd notice and think about such a thing. continuing to walk, i wondered how many people observe and think of important things when they feel like this, because they are feeling like this. i wondered if these people do so because they are alone, or if they are alone because they do so.

then i got to work and worked.

i wonder how tomorrow will be.

worst

camodidi set out less than an hour ago, leaving me with that feeling that i hate most in the entire world. you know the one? you've had friends/family over or party at your place, and once everyone leaves it is just so freaking empty. empty and quiet. and i don't know what to do with myself. even though there's just so much i need to do, i don't want to do anything because i feel bad.

it sucks. it's the worst.

(it's a version of the feeling of abandonment. that's why.)

so i have the tv on loud and am sitting at the computer, blogging. writing stuff that just a very few people will read.

it won't take long for this feeling to pass, because i'm going to drive to the hospital and immerse myself in all the paperwork i have to do. i've never before understood people who throw themselves into work in this way for this reason-- now i guess i have gained a little more insight into that phenomenon. it sucks too, by the way.

and tomorrow, hopefully, it will be back to the usual game.

but tonight when i get home from the hospital i am going to redeem my credit card rewards points for a free ipod touch. so there.

old school

more impressive than what she's famous for.

how many md's does it take...

in preparation for camodidi's imminent visit [little bunny hop and booty wiggle of excitement], this evening i have changed out all my burned-out lightbulbs. the ones in the bathrooms near the showers (yes, one each. totally annoying) proved to be the most difficult. they're the sort that have a frosted glass bowl-type thing covering the bulbs, with a brushed brass metal part on bottom keeping the bowl tight on the plate that's attached to the ceiling.

first it was a matter of getting up high enough to reach the fixture. i tried my stepstool. still too short. so i went straight to my barstools. (cherry-stained wood with black leather covered seats that rotate, and four-legged for maximum wobble factor. but i put them together myself, so they don't wobble, thanks very much.) standing on this, it took me a while to figure out which part unscrewed to release the bowl, but i figured it out. then i learned something else— the frosted glass bowls are heavy! the removal was easy, but balancing all the parts not so.

whatever. i got the things changed, and when re-attaching the bowls i found myself saying to myself (both in my head and out loud), "don't drop the fixture. don't drop the fixture. do not drop the fixture!"

it reminds me of three things.

1) it reminds me of puffintoad, and how when she'd be driving in her car, she'd turn and see pedestrians, and say, "don't hit the people. don't hit the people!" it helped.

2) it reminds me of me when i used to attend deliveries, especially c-sections. i'd get all draped up and the OB would hand me the baby after delivery. little babies, when fresh out of the oven, are quite slippery, and with a drape between my hands and the infant, i was afraid i wouldn't have the greatest control. turns out the drape affords very good control, but i would still say over and over in my head, "don't drop the baby. don't drop the baby. DO NOT DROP THE BABY!" it works, and i advise all med students to recite the same incantation when receiving infants.

3) it reminds me of this:


eeeeeheehee! "we thought you was a toad!"

respect

the little blonde occupational therapist walked into the party. she had been drinking. strike that; she was drunk. she and her husband were both drunk.

her eyes and mouth opened wide when she saw me, and she waved hello. i waved in kind.

"i'm drunk," she told me. "yes ma'am," i responded. she sat on the couch. i didn't think more of it.

the next monday, my colleague approached me. "[the o.t.] came and found me this morning. she was all worried. 'i'm worried. i don't want [bunny] to think badly of me; i really like her.' it was so cute."

cute indeed.

she didn't want me to have seen her drunk.

i suppose it means the people at work respect me, and would like for me to respect them too.

i suppose it's a good thing.

but i wonder why.

image

chemistry

and there it was, unmistakable

most strongly evident as he pushed the speck of pollen about the surface of the table with his thick, calloused finger.

it's surprising, inexplicable, prohibitive, prohibited, pointless, and frustrating

but it exists. in case i was wondering.

i have a bachelor's degree in chemistry.

bah.

who talks like that?

him: so. how are you liking [your new rotation]?

me: my sorrow is profound, and every day, ever deeper.

him: ohhhhh. why?

me: dude. it's like, all the pimpage. seriously. i'm so over it.

about-face

i put a cautious toe in the water.

after my little weekly on-stage experience (no fun, anxiety-provoking, etc.) i popped up to the catheterization laboratory to get started.

i took care of the usual things. the cute little baby was tired and whiny, but could still be won over, giving me smiles as i examined her from head (even checked the insides of her eyelids) to toe (ankle pulses and femoral pulses too) and tickled her tummy somewhere in the middle. the parents were reasonably concerned and asked appropriate questions. baby came into the lab and fell asleep easily.

the rest of the day went smoothly and was fun. conversation amongst the staff was easy and jovial. as little things went right, i found that i was enjoying myself, and— what's this?— perhaps even happy.

yayyyyy. the catheter went where i wanted it to go. yayyyyy, hemodynamics were favorable for all the kids. yayyyyy, the vessel occluded perfectly.

we pulled sheaths and held pressure, and made conversation during the obligatory waiting period while attempting to achieve hemostasis. i definitely noticed the improvement in my mood to, well, cautious optimism.

and then somehow it came up, ever so casually. like the proverbial dagger, the subject of my greatest sorrow, however indirectly mentioned, cut directly through any illusion of happiness i could have sustained or that could have sustained me. immediately my spirits fell— splash!— into that lonely sea where i have dwelled, and once again weigh heavily around my neck.

fortunately, my thoughts shortly thereafter turned to cheesecake.

so fickle. so sensitive.

i wish i could just not care.

because if i could think about cheesecake all the time, i'd be much more likely to be happy more consistently.

fun?

being on call in this job is horrific.

so i was first call. front line. taking all the hits. and man, were there a lot of hits. that pager goes off so often it's unbelievable. inconcievable, even. i can't describe it to you. and the time spent on the phone is ridiculous. you get trapped on the phone, incapacitated as your pager keeps going off and phones all around you start ringing for you. it's actually literally impossible to get to them all. and then there's the rest of the usual stuff, with running all over the hospital and fighting for children's lives and whatnot.

you want to know a secret?

i actually kind of had fun the last time i took first-line call.

scary and sick, but true.

i think it was because i was forced to have some personal interactions.

eh?

yeah. usually my time on call is spent with intubated, sedated post-operative patients or with newborns. babies are cute and everything but, as you know, the really young ones are minimally interactive. so what was it this time?

as i left the room in the emergency unit where i'd just spent about an hour counseling a patient (who totally felt bonded to me afterward, by the way), i walked down the hall to see a family encouraging a tiny little girl to walk. they were concerned that the toddler's gait had changed, and that something was wrong with her leg, so they were trying to get her to show the resident who was evaluating her. the problem was that she was just sort of standing there, bewildered, looking upward from face to face as they stood around her pleading, "go, sweetie! show the doctor. walk for us..."

her eyes settled on me as i swept near and she twisted halfway toward me. i was feeling cheery and magnanimous, and i knew i had this one, so i stepped up to help out.

"hey there, little friend!" she stared at my face, and then started to smile behind her pacifier. "come on! walk with me!" i passed her, then turned to face her. i bent down a bit and, taking small backwards steps, opened up my arms.

she turned to face me completely. her big round eyes opened up widely, then looked determined. she toddled toward me with a purpose, opening up her arms too. indeed, her gait looked just the slightest bit antalgic involving the right leg, but was very nearly symmetric, and she covered ground very well.

she walked straight into my arms, and i lifted her up, carefully avoiding her right arm, which was encumbered entirely by an iv and a stabilizing arm board but wrapped around my neck. "doc got more than she bargained for. she jumped right into her arms," said her auntie.

but it was exactly what i had bargained for.

and it made my night.

the thing

so here's the thing.

i actually have a lot of love inside me.

it's just that it bounces around inside, and gets so battered that it's frustrated by the time it comes out

and i come off as a shrew.

there. i'm just ever so glad i figured that out.

temptation

lately i have been entertaining the idea of letting myself go.

"don't do it," camodidi warns me. "don't do it."

but honestly, is there really any reason for me to deny myself food and rest when i am this tired, and am meant to remain all alone in the world anyway?

besides, as my body has already begun the inescapable sag into the world of wrinkles and cellulite,

denying myself pleasure in food and rest is a futile effort toward postponing the inevitable.

the only thing holding me back

is that i lack the money to purchase a new wardrobe to fit my new, larger bottom half. so for now, i wait.

besides, it's cheaper to eat less.

crabby

being tired makes me crabby.

i have noticed that most of my hits lately are results of searches on grillz or on flamin' hot cheetos.

the former i do not understand, considering i only have the one grillz post and have never mentioned them anywhere else. i don't understand, but i don't mind.

the latter, however, i find irritating, especially since today i am crabby.

stop looking on the internet and blogs for medical advice, people! i get more idiotic calls in the middle of the night because some moron has looked up medical advice on the internet and scared the red cheeto-dyed poop out of him/herself by reading the many lies to be found there or ignorantly mis-applying the truth to his/her own situation. eventually someone is going to mis-diagnose him/herself and die at home because they believe in their twenty-minute search on the internet more than in a physician's twenty years of training and experience.

just stop, okay? if you have a question, ask a professional. during the DAY, please.

[aside to self: but if the question is dumb, do you still want them to bug you with it?]

[self: no. but better that they get the truth from somewhere reliable.]

[self: true enough.]

and if you've gotten to the point where your poop is red, you've eaten too many flamin' hot cheetos and you need a healthier diet, mmm-kay? i will feel free to judge you from here. because if that's the case, then your diet is unhealthy enough to have possibly caused constipation or colon cancer, both of which can also make your poop red, as can many other things.

so there.

tired

i am. tired.

i often work well over twelve hours a day and over eighty hours a week. it is physically demanding with standing up for hours on end, draped in lead, or walking all over the many floors of the hospital without stopping, around and around and up and down and back up again, for thirty hours at a stretch. it is mentally taxing, requiring a lot of critical thinking, investigation, and quick recall. it is emotionally trying, with many children perpetually lingering on the brink of death, and sometimes tipping over the edge.

none of that work is directly for me or my family. i do that when i get home.

so i am tired.

allow me the indulgence of saying so. i know everyone, absolutely everyone else complains of the same thing, and i don't like to hear it.