M Cubed

Light

2011-11-21T23:03:00.003-06:00

I don't advocate working 80 hours a week, most of those hours at night. I don't recommend spending all waking hours indoors or in a car when it is dark outside. I don't suggest that most of your working hours be spent with people who are pretty miserable (and a little angry) in a place that is strangely cold all the time, though wearing four layers is usually enough. This is not an ideal job.

But. After doing it for two very full weeks, the one day off before another six day stretch is like being reborn. I used to adamantly defend the ability to appreciate the beauty of any particular day despite the fact that many days are beautiful and appreciated. "I lived in California," I would say, "Most days there include perfect blue skies and just the right amount of sun. I used to see my best friends every day. And we knew that. We appreciated the weather and each other each day. The day was not less perfect just because there were lots of perfect days."

I may have to take it back a tiny bit. This five week stretch of working nights (halfway through now) is proof that deprivation really does lead to greater appreciation.

The sun? How amazing that the earth continues to revolve and spin so as to allow for light Every Day.

Naps? I've taken three naps today (all unplanned), and am so thankful for the bed by a window and the soft comforter that I thought would be a good thing in which to wrap myself for a few episodes of Storage Wars.

Real conversation? Talking to my sister in person, a bff online, my parents on the phone, my amor on skype . . . all remind me that I'm a normal person and that I know normal people too. I don't simply make children cry and parents sigh. It's nice to know (refreshing!) that there are other roles for me.

Pretty pictures of food and art? How nice it is to just browse online photos and coffee table books. So much beauty in the world and so oft-captured so well.

The list goes on. This post was going to be a rant about some recent realizations regarding fundamental problems in a for-profit children's hospital (and parents who don't want to be parents), but my gratefulness for being alive has superseded that and this has evolved into something a bit more positive.

Now

2011-11-12T21:03:00.003-06:00

Things I'm digging right now/nonessential indulgences:

The album Humor Risk by Cass McCombs. I'm listening to it now for just the first time, but I'm liking the oooold school sweet sound of it. Like circa 1963/2011 or something? Robin Egg Blue is the catchiest thus far.

Spotify, with which I'm listening to aforementioned tunes. I recommend it. It's like a magical and legal musical dream come true.

My landlord's sweet speakers, ideal for previous two items.

A dress I keep thinking about that I tried on at H&M today. It was so cute and comfy and simultaneously fancy. I couldn't even fathom an occasion where I might ever wear it (alas), so of course didn't get it. But.

A day + A night off from work. Ohemgee. Not to complain about work here, but these days off aren't just a change of pace. They are a reprieve. So grateful for this moment.

Sound

2011-09-22T21:20:00.004-05:00

Two things:

It strikes me how loud people listen to music when pulling in to the hospital parking garage. This morning, I was one of those people. It's like any other time when the music needs to be just a little too loud. You want to be submerged. You want to have a different reason to tear up or to bellow. Is it the nature of hospitals? Or fatigue? Or many jobs? Or just many moments, many beginnings of many days?

You don't choose the albums that become soundtracks to your life. This is a recent revelation. You really don't.

shift

2011-09-04T17:45:00.003-05:00

Bizarre revelation I expressed aloud to the ER attending yesterday: I love the ER. Every year, when I've spent a month there (always in August), it's been my overall favorite month. I do love the clinic for all the well newborns and the ongoing continuity... getting to see kids grow over time is pretty amazing (though logistics and practice-management part are tiring). And, I dig the ICU for its raw potency and the intricacy of the medicine itself (though the hours are long). But the ER has lots of instant gratification and a dream schedule. It appeals to the most basic-fun part of medicine. I had several moments of triumph this week, making several diagnoses based entirely on talking with the patient and physical exam, and then have them crystal-clear confirmed with xrays or ct scans or whatever. Fun. The variety in a pediatric emergency department is actually pretty incredible, and there is much more thoughtfulness that goes into treating kids urgently (as opposed to my experience with adults in an ER, which was just. so. draining. No offense, adults).

A huge reason, why I love (love) it, is the 40 hours per week schedule.

I had today off. The whole day. I woke up at the usual 6am time, out of habit, and went for a long walk with a precious dog. I was filled with love for sunrise, for cooler air (86 degrees is blissful), and for the park in which I walked. It was green. Their were other dogs. Other joggers. Honking geese. A family playing soccer. Several disc golfers. Many bikers. There was a man playing his recorder, literally beside the babbling creek that runs through the park.

Summers in Arizona are like winters in many other places. Lucky people stay inside, mostly, and venture out only to their cars, and then only to dash into another building.

To see all this life so early in the morning was like the emergence of a light and energy that comes with optimism or a fresh breeze.

I then came home, sweaty and happy, and drove to a farmer's market where I discovered a new kind of eggplant I can't remember the name of. My sister joined me in the trip and knew which tamale stand was worth a purchase.

You know, etc. It's been a lovely day. And it is because I had a Sunday morning free free free.

And that is why I love the ER.

But

2011-08-12T15:54:00.002-05:00

Food update. I haven't eaten much meat since early July. I ate at Chipotle once (where the pre-beef is treated well), the Back Abbey, where the burger was amaaaaazing, and I trust the person who told me good things, mainly because it tasted so good, but I guess I don't really know. And then some seafood once. When I had curry pizza with A the other night, it was effortless to not eat the chicken. I don't feel like I missed out at all. And then I had a bite of a Costco hot dog. And that's it. Not a big deal. Surprisingly not a big deal. And, at no other time in my life can I tell you the exact meals in which I consumed meat in the past several weeks. Each one stood out, because it was a thoughtful, very conscious event.

Here's the thing, though. I've had a lot of Boca Burgers. They are incredibly satisfying with swiss cheese and spicy mustard. They are vegan, of course, but when I look at the ingredients, it's a very very artificial laboratory-created food. It seems that way, anyway. And, the Tofurkey "sausage," which is less satisfying, is also like a fake food. Is it a lesser of two evils? Or is it really not a big deal? I wonder if there is any difference between chicken nuggets and tofurkey when it comes down to the amount of manipulation of the food.

Here is what I still want to learn about (if you have suggested reading, I'm open for recommendations), which is a surprisingly slow process when other things in life are, you know, sort of required activities:

- religious slaughter, specifically kosher and halal meats . . .

- corn feeding versus grass feeding farm animals

- tofu production, how do they do that?

- dairy production

- recipes involving real food

- high fructose corn syrup

- Applegate Farms, Hickman Farms

(etcetera... suddenly I'm off to work again)

Food

2011-07-23T20:13:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about food these days. Thinking and trying earnestly to not also be annoying in sharing my thoughts or what I learn. This is why it's been on my mind:

1. This month I'm working with a lot of kids who have diabetes. They have to know exactly what they eat. And keep track of it. Always. And then, they have to give themselves a shot every time they eat based on some math that they do every time.

(So: I'm grateful for my health. And, I sometimes pretend to calculate hypothetical insulin doses for different meals, just to see what it's like. It's simply made me a lot more conscious of what I'm putting in my body)

2. A few weeks ago, I bought some boneless skinless chicken breasts for $1.67 per pound. From Albertson's, not some sketchy grocery. They were also "cage free" labeled and, frankly, evolved into a pretty tasty meal or two. But $1.67? It blew my mind. I started reading about chicken farms and processing and what cage free means. (How can they sell it so cheaply?) This is when I think I started getting annoying. It's super interesting (to me).

3. Then I read Jonathan Safran Foer's book, "Eating Animals." My goodness! I do recommend it, even if it is a little overwhelming at times. He makes a good point (many). And, to cut to the chase, I haven't eaten any processed or grocery store meat since reading it. It really really really doesn't seem worth it. On two levels: One, the treatment-of-animals level (especially chickens, pork, and turkey), and secondly on the health level (chickens, especially the nastiness of chicken factory farms). My favorite message of the book, the one that made sense to me, someone who is not a vegetarian, is that if I want an animal treated properly before I eat it, I should be willing to pay for it. Such meat is available, if slightly more cumbersome to find.

4. I discussed this a bit with A, who did not grow up in the US. He remembers as a kid being served chicken at a family friend's house, and it being a Big Deal. Meat was not an every day thing. It was for special occasions. Then he pointed out that in our current lives, he and I are not responsible for feeding an army. It's really just ourselves, and thankfully we can afford to eat pretty much whatever we want, so why not make seemingly-extravagant* choices at this point in our lives?

* conscious

5. Last week (a week of vacation), there were a lot of awesome, exquisite meals. Meals were an event, and it was fun. Satisfying.

As a head's up, there will be more on the topic of food. I'm holding back now ;)

Old School

2011-07-17T21:24:00.004-05:00

Patient's dad, to me: Does your office have somewhere I can send her information to? Like an e-mail or something?

Patient (11-year-old smarty, rolling her eyes): Please dad. E-mail is so old school. How about fax?

***

Overheard, two nine-ish year old boys excitedly telling a story to a third boy. The story began, "Okay, so do you know what a typewriter is?"

***

So, the math is obvious. These kids were born in the 2000s. Like half of all kids. Still, it struck me. I forget about the newness of the world, especially when there are plenty of things that are seemingly timeless about childhood (being a Michael Jackson fan is refreshingly universal). I feel like I should be collecting my own childhood stories (once universal) about the painstaking process of a mixed tape. Or eagerly awaiting news whilst checking a tangible mailbox. Or having someone call the house and having to talk to my father before talking to me. Oooooold school.

you know, like in The Mummy

2011-07-06T20:41:00.002-05:00

There was a sandstorm last night. Please google "Phoenix dust storm 2011" and peruse the images. It was ridiculous. I was indoors, thankfully, and went to bed soon afterwards.

This morning (sidenote: I loooooooove not going into work until 9am. It's like a halfday or something), I walked the dog around my neighborhood. Everything was beige and gritty. Everything. A few people were outside sweeping or hosing off cars, but mostly it was quiet and unicolor. Peaceful and strange.

My favorite image was a front porch with three kitchen chairs all facing each other, clearly the scene of friendship. An ashtray lay between the chairs, none of them very dusty (striking). I love the idea of three amigos sitting outside during the utter craziness, smoking, chatting, watching walls of dust envelope their neighborhood.

Trifecta

2011-05-31T14:23:00.003-05:00

1. I've been working nights the past few days (nights). The hospital at night when you're not busy (the case these days, long story) reminds me of exploring basements in college. Each night, the person with whom I worked and I created something. For whimsy. One night it was a plastic wrap maze in our lounge. Floor to ceiling plastic wrap walls created a pathway. Amazing. I'll post photos when I figure out how to do so. Last night was something even more glorious and definitely more whimsical. We had a vision, and to make it perfect, we hunted (oh we hunted) around abandoned wings of the hospital (part of the long story) for supplies. It doesn't matter to the story what we made to tell you the best part. Each person who walked in the next morning and saw it, had a look of pure wonder on his or her face. Then, most laughed at loud, and many walked closer to examine it in all its glory. My favorite was V, who walked in, gasped a little, then whispered,"que bonito." She rarely speaks Spanish around us, unless she's teaching me useful slang.

The morning, watching everyone come in was beautiful.

2. SER just sent me a song. I had just rolled over in bed from a long spring nap, checked e-mail, and voila, the Dave Rawlings Maching was there performing Sweet Tooth. I wanted to jump inside the little living room and clap my hands. Beautiful.

3. As I was watching and listening to Sweet Tooth, I got a text from my sister, vacationing in what may be one of the most beautiful places on earth. She sent a photo that took my breath away. (Pause while I look again. Okay, thanks).

Joy

2011-05-22T19:33:00.002-05:00

First box of stuff is goooone to Savers. Clothes and such. Someone said the other day that she gets great joy out of getting rid of clothes she isn't wearing. This allowed me to see pruning one's closet in an entirely new light. It Could be a joyful experience. Today, I gleefully added a few more items to a new box of things-to-donate.

***

A recent realization: two of my favorite activities are showering (rinsing off, starting anew, smelling good) and bedtime (supine, spent, safe). I feel incredibly lucky that I can count on both most days.

Slump/Rain

2011-04-26T21:21:00.004-05:00

I'm in that post-vacation slump. It's So Unreasonably Hard to go back to work when one realizes how much she prefers hiking (for example). So, nothing recently has been decluttered, but a lot has been clarified.

La vida es corta y bella.

***

Rain, when one spends most of her time in the desert is, like, miraculously beautiful.

Notes/Legends

2011-04-09T15:06:00.005-05:00

I must stop reading novels of yearning. Unintentionally, I read The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake followed by The Irresistible Henry House. Not recommended in that order, my friends!

Anyway, the clarifying continues. I'm trying to slowly go through things I no longer need, right? What to do with paper I've painstakingly studied? There is no need to save it all, and I remember (with awe) the days when my classmates tossed stacks and stacks of notes. I couldn't (can't) do it so lightheartedly. Today, I picked up a single notebook. Every piece of information in that notebook can be found in countless textbooks and other notebooks. It was one I studied with, rewriting notes, drawing pictures, etc. I. do. not. need. it. One of many, probably. So, I snapped a photo for the memory of the process of memorizing (ironic), and tossed it into the recycling bin. (Not before looking through each page, certain that those equations and charts and drawings were familiar enough that I really really didn't need it any longer).

***

Maybe he worked for the event planning department. Maybe he was in charge of the golf cart fleet. Perhaps he volunteered for the position when he heard what it would entail. Either way, it led up to the afternoon when he would be in charge of driving Hugh Downs around a sunny college campus in a little golf cart. Mr. Downs had a speaking arrangement at a local lecture hall, and though his voice (his voice!) is still self-assured and thoughtful, walking appears less effortless. Behind the wheel, the student employee (pale, thin, wearing the university colors) grinned from one ear to the other as he escorted the legend. Those who watched, as the broadcaster carefully stepped down from the shining cart, also grinned, partly because they were glad the driver realized what an honor his job was, but also because how often does Hugh Downs step down from a golf cart in front of you, only to make you sigh thirty minutes later as he tells a story to a crowd?

Visitor

2011-04-05T19:15:00.003-05:00

"So the plumber came by today."
"Really? I thought it was sposed to be the AC guy."
"I thought so too! But, nope, plumber. And it was embarrassing. I wanted him to look at the toilet. And the kitchen sink. But hadn't cleaned anything."
"Ohhhh. Yeah. So? Did he fix them?"
"Well, while he was fiddling with the sprinkler, I ran inside to make sure the bathroom was clean. While he fiddled with the toilet, I slipped away and washed a bunch of dishes so he could look at the sink. But, yeah, they're fine now. . . How was your day?"
"Ha, get this. I sat in on some law enforcement lectures . . . and learned about preparing and evaluating possible crime scenes. They said to be suspicious if the house is really dirty, like sinks full of dishes and stuff. And to be extra suspicious if the homeowner slips away while you are in one room in order to go and clean another."
"So what you're saying is . . ."
"Yeah. "

Seconds/Teamwork

2011-04-02T17:16:00.002-05:00

I've decided to re-purpose a few moments each day. Seconds, really. I tried a new thing this week. It sounds so silly, now that I actually try to write about it, but here we go anyway. Every time I use the toaster or oven, I try to see how much I can accomplish in those two minutes or so. I don't stop moving until I hear the ding. It's been little things I would have done anyway, like wipe down a counter or empty the recycling bin, wash a dish or two, but it secretly feels like extra time. Secret bonus time. All those quotes about small daily tasks being more powerful than large day-long tasks may be true.

***
A few days ago, I found myself in the midst of a conversation at work about a very very sick baby. The split-second I stepped back and thought about the existence of the conversation itself was a really gratifying-beautiful split-second indeed. Here were six adults: three doctors, a detective, a medical student, and a whipsmart administrator discussing how to save and protect a baby who probably weighed less than any one of our individual forearms. Despite the quasi-horror of the situation that led to the baby being so sick, it kinda made me love the team that humanity can be.

pretty paper/music+pretty paper

2011-03-31T20:53:00.002-05:00

Oh baby, I love stationary. Always have. I've saved a box full of pretty paper, cards, and things which have the potential to evolve into something upon which sweet nothings may be written. The box is getting out of hand. It also has a lot of stuff in it which probably won't evolve. Last night (inspired by a chapter in the book, The Happiness Project), I went through the box, tossed a few things, and organized the rest. It was weird to throw away a magazine featuring artsy films from 2006, which I had picked up in St. Louis. I had once thought the still images could be made into funny greeting cards, but last night, as I organized, it felt too much like thievery to use those images for anything else. I remember a few really lovely weeks in St. Louis, and somehow tightly associate the magazine with that experience. (I'm sighing now a little. I had such nice walks there).

Anyway, little by little, I was able to toss several things into the recycling bin, and revive several things I haven't seen since (literally) second grade. I also learned it's best to Use stuff when the thought arises. Stationary is not meant to be saved in a box. That teddy bear stationary from 6th grade that I thought was too precious to use up at the time? It now feels slightly on the creepy side. So, by going through the box, I reacquainted myself with what I can share. Lovely.

***

As I organized the box, my (newish) dog was at my side, offering his input with gentle nudges, but mostly just snoozes. A Blue Merle CD was playing, and I had had a bizarre enough day with plenty of pondering fodder. Such peace.

top/bff

2011-03-27T22:54:00.002-05:00

After a load of laundry, placing clean-folded clothes in my wee dresser, I came across a faded green polo shirt I've not worn in years. I love the color (think lime sherbet), and perhaps have allowed the shirt to sit in that drawer for reason of color alone. But. Someone who also loves the color might actually wear it, so with peace of mind, it was added to the Savers donation bag. Fin.

***

This recent intermission in posts was partly-happily due to visits from dear friends. One said, "Don't you just love the version of yourself when you are around your best friends?" I love that these two ladies also get along so well with my sister, and had such a nice time with each of them. How precious and beautiful are the moments shared with friends?

Challenge/Siblings

2011-03-11T16:19:00.003-06:00

This is a post of humble failure to progress. Friends, decluttering (etc) has been harder than I imagined. It's not like a marathon or chronic illness or anything, but getting rid of stuff isn't easy for me. I thought once I started doing so more regularly, it would be effortless to part with, for example, those nasty shoes that sit in the garage. They're only nasty because of their history (actually notbad-looking old running shoes), which includes both having accompanied my feet on a sharkdiving trip, which resulted in both puke (mine) and guts (fish's) smeared across the laces and soles, and an academic year in gross anatomy lab, which also resulted in other-guts (remember that time the floor was so slippery . . . ?) becoming embedded into the stitching. These shoes were part of very potent memories. And! I haven't ever worn them inside since. And! They've been literally collecting dust for years. Toss them, right? I'm not there yet. Perhaps I'll follow the advice of some, and give them a little photo shoot first. Stay tuned.

***

He was eleven years old and answering all sorts of semi-embarrassing questions. His mom prodded him to answer in more detail, and said she wished he were smarter. His two year old sister sat in the stroller, dozing. It was a rough-sad few minutes as we sat in the clinic room, methodically going over some of the challenges of being eleven. Then, his sister woke and smiled at him. They played a little game with a business card. A game of peek-a-boo/tug-o-war that they had clearly played before and had invented for each other. He made his sister laugh. She grinned with admiration. He grinned back with love.

Box/DFW

2011-03-09T15:17:00.000-06:00

Ha! Ha! Oh, those boxes from moves in the past that never get completely unpacked.
One appeared from at least two moves ago; it is shoe box-sized and lovingly addressed in my mother's handwriting. It once contained sweet nothings sent from afar, when I was living far from afar. Yesterday it contained: broken headphones, three dry erase markers, two dry eraseboard erasers, two magnetic photo frames (new), a headband (silver, circa 2000), a receipt from Capetown (circa 2006), several cabinet wheels, etc etc etc. Kind of junk. Kind of sentimental stuff. But it was full and it was time to be emptied.

Remarkably, everything inside actually has a place. Elsewhere. The markers go with, well, the other markers. The broken headphones go in the drawer with other things-attached-to-wires (the decision to fix vs donate vs toss is for another day). Some things will be donated. Etcetera. It took 15 minutes. Three or five years of things lovingly tucked away were so easily redistributed. There is now a shoe box-sized empty space under my bed. Lovely. A baby step, but lovely nonetheless.

***

I've been reading David Foster Wallace's collection of essays, Consider the Lobster. His mind, my goodness, his mind is so precise and funny. I'm rethinking all I know about John McCain and English-language dictionaries (to be specific, based on what I've read today). Gentle-witty prodding to rethink is such a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Text / Friendship

2011-03-03T21:41:00.007-06:00

(I love many books). I'm trying to comb through the things I own, thinking about what is necessary and what is not. There are three books that I can say, with confidence, I no longer need (or even want for sentimental value). One is a gross anatomy study guide. The other two are pediatric medicine study guides intended for medical students. You must understand that I have a hard time getting rid of the paper materials. The what-ifs of the future haunt me. But. I have another complete anatomy reference, and I have plenty more pediatrics books (and knowledge!) now that supersede a study guide. Whew. I looked online to sell them, and they're selling for notmuch. So, I am just going to give them to current med students. Easy.

Here's the thing. I'm realizing how cool it is that things that have literally no use to me, despite once being extremely (vitally?) useful, may serve a purpose again. But not to me. To someone else. Textbooks are the most literal example. Perhaps it is possible to expand this to less obvious areas. Onward.

***

I can see why people might be afraid of birds. There were these geese. And ducks. And another gorgeous bird with a U shaped neck, perhaps a swan. They squinted their eyes and emitted threatening sounds as they glared at the two teenage girls walking by. They elongated their necks and aimed their beaks at the girls' knees. Terrifying, right? The girls squealed, grabbed each other, and leapt off the sidewalk in a fit of incredulity.
It was good the girls had each other.

Woodwind/E-mail marketing

2011-03-01T18:06:00.000-06:00

Something I hadn't thought of before reading bemorewithless was the idea of mental clutter, the idea that there can be energy wasted on cluttery consumery thoughts. As suggested on the aforementioned blog, I'm trying to unsubscribe from the many e-mail advertising lists I've become attached to. It seems crazy, what with all the coupons and stuff. And it isn't going to make my desk look less cluttered. But a) mailing lists really do promote consumerism, promote buying things I otherwise wouldn't, and b) they completely dilute the e-mails that actually matter. So, I've just unsubscribed from : Gap, Threadless, Shop it to Me, Borders, and Living Social. I'm keeping the ones from Ballet Arizona and Ticketmaster for now, which I rationalize by the fact that they provide potential experiences not physical objects.
It was weirdly difficult (what about all those 40% off coupons I rarely use but always consider using???) , and I do feel like I might be missing out on deals in the future. But. There it is: my first step of something clarified: my e-mail inbox will be more personal again.

*

Sunday morning (55 degrees, blue sky, post rain), I went for a long awaited run in the park. Part of it meandered near a skate park, in an underpass, under a few main roads. It's a cement-filled area of swoops and the sound of cars rumbling overhead. There was a bearded man with his bicycle parked, leaning against one of the concrete pillars, and from him emanated a hollow melody. He was playing what looked like an clarinet or recorder. The sound moved like traffic and skateboarders: constantly and fluidly. Beautiful.

Something Beautiful, Something Clarified

2011-02-27T16:16:00.002-06:00

This next series of posts is going to explore minimalism. A little bit (ha! get it?).

Each post, I will donate something, clean something, throw something out, re-purpose it, or otherwise-remove it from my life. In other words, clarifying its existence. A lot of inspiration has come from blogs and articles, most recently bemorewithless.com, but others too, which I will credit as the time comes.

I will also share something beautiful witnessed.

This will go on only as long as the cheesiness factor doesn't overwhelm.

17th-20th: Por Fin

2011-02-23T13:01:00.000-06:00

Let's finish this twenty post intermission in a last dashing swoop, yes? Then: onward! New topic!

17th: Your Celebrity Crush

Ain't no celebrity crush like an adolescent crush. Tee hee. That Keanu Reeves. Oh, that Keanu. I will probably name a future pet or band after you. With Speed and A Walk in the Clouds, you allowed me to swoon like every teenager should.

18th: Post a Bit of Your Last AIM Conversation
(Most of my last conversation was accidentally deleted):

me: sheesh. can u plz send everything you have typed since my last comment

it closed accidentally, the window.

A: I see

I said i am almost asleep

me: thats all?

A: Now

Yeah

Thats all

I saw u run off

me: oh ok. me too. im drifting-typing. we must chat later

ok? ok.

ttyl then. sleep sweet.

byeeeeee

A: Ok byee

Sleep well

19th: What Turns You Off?

Only fatigue or cruelty turns me off, (whatever turning off means exactly).

20th: Tell the Story Behind one of Your Scars

When I was 17, I jumped into a swimming pool with the enthusiasm of youth. It was something I did twice daily most days of the week. This time, though, perhaps I was thinking of a certain celebrity. Or something. I leaped, arms high. As I my toes-hips-torso entered the water, my arms lagged behind, specifically an elbow. It hit the floor of the pool deck as the remainder of me attempted water entry. There was a lot of pain. And blood. And now, there is this faint pink shiny area and the tippytop of my elbow that has never quite recovered.

16th: Something that really bugs you

2011-02-20T12:21:00.001-06:00

There is this ongoing joke about me, that a few close friends and my sister love to perpetuate. The joke is that I'm an elderly woman a little before my time. I like cardigans and soft foods. My favorite nights out often end by 10pm, and often involve Scrabble or museums.
(Sidenote: why aren't swimming pools open later?)

Well, I'm about to play right into their little ploy in sharing what really bugs me. I don't like yelling. I don't like being in situations that lend themselves to yelling. There is an angry loss of control when a parent yells at a child, or when a wife yells at a husband in the street, or when a stranger in an airport yells at a customer service representative. Sometimes it's not the yeller, but rather the yellee that gets under my skin. Either way, if there is a yell, there is something unnecessarily awry. Someone is tired. Or frustrated. Or desperate and hopeless. Yelling really bugs me.

(Hollering and whooping—and even wailing—are excellent alternatives).

15th: Last Time You Had to Apologize to Someone

2011-02-19T13:30:00.001-06:00

The problem with writing after work is that the "Last Time You . . . " posts will involve, well, work.

"I know you don't like this funny collar you're wearing, but it's to protect your neck. Make sure you don't move your head at all. No, hold still. Yes, Obama is still president. You're just going to feel my hand on the side of your neck"
"Ow!"
"Oh, sorry. Keep the collar on."

14th: The Last Time You Cried

2011-02-15T20:27:00.002-06:00

Weirdly, it is probably more revealing-sad to write about all the things I've not cried about recently. Especially considering it doesn't usually take much to get me to weep a little. But, friends, this isn't meant to be revealing-sad. Ha!

I cry over greeting cards, game shows, plenty of music, good hugs (witnessed or experienced), most canyons, and many sunrises. I've cried for art exhibits and the potency of life itself.

The most heartbreaking aspect of humanity (always), though? The cause of my last cry? A farewell.

There is nothing more heartbreaking than goodbyes, temporary or not.

13th: Your Favorite Smells

2011-02-09T20:04:00.001-06:00

It's funny, but the prospect of writing about my favorite smells seems incredibly personal.
I secretly think that a lot of us dig the same smells. The ones that I'm drawn to particularly? I don't feel like sharing.

My most recently discovered favorite smell, though? Sure, I'll share. I was on call in the ICU, 30 hours in the unit. Only one resident is on call at a time, so despite the nurses and respiratory therapists and patients, it does feel a little lonely. It's easy to get cabin fever of sorts. Etc etc etc. Around hour 24, I went to wash my face and brush my teeth. As I washed my face, a feeling of happy anticipation came over me. I felt refreshed and content and appreciated. I felt like I was about to go on a picnic with my true love. (Which, in case it needs stating, was pretty much the exact opposite of what the rest of the morning had in store). The feeling was explained in a few seconds as I realized I had grabbed my "travel toiletries" when putting my call bag together the day before. The face soap was the tiny bottle of stuff I only use when traveling back east.
Ha.

Sigh.

12th: Something You Crave

2011-02-07T21:08:00.004-06:00

Wow, I love brie cheese. I love most cheese. I cheered for the Packers on Sunday because of their close association with cheese.
But.

Even more than cheese? I love strolling with a friend. Walking past open fields in bizarre Missouri with akh was one of the key factors to survival during a couple of bewildering years. We would walk after an exam or when the sun shone or when the sun didn't shine. We walked to move (how great is movement), and we walked to figure out all things family-medicine-love-decisions-silliness. Having a best friend live in the same apartment complex, which just happened to be located near trails and sidewalks, was such a blessing. I crave a walk with akh, so we can, you know figure things out.

Exploring with ser was often an epic experience. We fed off the slightly whimsical side in each other; no walk was without a story that we could retell with zeal. The time we spied on Mark Twain at Starbucks? The time we saw a building almost get destroyed by a wrecking ball and did nothing to stop it (which was the same time we found a fireman boot and a mysteriously lost stamped letter)? Or the nonwalks when we just threw balls in the hallway? What was that about? I crave an adventure with ser, you know, just to play with magic and chance a little.

Today, I was thinking of these two friend in particular, how much I Miss strolling with them, when I arrived home. My sister greeted me. The dog we are sitting also greeted me with a full spin and tailwag. Wanna go for a walk? Yes. In the park, we sighed over the cute babies and puppies and the hot biker with headphones and teal shoes. We chatted about the day and giggled over the dog's pure enthusiasm. Another craving: fulfilled.

And, I had brie in my salad for dinner. Excellent.

10th: Your Favorite Teacher, 11th: Something You're Thankful For

2011-02-05T21:45:00.000-06:00

I've had a lot of teachers.

(I'm eliminating from this competition anyone who doesn't formally have the title of "teacher;" otherwise family, strangers, and friends make it impossible to choose a favorite. We learn from everyone, don't we?)

Mrs. D in fifth grade taught us about kindness, disco, and the names of all the major bones in the human body.

Mr. R in junior high school history made seemingly offensive, but actually rather progressive comments about race and culture. I think about it often.

Mrs. N, also in junior high, was the first to acknowledge that a person may have a shy temperment in a classroom setting. It was remarkably empowering.

Mrs. F in high school and Mrs. J in sixth grade were the one-two punch in history skillz. I can trace so much of my practical world knowledge back to their classrooms.

Professor O in undergrad, who reminded me of Mr. Bean, taught calculus with such pure adrenalin and excitement that I didn't mind the absurd 8am start time.

Professor T, also in undergrad, my first advisor in my major, allowed for thoughtful expression in such a gentle way. She made a comment once about artists being those who lived their truest selves, and I loved that I had met someone who lived her truest self.

Dr. T in medical school had an ease with complex neuroanatomy, an ease that was contagious. Remember gross anatomy lab? The scissors that could pinpoint anything?

etc
etc
etc

And now, I still learn from teachers. How lucky that my job (profession? career?) is so full of daily learning. For this, I'm grateful.

9th: Your Favorite Thing Right Now

2011-01-26T21:42:00.001-06:00

. . . is this sentence in a wedding reception invitation:

"Jeans are very much acceptable, and incredibly appropriate for this wedding reception."

8th: 15 Facts About You

2011-01-21T23:56:00.001-06:00

1. February is the most potent of all months, the most dramatic and condensed. And, it's just around the corner.
2. I just watched No Impact Man, the documentary about a family who lived in an incredibly green-sustainable way for a year. I do admire such idealism-optimism-activism.
3. Having enough socks, specifically trouser socks for work, has added an unexpected amount of ease to my mornings.
4. Today, a teenage girl (after I had given a lecture to a group of teenage girls covering topics that merit lectures to teenage girls) told me I reminded her of Becca from Superbad, "Yeah, Becca, you know, the little girlfriend of the skinny guy who isn't McLovin."
5. I don't know the significance of the above statement.
6. There is so much to read in this world, isn't there? And so much to see and do. It blows my mind. Daily.
7. I once spent two years sleeping on an air mattress on the floor. The logic behind such an act was faulty. But. I really really love my bed now.

8. In an alternate (or future) universe, I'm probably a late night DJ on public radio. Ideally with a good friend.
9. Sometimes I forget the 80s were like a generation ago.
10. Activities that consistently soothe: swimming, walking outside, watching America's Next Top Model, being warm enough, and reading a novel while within the physical presence of another person not reading a novel.
11. Activities that get under my skin: rush hour, emergency math, and grocery store stalkers (not stockers).
12. My last library fine was ridiculous because I had the due dates off by an entire month in my head. An entire month. So, there's a small library-trip hiatus going on now.
13. The concept of public libraries is one of the most beautiful I can imagine. Good job, history.
14. The concept of fitness gyms is one of the most bizarre I can imagine. Appreciated and all, but really, such a symbol of modernity . . .
15. It is probably true that taking responsibility for one's own actions adds to one's happiness, but is also harder to do than not taking responsibility. This isn't an original thought, but I have found it to be true. The end.

7th: Last Item You Purchased

2011-01-20T21:41:00.003-06:00

It was after a rousing kickball game. It was delicious.

6th: Talent You Wish You Had

2011-01-18T21:30:00.000-06:00

With great concentration, I am able to appear placid and nonjudgemental whilst hearing or seeing really ridiculous stuff. If I am on guard, I can get through incredibly awkward moments (each workday consists of several) without laughing or crying. If I am not prepared for the moments, if I am caught off guard, I can easily become a pool of tears or a flood of giggles.
But. It's after that moment where I am patting myself on the back (for not dissolving ) that a pause of silence follows, and I often don't know what to say.

It is here where I would wish for the talent of sympathetic wit, where I would know the right thing to say to put everyone at ease. Sometimes a few days later, it comes to me. I often think of the French term, "staircase wit." ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L'esprit_de_l'escalier ).

Today, after talking to a 19 year-old about his sinusitis, and explaining each of his prescription medications, I asked if it all made sense, if he had any questions. He looked up, for the first time during our conversation, so incredibly sad and tired, and said, seriously and forlornly, "Well, I do have one question. Is it normal for males my age to be thinking about love?"
My response was fumbly. He went on about his growing love for humanity, and perhaps just needed to say it aloud.

I didn't know what to say.

5th: Say Something to your 15-year-old Self

2011-01-17T13:49:00.001-06:00

Hey lady,

Just wanted to let you know:

You will soon feel confident driving stick shift. It's not worth the exasperation right this second. And then, believe it or not, when you buy your first new car in the distant future, you'll actually choose a manual one. No, really! Ha! How cool is that?

Okay, and those friends you have now? 14.5 years from now, they will still be your friends. So, good job with that. You picked some winners. Keep hanging out with them, enjoying their company, and somehow staying out of serious trouble when you are in their presence. Well done! Good news: you will meet more equally solid-amazing people in the near future, and you can probably thank your current friends for teaching you what solid-amazing means.

Soooo, your parents. Be a little nicer to them, if you can manage it, aight? The world is bigger than you can imagine.

Is this the year you don't get all As in school? The year of your first B+? I'm glad you allow it to be liberating. Life is better imperfect, isn't it? Remember this later.

Which reminds me. You still listen to a lot of Billy Joel, huh? That's cool. Because it's shocking how often knowing all the lyrics to "We Didn't Start the Fire," comes in handy. For reals.

-Older You

4th: Last Book You Read

2011-01-15T00:24:00.004-06:00

Within days of each other, I finished two stories, each about a young man going on a rather incredible adventure. One is a true story. The other is not explicitly true, but somehow reveals many more inherent truths of childhood and independence. I don't think I would have connected the two of them if it hadn't been for the literal timing of near-simultaneous reading.

The first was a desperate-impulsive purchase in an airport. Delayed flight, shock at magazines costing nearly as much as paperbacks, thinking the young man on the cover looked warm when the airport drafts felt so chilly. That kind of purchase. 127 Hours: Between a Rock and a Hard Place by Aron Ralston.

The second was a gift, received the next day. It's a book that has been on my radar since it was written by an author I really love. I read it whilst cozy, whilst it snowed outside. The Wild Things by Dave Eggers.

I have many mixed thoughts about each. But, I think they've both allowed me to be a bit more reverent for imagination, exploration, and nature.

3rd: Something You Never Leave Home Without

2011-01-08T23:50:00.007-06:00

What do you never leave home without? How does one answer this question without being obvious (my keys) or cheesy ( a swing in my step) ?

Something that has baffled me my entire movie-watching life is the ability for heroines, scientists, and lady villains to go about their awesomeness with long, flowing locks of hair. It never gets in the way. A strand never falls onto the petri dish. It always blows just the right way in a convertible. It swoops dramatically and poignantly in fight scenes. And it looks fantastic the whole time.

My hair doesn't do this. If it's not physically in the way, it's looking unkempt after a long day. This is a little thing, yes, in the grand scheme of life's many things, but entire days are better when I know I have a hair tie on my wrist. Just in case. For those, you know, moments of potential awesomeness.

2nd: The Best Part of Your Day

2011-01-08T23:38:00.003-06:00

Life evolves, always.

Whatever changes have happened, this is where we are and who we are with. It will all change again, probably, for better or for worse.

For now, though, I love that the best part of many days is re-enacting its highlights for my little sister. And then (or preceded by) her doing the same. We are so funny.

1st (of 20 post intermission-tpi): Your Work Space

2011-01-08T22:52:00.003-06:00

Most of the time I'm grateful I don't work at a desk, in a cubicle, or looking at a computer screen. Most of the time. There have been days (oh, there have been days) where I wandered from the hospital parking lot past offices that looked so . . . cozy, with their little lamps and framed photos and corkboards and post-its. On those days, I yearn for a sweet space of my own where I could sit, and know the next person with whom I was going to talk. Where I could wear heels (if I wanted) and kick them off under my desk and type. Or make phone calls. Or write something. But the days that I have done that, for whatever reason? After a shockingly short amount of time, I'm itching to move. Just move. Which is how I spend most days at my real job. Walking in flats and talking to strangers. Making young children cry. Playing greeting games with other employees in long hallways. (Sometimes they don't know we are playing. But just so you know, I will plan on saying hi to you as we pass each other. If you avoid eye contact completely or look like you are having an awful day, I'll just nod. But sometimes I try to predict several steps ahead if you'll be up for a hi. Just so you know).

So, my work space, I suppose, is the little collection of things I carry around with me at work. Every once in a while I'll try to fit them in pockets. But this gets a little ridiculous, and (honestly) depending on the pants I'm wearing can cause a bit of drag, if you know what I mean. So, it's either a bag (lavender or mustard yellow) or a funny clipboard, in which I often hope to find: pens (whutup Pentel!), measuring tape, a reflex hammer, HIPAA-compliant papers, a tiny book made by one of the other residents that contains every phone number any of us will ever need as well as all my passwords written in the cover, and a much larger handbook. Sometimes I carry a PDA from 2006 that gets ogled like an eight-track ("Whoa, I haven't seen one of these in years.") I also always have my cell phone (for lonely or too-ridiculous-not-to-share moments), a pager, and my stethoscope, which has a really lovely charm tied to it, so I can spot it from afar.

Then, it seems, that my "workspace" is an ever-evolving, ever-mobile, occasionally-cumbersome situation that is a little jealous of (your?) neat office supplies and cute shoes.

20 Post Intermission

2011-01-08T14:30:00.005-06:00

I'm proposing (and accepting) a brief intermission from the usual bloggy stuff. Writing prompt time! I stole this list from another coupla blogs. The next 20 posts will be as listed below. It might be a bit too much navel-gazing, so I'm reserving the right to change the list as boredom dictates.
I think this might be an ongoing episode of thievery, as afterwards perhaps I'll choose another 20 post theme or project. Recently, for example, I've been intrigued by minimalist-living. And acts of rebellion. Also nutrition. We'll see what happens.

Your work space.
The best part of your day.
Something you never leave home without.
Last book you read.
Say something to your 15-year-old self
Talent y0u wish you had.
Last item you purchased
15 Facts about you.
Your favorite thing right now.
Your favorite teacher.
Something you’re thankful for.
Something you crave.
Favorite smells.
Last time you cried.
Last time you had to apologize to someone.
Something that really bugs you.
Celebrity crush.
Post a bit of your last AIM conversation
What turns you off?
The story behind one of your scars.

Phile

2011-01-03T22:20:00.003-06:00

Out on a lovely jog. The route runs north-south, through several neighborhoods. I passed golfers, dogwalkers, kids coming home from school, fishermen, older men at bus stops, and middle-aged ladies riding bikes. Since I stopped wearing headphones while I run outside, I've enjoyed absorbing the environment through which I pass. Today, two teenagers on bikes were riding towards me. One was a boy, the other a girl. The boy was making the girl laugh, saying funny things I assume, as they meandered down the road. They looked so picturesque, in a modern-day kind of way. They also looked so happy. They love those bikes, riding them together.

As they passed, the boy, mid-sentence (the beginning and end of which I did not hear), sang in a Billie Holiday voice, " . . . pedophiiiiiiles . . ."

It made me smile. It seemed so appropriate. It was only several shuffling steps later that I realized he probably wasn't singing his love for his bike, he wasn't saying "Pedal-philes," which is what I had heard-assumed.
Ha. Ummmm. Kids these days.

Which, to me, actually does seem appropriate. I want to start just singing whatever I am loving at the moment. "Sunshine-phiiiiiile!"

Boxes

2010-12-28T22:04:00.002-06:00

Driving through my hometown, with my family . . .

me: "Is that a new retirement home? It looks so nice."

P: "Egh. It's just a bunch of little boxes."

me: "Well, the porch area looks nice . . ."

Ai: (singing the theme song from Weeds), "Little boxes on the hillside . . . "

M: "Look! In the middle of the road!"

A box. In the middle of the road. Huge and cardboard, lid flapping in the traffic-breeze, as the singing continued, "little boxes . . . all made of tickytacky . . . and they all look just the same."

Talk

2010-12-20T19:44:00.002-06:00

I didn't think I was really up for a plane conversation. But, you know, sometimes it happens.
A businessman from Kentucky, talking about a recent trip to Mexico and his son's high school baseball career. He showed me pesos that he had carried with him, then showed me photos of his all-star son. He told several stories (some crazy, most not), and kept apologizing for talking so much, but he hadn't slept in a long time and that makes him hyper and the words just kept coming.
He said he loved Mexico because people there are willing to have a conversation, that conversing with a stranger sometimes just. happens. "Like now," he said. "Look around this plane. No one else is chatting. You and I chatting is pretty rare in the US, ya know?"

***
I responded, only one of maybe three full sentences during the two hour flight, "Actually that is something I find in Kentucky every time I go, unlike any place in the West or Southwest. People greet each other and chat. I find it so refreshing."

"Really? Well, that means a lot coming from you. Other people have told me that about Kentucky, but I never believed them. They were always businessmen, and you know, you can't really take what they say too seriously."

*

Absence

2010-12-08T20:58:00.003-06:00

[Objectively...]

Two people I've cared about, (in very different capacities, in very different points in my life), passed away this past week. I see each of their phone numbers on my cell phone all the time now, it seems. I haven't deleted the numbers. There is a strange comfort in seeing their names in the midst of the others.

***

Two of my best friends celebrate birthdays this week. I went to call one two days ago, and realized her number had strangely been deleted. Because the other friend's name starts with the same letter, I looked today, after thinking about this, and noticed her number had also bizarrely been deleted. Both gone. Just weirdly gone.

***

(Cell phone address books are pretty meaningless, I guess).

Tone

2010-12-01T21:45:00.005-06:00

One of the greatest movie-song combos of all time is "Al Otro Lado del Rio" (The Other Side of the River), in the movie, The Motorcycle Diaries. (Remember when we put this song on every mix CD for a while?)
The movie, if you haven't seen it, tells the story of a young Che Guevara, before his political life really took off, and a journey he takes with a friend. The song, if you haven't heard it, is both melancholy and hopeful. Simple and beautiful. The song and the film would be utterly different beings without each other.

***

I just learned that Che Guevara, the man, not the moviemyth, was actually completely tone deaf and "rhythm deaf."

Autumns

2010-11-26T14:13:00.004-06:00

2000
Fall semester in college.
In a humanities class which introduced me to so many things, I was introduced to the opera Carmen, more specifically Francesco Rosi's film version. I dug it. There was a lot of academic work entrenched in appreciating the film/the opera/the music, but I genuinely enjoyed it, and did tend to get caught up in the passion of it all.

2001
It was my birthday. My best friends found a sweet deal on some tickets for a modern dance performance in LA, and we bought them without knowing much about the show. It was called CarMan, and ended up being a modern dance interpretation of the opera Carmen, set in a 1950's mechanic's garage. A little scandalous, the dancing, but a lovely evening.
(Before the performance, standing outside, my friends surprised me by having some street performers sing me happy birthday).

2002
A semester in Spain. Impossible to sum up in a few sentences. It was the first time I really listened to the recordings of Maria Callas. My host family-"hermana" taught me how to listen properly . . . I began to really appreciate opera music in general.
Then. The Royal Opera House in Madrid had this amazing-serendipitous thing where if there was a performance one night that was not sold out, the less desirable seats would be sold two hours prior to the performance for a steep steep discount. Carmen was in town. A friend and I went, amidst the furs and pearls and opera glasses (literally!), and somehow snagged tickets for the equivalent of about six dollars. My seat was in a balcony, behind a supporting beam. My friend was on on the opposite side of the theater (as is oft the case with these last minute seats, few are ever in pairs). From my seat, I couldn't see the stage unless I leaned waaay forward. Mostly, I just stood behind the little row of seats and watched, thinking occasionally about my new grey-blue leather Spanish shoes and how supportive they were. And then I got sucked into the story, and, my goodness, the music. I learned later that the woman portraying Carmen was world-reknowned, that much of the audience had come just to see her. I know my breath stopped a few times. I know I had tears in my eyes a few times. But I don't know how humans could have created such an experience.

2003
It was only in hindsight that I realized not every autumn of relative adulthood would necessarily include Carmen. There were other artsy-ish moments, an obsession with my undergrad thesis, and another birthday concert with a band I may also have been a little obsessed with. But no Carmen that I can recall now.

2004
I was living in Salt Lake and hanging out with my mom more than I had in a few years. It was a remarkable year for so very many reasons . . . in October, we saw that the ballet version of Carmen at a downtown theater. I think she may have humored me, but she was perfect company, and I always-always like ballet. Still.

2005
Missouri. A weird autumn, filled with new friends, a very new place, and a very bizarre daily schedule. 2005 was an excellent year for then-new music, wasn't it? (I think of this often). I spent a lot of time studying and watching the stars. One afternoon, driving back from the local grocery store, feeling wistful and thinking of home, I turned on the radio to one of the low frequency FM stations. Something familiar played. Carmen! I drove on, feeling intensely that the universe knew where I was and what I needed at that moment. Good job, universe.

2006
Like 2003, not every year has its Carmen. Still in Missouri, though, and those new friends were now among my fiercest-bestest.

2007-2009
Another new city. I sort of forgot about Carmen. I may have sort of forgot about a lot of things beautiful that once made me cry in awe. (Not that I was unhappy or not surrounded by love). The bizarre daily schedule of the two previous years morphed into an even more bizarre life-schedule. It was maddening and fascinating. Free time was for physical movement and people I loved. (Forced priorities?)

2010
Same city, better schedule. I'm no longer chronically weary. I have started to re-introduce the idea of hobbies in my life. Paper mache was sort of a bust. As has been kickball (so far!). But running has blossomed into something akin to a new religion. And, the piano. My grandmother suggested I get a piano keyboard and relearn some of the songs I had payed as a little girl. I've been working diligently on a few pieces I loved twenty years ago (omg), but the other day was flipping through the sheet music that came with the keyboard. And yes, amidst the Michael-Row-Your-Boat-Ashores and the Musettes, "Habanera," from Carmen revealed itself. I tapped out a few lines, perhaps tentatively at first, but then, because it's just that kind of music, with a little more confidence, and almost-relief. How nice to know, really, that when one needs her Carmen, she is only a few minutes of effort away.
Still, though, I'm eager to see how she'll grace my presence in the future.

Super

2010-11-19T20:36:00.000-06:00

I don't think about superheroes very often. Sometimes I watch the August blockbuster featuring whatever superhero is being sprung onto the big screen. And, when I was five, I made my own Superwoman costume for Halloween (something about a red turtleneck and a cape). But, other than that, they're not frequently on my mind.

Then a dear friend sent me this link (knowing perfectly well I would love it): http://growingupheroes.com/post/1203694555/submitted-by-melsomething

which I opened whilst on a wee trip. Upon my return, my sister had a birthday card waiting for me. It featured Spiderman, chosen for the printed greeting inside.

Then, a few days later, one of my cutest patients broke his elbow.
"What happened?"
"I was playing [being] Ironman on the stairs. I fell. Got hurt."

Pinky

2010-11-04T01:39:00.003-05:00

Not to make this all about work, but. . .

Put simply, I'm sort of trying to figure out if there is anything doctors can do that prevents teenagers from using lottsa drugs. It would make a huge dent in the following things: car accidents, violence, and pre-newborn exposures. I read a nice little journal article about a really gentle and possibly effective interview technique. I researched this interviewing technique. I went to very optional lectures. I read more articles, and then I presented it at a grand rounds of sorts.

*

The thing is, it's not proven to be that effective. And the research gets pretty complicated and kind of difficult to interpret. Post-presentation, the neonatologist and I chatted and agreed that it would be most hopeful (helpful) if teenagers regularly saw their doctors. Which hardly ever happens. We (along with the nephrologist, who makes me smile in his strong opinions) sort of sighed collectively and shrugged our shoulders, and I allowed my mind to wander to the idea that primary care doctors probably aren't the ones that have that kind of power. Or. That there needs to be research with a completely different approach. Shrug. Oh well. It was an interesting mental exercise?

*

Three days later, an "expert" in the field gave a lecture on the subject (whoa timing). He discussed an interview technique that I know (now, after having read about it a lot the week prior in preparation for my own presentation) has been pretty much proven to cause people to rebel/do exactly the opposite of what a physician recommends. One tiny part of it involves making eye contact "to the point where you are both uncomfortable."
I was still in my helpless there's-nothing-we-can-do state of mind, so thought that maybe it was worth a try. Maybe those dang papers and studies don't mean as much as someone with experience speaking on the subject.

*

That afternoon, two hours after hearing that lecture (huh timing), in the midst of a busy clinic filled with new babies and skin infections, and runny noses, I saw one of my 15-year-old patients. I have a reputation for sort of collecting difficult families and patients. I have no idea why. My attending refers to me as "the black cloud of clinic" because if one of my kids has diarrhea, they won't just have diarrhea. They'll also have an obscure genetic disorder or a bizarre social situation requiring police involvement. Etc. Anyway, so this 15-year-old is one of a very few patients I've seen a lot of in the past few months. She keeps coming back. And, as predicted, it wasn't just for a "follow up." It was to relate an epic tale that involved many more details than anyone needs to read. But it did involve the use of an illegal substance. Mostly we chatted, but I also tried the techniques I had read about. Maybe we made progress? For a second, I gave the uncomfortable eye contact a try, in an attempt to "get through to her." It immediately felt ridiculous and it seemed I might lose her, so I abandoned that tactic quickly. The funny thing was, after all the gently-directed chatting and the clarifying (misconceptions are horrifying), the end result (as opposed to an open-ended conclusion where she will magically go home and never do drugs or drink again) was her spontaneously offering up her hand, little finger extended, "I won't do it again. Pinky swear."

*

Maybe it doesn't need to be so complicated?
Let's research the pinky swear.

*

***
edit. no joke. as i was typing this up, i received a new e-mail. the subject line and the enclosed link: http://www.abc.net.au/health/thepulse/stories/2010/11/04/3057269.htm

Treat

2010-10-31T23:20:00.002-05:00

We ran out of Halloween candy. Very quickly. Very early in the evening. I've worked the past several Halloweens (five years?) and even today, was postcall, but had awoken from a nap in time to answer the door to adorable lady bugs and ninjas. I guess I had forgotten the popularity of the holiday in the outside world. A lot of kids didn't say trick or treat. They stood dumbly
So, after giving away all the lifesavers and Starbursts, I drove (terrifying thing to back out of one's driveway at Halloween dusk, with little goblins scurrying vulnerably about), to the nearest grocery in search of more candy. There was None left in the Halloween aisle. Seriously nothing. So I went to the absurd Christmas aisle and bought several boxes of candy canes, reuctantly thinking that at least some candy was better than cowering behind an unanswered door the rest of the night (pleading for the doorbell to stop ringing).
I decided to embrace the candy cane idea. Kids adapt, right?
*
The first few kids that received canes were a little older, and they were polite and laughed kindly at my "Merry Christmas" greetings. The 12-year-old mobster, perhaps in character, called me ma'am.
*
And then, two five-year-old girls. A witch and yet another ladybug (always cute). They looked eagerly into the bowl of candy canes and near-whispered their trick-or-treats. My reply seemed overly enthusiastic for their shy demeanors. "Hi! I have Christmas candy here! Choose one." They each carefully-slowly selected a candy cane, said thank you and walked back towards the street, where their parents waited. As soon as she got a few steps from the door, the ladybug thrust her candy cane into the air triumphantly (like a champion fist) and ran exuberantly, shouting "Christmas candy! Christmas candy!"
*
Apparently waaaay better than lifesavers.

Statististsitics

2010-10-21T23:44:00.003-05:00

A little worky presentation. Okay, kind of a big one.
I needed help with the statistical analysis.
The statistician is incredibly busy. She was kind enough to meet me to go over one tiny equation.
She took a deep breath from behind her stacks (and stacks) of paper. On the computer screen, peeping from behind these stacks, was a spreadsheet. Filled with numbers. (Classic! I thought).
Okay, she said. Did you bring the article? She sighed patiently as I pulled out the papers. What's the topic? (Wearily).

***

Oooooh. She lit up. This is my passion! Oh, I just love this stuff! Is this something you're interested in?
It turns out, the specific topic I had chosen to address in teenagers is the exact same field she has done research in (for years!) with an adult population.

*
(I never thought I'd find a kindred spirit in a statistician!)

Religion

2010-10-21T00:24:00.002-05:00

A lunchtime chat with a friend. She put sunchips in her peanut butter sandwhich. We spoke of Costco produce and webcams and high school renunions and religion and relationships and, among other things, came to the obvious conclusion that many (most?) major religions, if practiced actively will result in pretty much the same day-to-day activities and actions. Being kind etc. You've had this conversation too, perhaps.

***

Later that day, visiting a different friend in a hospice bed, I sat to his right. My sister sat to his left. He brightened and allowed his eyes to twinkle. We spoke of dogs and skateboarding and breast cancer cookies and creepy wheelchairs. Sometimes he made more sense than others. He probably thought the same about us. At one point, out of nowhere, he referenced the television, (muted, the evening news and political ads playing silently), "There's an Easter special on tonight. Which probably seems like a crazy foreign holiday to you people." Then he giggled. My sister and I looked at each other, a little bewildered, shrugged, then smiled as well.

Mine

2010-10-15T21:51:00.003-05:00

The Chilean miners etc etc etc.
We all had shivers and some of us (ahem) might have shed a few irrepressible tears.
What struck me was this: They have been through a lot, and upon emerging from the dark (avec cool Oakley shades) with the entire world watching and cheering and ahem-crying along with them, they only had eyes for the few family members they had missed.
I would guess that they maybe-kinda wanted to forget about the rest of the world for a few seconds. Or they just did. Forget. Happily so. For a few seconds. How sweet those seconds must have been.

***
Though. Unlike many recent events that have the potential to be polarizing, this one was something that made many of us completely unable to forget the rest of the world. Not just the Chilean part. But the part in front of our noses. I found myself seeking to share this moment of triumph, of Pure Good News with anyone-everyone. I exchanged text pages with another resident during rounds. ("#19 is out!") One of the housekeeping ladies and I rejoiced, each of us attempting triumphant words. The feeling of being compelled to seek another human, most often a stranger, had a fraction of the magnitude of a buried man being compelled to embrace his true amoure. But still, it was there. That feeling.

Chapeau

2010-10-13T19:09:00.002-05:00

At the recent Bob Schneider concert (amazing, please go sometime), his first interaction with the crowd, after a few songs sung with downcast eyes, was to raise his head and tap his forehead then gesture grandly towards the audience, using his whole arm. He did this a few times. "My chapeau," he said, "I tip my chapeau to you all." Then, "I hung out in Paris recently and picked up some of the nomenclature."

(Of many, a few of my thoughts at that moment: I love the word nomenclature. Love it! Also I love that he tipped an imaginary hat. Why don't more people tip hats, imaginary or otherwise? I cannot remember the last tipped hat.)

***

Driving home during rush hour a few days later, thinking I could beat the freeway traffic by taking unknown sidestreets, I spent quite a while on a long road lined with liquor stores, pawn shops, and strip clubs. Although there were indeed fewer cars, the pedestrian traffic was aplenty. At one point, a gentleman began to cross the street directly in front of me. He wore a bushy beard and dirty khakis. They were complemented by grey (once white) shower sandals, and a tattered baseball cap with indecipherable writing across the bill. I stopped to allow him to cross. He ambled. I waited. Just as he passed directly in front of my car, he looked through my windshield (we made eye contact), lifted his hand, and tipped his hat.

But a Number

2010-10-11T22:30:00.003-05:00

My current supervisor is fixated on finding the celebrity look-alike of every person he meets. As I went around with him the first day, the series of introductions included mention of each person's celebrity twin. "This is John, aka Rodney Dangerfield. And this is Beth, aka Kelly Ripa. " He was frustrated with being unable to place my face amidst his brain roledex of famous faces. It took a week, then, of course, in the midst of a serious meeting, he blurted out, in triumph, "Natalie Merchant!"
"How funny," I replied. "We share a birthday actually."
"Same year?"
"No, she's a few years older."
(But then, later when I googled her and saw that she was born in 1963, I wondered if I just looked older . . . if that was part of the resemblance. He thought I could be 47 years old?).

*

The person with whom I work most closely this week, who oriented me to the place, who arranges my assignments, was explaining her role to someone. " . . . and I sort of get to boss M around, even though she's probably way older than me."
"Uh."
"Oh, yeah. Definitely older."

*

Today, walking back from lunch, towards the same office, my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but was looking for an excuse to make the little walk outdoors last longer, so I answered. It was a volunteer calling to make sure I planned on voting. We chatted a moment or two. For some reason, she established that I was not a student. Then, she paused, and asked, "Wait, are you old enough to vote?"