Vacation!

I got vacation time after only 5 weeks of internship. But hey, who's complaining!? Happily, this meant that Chefy and I got to take a 9 day trip over our birthday week. We did lots of camping throughout NY, CT, and RI. Now that I'm back at work in what is one of my toughest rotations of the year, its nice to look back and remember how much fun we got to have....

Tree top adventures in ziplining and (a shocking lack of) upper body strength...

Flying through the air with the greatest of ease!

Watching the races (and losing all bets) in Saratoga...

Chefy wouldn't let me wear a fancy hat. Humph. Next year it is!

Camping in some gorgeous state parks...

Our new home away from home.

Delicious raw milk bought straight from the farm.

BashBish falls. Had to walk across state lines to enjoy this beauty!

My birthday dinner!

Moped-ing around Block Island...

Lovely ride on the back of the moped :)

I tried driving for about 2 minutes, then satisfied
myself with hopping on the back and letting Chefy
race around the island at a terrifying 15mph.

Making a killing (or breaking even) at blackjack...

Gayest game ever...
Winnings!

Later that night, while checking out Connecticut's best casino playing cover band, I caught this gentleman on tape. Highlight of the vacation without a doubt...

I'm smitten with my kitten!

If you've been reading this blog since the beginning (or have ever met me) you know I wanted a puppy after my move from NYC to small town CT. But...it turns out that my crappy schedule and dwindling energy at the end of a long day preclude necessary walking / exercising / puppy loving. So instead, we got a kitten. Yes, Chefy and I are now mom's to a very special rescued-from-the-woods-still-learning-to-love-the-ones-who-feed-me kitten. And I am in love. Again.

I introduced Chefy to the pictures Dooce likes to take of her puppies with food and personal (human) artifacts balanced on them and she decided our kitty would be a just as good if not better model. El Tigre (or "teeg" as we call him) is a game participant for her dress-up antics. See below.


And I must say, I can't imagine being more smitten with any puppy in the world than I am crazy over the moon in love with this little kitten. I love you, puss in boots.

There are nap people and no nap people.

As an intern, I have to take at least one 24 hour call a week. I usually make it until the end of a regular (14hour) day before starting to acutely feel the pain of wanting to sleep more than just about anything else, including perhaps more than I want to have a job... I am not a napper. I learned this about myself in college and years later I reaffirmed this in medical school. I cannot take a nap without waking up feeling like I just chased 6 or 7 benedryl (of the drowsy variety) with a bottle of white wine. I do not awaken from a nap bright eyed and bushy tailed; rather, I awake a bumbling mess of sleepy eye and messy hair and blank, glazed over stares.

One night on call, everything was going swimmingly. The ER pager, which I am responsible for, was quiet. The board, where the laboring (or wish-they-were-laboring) women are listed, had only one name on it, and she was of the parenthetical variety labor and delivery patient. My senior resident suggested I take a nap and I succumbed to the temptation of 100 thread count, starchy white hospital sheets. I curled up around my pagers, lest they should alarm. This was at 9pm. At 9:40pm I awoke to the nasty shrillness of the ER pager. I quickly scrambled out of bed, stumbled to the computer 2 feet from the bed, and called the number flashing on my pager. I proceeded to discuss the consult with the ER attending physician, scribble some notes down, and head to the elevator to the Emergency Department.

A flash and a blur later, I am in the ED still feeling markedly disoriented. I look down to the small paper I am clutching in my fatigued, trembling fist. These notes should give me some vital information (no pun intended) for how this consult will go. What is the patient's name? What room is she in? Why did she come to the ED tonight? And why, for the love of god, can the ED attending physician not handle this problem on his own without waking me from my restless slumber with dreams of amniotic fluid indexes and bacterial vaginosis. I take the paper from my pocket and focus my bleary vision only to find that I have, oh so helpfully, scribbled one word over and over on the paper: uterus. There is no name, no room number mentioned. Only several lines of

"uterus? uterus %#uterus &uterus ***uterus***."

I had, once again, been sabotaged by sleep, nailed for napping, screwed for snoozing. No more napping on this girl's call nights.

Really??

While looking into "cures" for post-cocaine use sinus irritation for a friend, I came upon this gem.

"... I have begun using coke probably too often, but every time I do for a night or so (usually a little less than one g of some quality stuff), the next 3 days my nose is completely clogged up; I'm talking no air movement at all, its unbearable. Afrin works well, but its habit forming..."

Yes...individual who regularly abuses illegal drugs but is afraid of becoming addicted to Afrin. I am so glad that my only future contact with ER patients will be vaginal bleeding and lower abdominal pain.

Is this real life??

Lately it doesn't seem like life is real. How can I possibly be a doctor?? While I admit I have copious practice faking it over the past four years, there will be a few major changes now that my name badge no longer warns patients of my "Medical Student" status.

For instance, my white coat will now cover my ass.

Much, much more terrifyingly, I will no longer able to end every patient encounter with some version of "I'll be right back with the real doctor who will be able to actually answer your questions." Now I have to say, "Hello. Thank you for letting my medical student interview you. I'm Dr. Mean Bean, your real doctor. Don't like that I look like I'm 12 years old or constantly look to my handy pocket sized book to address your questions? Shouldn't have come to a teaching hospital..."

I'm not looking forward to the moments (god I hope its moments and not hours or decades or millennia) of residency that make me sound like this kid around the 1:00 minute mark. But I know they're coming. Fast. Also coming are probably those moments, hopefully on my nights off, when I discover that I, too, have two fingers. And then four.

Applications...

As my time of applying and interviewing and waiting with bated breath has finally come to an end, Chefy is just beginning the process. She gave her notice at her NYC school a few weeks ago and has been thoroughly scouring the internet for job leads in CT. This has brought about a few conversations which I think deserve sharing...

Chefy: They don't have math teacher listed anymore. They do have Mandarin, though...

MeanBean: I think you should tell them that you're great at peeling oranges. In fact, you are quite talented at removing peel from a variety of citrus fruits.

Chefy: You're right. I'm overqualified.

***

Chefy: One school in is advertising that American Idol contestant Katie Stevens is coming for breakfast with the students next week.

Mean Bean: You should be sure to mention in your cover letter how many times you have voted for her.

Chefy: I think I should also ask which 12th grade math class she is in and let them know that I am only interested in teaching that class.

***

Chefy: They are looking for a PE instructor. I wonder if I qualify.

Mean Bean: You could tell them that you don't have a mullet now, but you are open to the possibility.