Pontificum Scriblerus

Again, I know sex sells, but this is not just sex selling, it's somewhat disturbing. Actually, Spain was full of these GEMS of perfume and other commercials that are just like, que?? Not particularly sexy, but definitely weird: or this, which is sexy, with a like a... we're not really sexy, we're silly... touch at the end. What is it a commercial of? I thought perfume, but now I think a watch: or this one!! woweee, I need a ciggie. We don't get this kind of stuff on this side of the puddle...

Well, I'm back in the country of the proud Basques, and I even took some very touristical photos of green mountains and greener seascapes with my awesome camera, but that will have to be a different post. Currently, I'm contemplating the whole pregnancy ordeal. My conclusion: the whole thing is very odd. I've done a brief inventory of all the changes I have gone through so far, and this is what I have noted, in no particular order: a) my breasteses are of unsafe proportions and seem to have no inkling of stopping their ever-expansion. I fear for the safety of others; I think I am liable to turn around and give some kid a black eye. I have been eyeing burlap sacks, and wondering what they would feel like on my skin with an underwire. b) I pee a lot. c) Being hungry makes me nauseous. Eating makes me nauseous. As a sublist, here is a brief summary of things that make me nauseous: 1) the smell of EVOO and garlic 2) car rides 3) perfume 4) soap that's ...

My primary care doctor, whom I've been visiting for the past (scary number) of years, was somehow an important figure in me setting my mind on, making my way to, and then through, medical school. When he found out that I was applying, he slugged me on the shoulder and said, "Don't listen to anyone. Don't listen to those old doctors who say things aren't what they used to be. Listen to me. I'm a young doctor. Not a day goes by that I don't think how happy I am to be a doctor." When I got into medical school, he shook my hand, and said "Welcome to the club!" and immediately stopped charging me copay - still doesn't charge me, to this day. He has four children - one time, when I was worried about some finding, he called with results late on a Friday night, and said, "Listen, I have all these children, I never get to spend time with my wife, and we're about to go out to dinner - alone - but I couldn't go and enjoy meyself unl...

So, yes, I did have a positive test on my hands, but when I used the phrase, "Now that I'm pregnant," my husband stopped in his tracks, and gave me the "look" that said "don't get your hopes up." I did still have to wait nearly 48 hours for the blood test. That was just not going to happen. The next day, I phoned Fruitless and Fabulous, and fooled everybody by telling them that I wouldn't be around on the day my blood test was due, and I needed it drawn that day. Longest 3 hours of my life! HCG = 119. Magic number!

That was the approximate email my mom got on October 27th. But let me start from the beginning. We left off where I had an IUI, this time, with a very pleasant nurse practitioner - yes, yet another individual to get upclose and personal with my hooha. At that time, I was told I only have 1 follicle, and although my husband's sample was "the best sample ever," and my endometrial lining looked "juicy," I was not optimistic, and sort of breezed through the IUI with very little expectations. I then proceeded to spend the next week and a half searching for other area fertility clinics, because I said, I swear, once this cycle doesn't work, I'm done with Fruitless and Fabulous! I wasn't even going to use any peesticks, because what's the point of getting all worked up and disappointed, but on Monday, October 26th, what the hell. It was a long shitty day, and I was tired, and the stick was there. My plan was to do it covertly so as to save myself the...

I really hated my OB/Gyn rotation as a medical student. I thought, nothing good can come of so much estrogen in one place, both flowing from the patients and oozing from the doctors and nurses, all of whom are women except for a notable few. One of the notable few was the chief resident - what the hell was his name? - who was like a bossy important solitary rooster among many clucking hens. He was very handsome, and very aware of that. I really hated that rotation. I've always found the whole conception/birthing process extremely embarrassing and unjust - and still do, to some degree. I mean, women are at risk for so many things with childbearing, from stretch marks and weight gain to liver toxemia, heart failure and death, for example, and all just for fulfilling their biological purpose! Not to mention, starting at the moment that second pink line appears on the peestick in your hand, you cease to be yourself, becoming instead a factory, a physiological machine, a vessel wit...

We have been robbed of summer by psychotic weather that made June into November, and now, we're being robbed of beautiful yellow and gold fall by bipolar weather this time: can't decide between hot or cold, sun or snow. My mind and body are thoroughly confused by what's going on, and it must be exhausting because, lord, am I tired. So, I've developed a new routine. When I get home, nay, when I drag myself from car to elevator and ride up to the 3rd floor, and then drag myself down the impossibly long hallway across the threshold and into the apartment, the sequence goes something like this: I kick off shoes, and make a beeline for the couch on a good day, and straight into bed for a deeper nap on a bad day. Usually, I fall asleep immediately, and for at least an hour, and wake up completely disoriented on account of the cat or the husband confusedly pondering, poking and/or pawing my sleeping mass. Then, typically, I watch the husband make a meal from the couch, con...

Early morning, crisp frosty air... driving to work... Looking out the window at the hospital to see fluffy flakes of white snow doing an energetic polka in the sky... It's the perfect winter day! Except it's OCTOBER! What happened to yellow leaves and the smell of rain and wet asphalt? What happened to lightweight jackets and rosy cheeks? What happened to global warming? Global "WARMING!" Pretty white snowflakes convert into disgusting sloshy grey sleet. That is because snow does not belong in October.

This sort of thing is enough to make one's hair stand on end, even for me, even now, but I thought I'd share, and maybe reflect on my own life and thank my lucky stars. For now. I just saw a patient: a 45 year old woman. She has a son with Down's syndrome, and her husband is legally blind. She's the primary caretaker of both of them. She has massively metastatic breast cancer, on her third round of chemotherapy. I'm seeing her for a GI bleed, which is probably the least of her problems, let's be honest. But if I can fix this one thing for her, though, maybe I'll make that one aspect of her situation more bearable. Seems unfair, doesn't it? Her whole situation? Isn't lightening not supposed to strike twice in the same place? It seems to have struck this lady 3 times. There is no "fair" when it comes to life and death and illness. It's like an ocean storm, or an erupting volcano, or a freezing winter. How do you call something...

The second Tamoxifen cycle is well under way, I believe I forgot to mention anything about it. This time, I had bothersome low grade nausea, mis-perceived as hunger, leading to constant grazing but not sensible eating. Not sure what, if anything, this is doing for my weight and waistline, not to mention my GERD. That's a minus. Primed by my previous experience, I was heavily armed with Benzoyl Peroxide, 10%, and Salicylic acid, 2%, so the chest, forehead and backne was not as much of a problem. That's a plus. So the ultrasound and labwork were on Friday. They switched techs on me. You wouldn't think it matters, but it does: they have different techniques of twisting the darn wand within my nethers. Incidentally, am I the only one who thinks that calling the ultrasound transducer probe "wand" unnecessarily and unfairly romanticizes an utterly unromantic instrument and process? Plus, this lady doesn't turn the monitor towards me, so I have to crane my...

I have a stomach ache today. [that sentence played in my head to the tune of Green Day's Restless Heart Syndrome] I can't decide if it's due to the aftermath of a massive Italian food overload, or due to certain indiscretions taken with concoctions of ethyl alcohol, sugar, and esters (this is my fantasmogoric misuse of chemical terminology that underlines my ignorance of the whole science, but I think I seem to remember "esters" were responsible for perfumes, smells and flavors? I'm trying to say, I had many artificially flavored alcoholic beverages last night). Dinner was decadence with tomatoes, olive oil, and a rich creamy sauce. We waited for a while, and worked up quite a cranky appetite, which, as we all know, leads to the eyes-bigger-that-gizzard phenomenon, plus, the owner, feeling guilty for making us wait, sent over more FREE food - basically, we all packed it in like it was our job. After dinner, where I had already downed a few glasses of ferme...

Does it mean anything that for my birthday I got a gift certificate for a facial and rejuvenating skin treatment, a gift certificate for a massage, a gift certificate for yoga, and a big box of makeup? Is it that my family thinks I'm vain, or is it that they're trying to tell me that I need all the help I can get? Either way, birthday, shmirthday. 31 has no character, kind of like its cousin, 29. Although, as someone rightfully noted, after 30, who the hell cares. Fade into the background.

My sleeping schedule lately quite possibly rivals that of a newborn. How many times this weekend did I pull at my husband's sleeve and murmur, eyes half closed, "I have to tell you a secret... I'm ready for a nap?" The answer is TMTC, ie too many to count. Friday, after a relatively light day at the office, I came home and collapsed into bed from 5 until 7, and by 11, I was log-like again. Saturday, having woken up at 9:30 after feline cajoling, I took a nap from 4-6, and by 12, I was yawning so frequently, I missed half the conversation at dinner, and had to bail on possible further alcohol consumption in favor of more sleeping. Finally, Sunday, I forced my eyelids open at 10:30, and after about 1 hour of manual labor picking up my dirty clothes of the floor, I started rubbing my eyes, and eventually, could no longer resist the urge to curl up under the fuzzy nap blankie on the couch for another hour. Then, around 9, my cornish hen dinner still making rounds in ...

"Occasionally, people get pregnant from intercourse," the doctor told me. What a strange statement, I mean, isn't intercourse a requirement for procreation? Usually, but not in the infertility world. In the infertility world, intercourse is just the frosting on instrumentation. This cycle, we practiced "timed intercourse," per the doctor. "Timed" doesn't mean we click a stop-watch when we start.... and then when we finish (I've been doing that for years, doctor's orders not necessary. I jest.). It means doing the old school ovulation calculation, and daily procreation copulation - on purpose - during that time all the way to freedom a week later. You see, I was taking the tamoxifen, but was in Amsterdam for the would-be IUI date, and we didn't want to "waste" the cycle. After the Clomid debacle, and the havoc it bestowed on my psyche and my uterine lining (it was non-existent), I was picturing a healthy juicy layer of e...

Looks like the blogging inspiration muse has left the building. Ever since I realized that I look like a crazy person, based on some of the angry stuff I write, she's been gone - I think I scared her away. She'll be back, but I don't know when. When new drama happens, probably.

So, my first weekday back from my Amsterdam vacation, and I'm heading westward on the highway, off to an ultrasound appointment, and then clinic, and then maybe some scoping in the afternoon. I'm whistling while I'm driving, and life is good; I'm even pleasantly surprised that there is not much traffic, and I muse to myself about the benefits of leaving the house an hour early, trafficwise. There is a huge pothole without any kind of cone, and I spot it and avoid it successfully, and I pat myself on the back. I arrive at my appointment, and decide to leave the car by the curb, illegally parked, because I'll only be a second. So, I'm swiftly pulling over when I drive right into the curb. This happens, right? You sometimes skim the curb when pulling over too close? I mean, it's not celebrated, but it happens, it's not unusual. Unless it's happening to me. Because I also exploded my tire! I mean, the thing was busted. It had a tear in it the siz...

I was just thinking... In the right setting and context, this blog would totally corroborate the idea that I'm emotionally unstable. That's fantastic.

It's been found! I knew it wouldn't leave me. It was found exactly where I thought I left it - but hidden away. I'll take that as a sign from agnostic powers that be that something good is going to happen.

I lost my stethoscope. I had it one moment, and the next, I didn't. I lose things all the time. In fact, I am a professional loser: as soon as I realize something is gone, I can stop in my tracks, and immediately trace it back to where I last saw it, and that way, I can usually recover...75% of the things that I lose. This time, I thought I knew where it was, but when I went to look, it wasn't. My stethoscope and I have been together for 8 years. It was given to me as a gift from my friends, because I was the only one left who still hadn't purchased it. Typical of me: why do now what you can put off until tomorrow? I have tried to lose it, or it has tried to lose me many times throughout the years, but we've always found our way back to each other. One time, I had lost it for a month and a half! I remember what happened: I was cards night float. It was 1 am. Suddenly, the operator called Dr. Kapil overhead to the heart failure unit. Dr. Kapil was a cards fellow;...

Oh insomnia, old friend, how I've not missed you...

Looks like after 3 whole days of summer, we're back in November - but in September. Absolutely black skies are spewing forth bucketfuls of water, and all is sad and dreary. My long awaited "friend" finally arrived (read: I got my wretched period, 2 months too late). As tends to happen, it brought with it cramps, backache and epic moodswings. On the other hand, "Epic boobs" are back to normal. Thus, a new cycle begins. Tamoxifen is in the mail. If I get a PE or have a stroke, you'll know, because I'll stop posting. Otherwise, I'll chronicle every pimple, every gained pound and, recent moodswings notwithstanding, every future moodswing, as I expect to have many more.

I'm starting to fear my commute. Forget the two car accidents, that is not why I fear it. It's because I do some of my worst thinking in the car while I'm driving. It's a half hour to forty five minutes of me versus my brain, and the brain usually wins. Yesterday, I had this fleeting thought: I can't wait to switch to my next rotation. And along with this thought, I imagined my old hospital, and a whole other service. A general medicine service. Then, something spoke up and reminded me that I'm doing GI, and there will be no switching. So, I tried to picture myself as a practicing gastroenterologist, and I realized that I have no picture of it in my head. At all. Will I be seeing patients in clinic? Will I be scoping 2 days a week at a surgi-center? It all felt completely alien. Even as a resident, when I was DYING to get into GI, I had an idea of what I would do when I fisnished: I thought I'd do liver, and deal with cirrhotic sickies. But that d...

In other news, I went to my mom's girls' birthday party today, and one of her friends got stung by a bee. She was sitting next to me. First, she developed a huge welt at the bite site. Then, she developed a diffuse urticarial rash like I've never seen. I was sitting next to her, so she showed me. I went in search of Benadryl, but found only Neosporin. Then, she started to complain that her lips were feeling numb and swelling - which they were. Amazingly enough, another one of my mom's friends was actually this one's real-life PCP! Plus, there were two nurses present, both VNAs, who had bags of medical stuff in their cars, which materialized promptly. There was blood pressure taking, and listening for wheezing happening on the stoop in my mom's kitchen. Soon enough, a medrol dose pack materialized as well. It's good to be connected. I offered a rectal exam, but no one took me up on it.

I have been toying around with many creative ideas about what to write next. For example, I was going to discuss the diurnal nature of my moodiness, stealing Kaverin's idea of the Hourglass man - losing my shit slowly throughout the day such that by night I'm a downright mess, and overnight am forced to stand on my head to get back to normal. There were other ideas, just as interesting - to me, at least, but this blog is about me, so... But all I can think about right now are my boobs!! And this is not some sort of auto-erotic or exhibitionist effort. And if boobs make people uncomfortable, don't read further. This is all about biology. Inflated and heavy, like water-filled ballons ready to pop, they are exerting compressive force on my ribcage, causing restrictive physiology, which makes me short of breath walking up the stairs. Clocking in at two pounds each (I imagine. I mean, I tried to weigh them, but it's difficult), they're causing painful shoulder and ...

I know that the last post was hasty and very hatefully negative and childish, and has been here for days. I keep opening "new post" windows, but unfortunately, I'm afraid I don't have much good material with which to fill them. That is not to say that there aren't thoughts teeming in my head, because my head has been ready to tip over and splash out in the last few days. It's just that I have been a hysterical tachycardic ball of nerves and anxiety since that Thursday morning, more or less, and I have just not been able to formulate a sentence that makes sense. I've been driven to tears every single day in the last 4 days, sometimes twice in a day, leading me to be really unfair to everyone around me on the one hand, doubting my everything and expecting to be fired on the other, and really hating just every thing and every one on the third. Sometimes, like when I try to wrap my head around various injustices and inconveniences, I get this angry feeli...

I'm feeling black and nasty. So, I hate everything. This is a list of things I hate this morning: 0.5 My messy dirty cat-hairy apartment 0.75 My hairdryer 1. Commuting 2. Traffic 3. Roadwork 4. Road cops 5. SUVs 6. Cramps in my abdomen 7. Facebook 8. Thursday because it's not Friday 9. Prospects of being on call this weekend 10. Parking under construction and not enough space 11. iTrip and poor connection resulting in staticky music 12. My car's crappy suspension and bumpy roads that bruise my kidneys 13. Arctic AC 14. Outpatient procedures 15. Family practice residents (what do you mean, "You don't do taps?!") 16. Dictating 17. My boobs 18. Dumbass music they play around here 19. The age 30 20. People trying to talk to me, and having to be nice 21. ...I'm sure there will be another thing....

During that one summer, when I was six, and we were vacationing in Western Ukraine on the Azov (the one when I got really sick with tushenka), something happened that I think set the tone for basically the rest of my life. Of course, when I tell this story, sobbing, wringing my hands, and asking, "Why!! Why!!" my mother groans and rolls her eyes, calls me alternately Sigmund or Freud, and starts reminding me of all the times that I witnessed grandpa tearing wings off flies and how that's made me a sexual deviant. "Yes," she says, "It's all about your mother. That's why you're such a fuck up, DOCTOR." (Of course, I'd never met Grandpa, he died 10 years before I was born, I've yet to see a true definition of sexual deviancy, and for those who are slow to respond to sarcasm, that last statement implies that because I am a doctor, I am not at all a fuck up, therefore, the mother is not to be blamed.) But the story is such. As I said...

My life is a veritable ant farm of activity, especially as of late. As of late, it is as though someone stuck a stick right in the middle of the antfarm, and all the the little ants are going around absolutely crazed trying to figure out what to do about the stick and how to get rid of the dead bodies. It's total overload, inspiration wise. I want to write and write and write, the graphomania is just gurgling and bubbling over the top, but which thing gets the honor of becoming a story? I start something in my head, and immediately forget it, and have it replaced by something else. I need an out! Remember before fellowship, when I had interests and friends who were not yet abandoned and who also had interests, and sometimes those interests resulted in delicious dinners? I seem to recall I used to cook and be not bad at it, according to some (awful, according to others, but I think those others had inferiority issues of their own). Well, first year has ended, and I've been ...

It's because I got the iPhone, and I can Shazam and buy songs on the spot! Suddenly, I'm all about discography and lyrics and artist bios of bands and songs that have been around for ever, and I never thought twice about them. I get into things very quickly, and then try to stop me, I'm like a goddamned run away train (pardon the pun, Soul Asylum). Take Song 2 by Blur. Released when? I may have still been a teenager. When grunge was grunge and men were men. Actually, I think this is just after the grunge era. The song is very well known, and according to Wiki, their most recognizable in the US. And yes, I used to drive with BCN blaring (RIP, dear old friend), and yell out "WOOO - HOO!" along with the music, and yes, it's been played and played, but only the other day, did I put that funky iPhone right up to the car speaker and Shazam the darned song and find out who wrote it and try to figure out why they did. Let me just confess, Shazam has migrated ...

Immigration was, of course, a lightening bolt, a doorstop, a derailment for me, as a developing human, and for my parents, as humans cruising along. I can't believe I haven't written more about it. I should be capitalizing on it; I should be producing personal statement after personal statement about how I've overcome the odds as a self-made daughter of poor immigrants. (That's tongue in cheek, because I'm anything but self-made) But aside from the fact that I've always felt that's cheating, I just don't think I could find words, phrases and structure to write about it in a cohesive way that wouldn't be boring and cheesy. Plus, what aspect immigration do you pick to write about? What about it? It was fun? It was tough? It was stressful? It was hungry? Maybe just some notes? 1) Bribing To the soviet Russian, nothing ever happens on its own. You know that old saying, if you want something done, do it yourself? I'd change it to "if you want som...

When we were in immigration, that surreal and wonderful 4 month hiatus from either real life, be it Russian or American, we ended in Vienna during the week between Christmas and New Year. It was an absolutely magical week. Vienna, to us, freshly released from the cinder block world of communism, was in and of itself magical. We arrived, we got dropped off at the pension in the middle of the night, we fell asleep - still soviet. We woke up - free! We looked out the window to see "Kindermoden" children's fashions and "Mondo" supermarket. We went outside without hats or boots because it was 15 degrees Celsius in middle of December, and the streets were squeaky clean. We purchased baking yeast because we thought it was butter, and we bought a pastry to share between three people: it was the best thing we'd ever tried... Everything glittered. It was Christmas season, and the city was decorated, but not only that, there was also crystal everywhere. S...

...and it looks a little something like this... extra points if you can guess where I'm sitting.

Starting a new hospital today! I was just reminiscing what it was like to start a new rotation every month without a clue of what to expect as a medical student. I was not a very good student - unless I was really interested. I was never, and still am not, very good at faking anything. I was a good resident, though, mostly driven by the need to impress and keep up with my peers. I distinctly remember thinking that I don't really care if the attendings don't like me, as long as I perform and run a tight ship and know what I'm doing in the face of my co-residents. An attending could have rolled his eyes or been straight up unhappy about service to my face, and I'd let it roll of my scales. But then, there would be a day when I'd sign out the MICU service post call, go home, then call in later in the afternoon to see how my folks are doing, find out that one of them had a seizure, experience a bona fide anxiety attack that I failed to take some sort of preventativ...

I'm sick of talking about Tamoxifen and how much I hate Fruitless and Fabulous. Also, I'm sick of work-related autoflagellation driven by my own apathy and their subtle abuse. How about a post about a song? Generally, I will learn the first verse, and then my short attention span takes over and I start talking on the phone. But if there is a song I really like, then I am apt to look up the lyrics, learn them, and then try to figure out what they mean. Which is kind of pointless, because a lot of the time, lyrics don't make the song per se. But I'm like that. In fact, it used to piss off my mom back in the day; we'd watch a movie together, or I'd read a book, or we'd see a painting, and I'd say, "Oh my GOD, this is obviously so symbolic, but what does it MEAN!!" She'd always say, "Maybe it doesn't have to MEAN, maybe it's just enough that you realize it's symbolic!" By the way, and off topic, about my mom. It...

Well, the nurse calls back, and the gist of our conversation is: "We're just gonna call today day 1 of your cycle. And we're gonna start you on a big-gun drug (well, not to us cause we use it all the time, so we're actually not gonna tell you anything about it, like, the fact that it'll cause hotflashes, and it has thrombogenic properties and it can cause uterine cancer in a small percentage of women, or instructions on how to take it), and we'll call you in a perscription." WTF!! First of all, I'd think that when a patient is a physician as well, they'd extend a small courtesy of having the doctor talk to me, not a nurse, so that I can ask my questions and get a semi-intelligent answer instead of "Polly wanna cracker" playback from rounds! Secondly, since when, even for laypeople patients, is it ok to have a nurse call you up and tell you you're getting started on a new drug without so much as an explanation of the drug? I'm t...

Went to the ultrasound today, accompanied by hubby, which is a deviation from the norm. It was good to have him there so that I could throw punches and bitchy quips his way when results were less than satisfactory. It was, however, admittedly interesting , to say the least, to have him awake and present when the tech said, "Ok, let's have you insert this ..." Although, I think it brought us closer together, as these things tend to do. Have I ever told the story about how and why he decided he would have to marry me? Let's just say, the story has the words, "acetaminophen suppositories" in it. Well, anyway, inserting this ended up showing that I a) continue to have thin lining, although, it's "not that bad" according to the tech. b) I have a collapsing follicle, which means I did ovulate, but who knows when, last cycle, this cycle, we'll never know. c) there is also a huge corpus luteum cyst on the left ovary, sized 7 cm. Last time this ...

We got iPhones!! That is exciting news! So exciting, that, apparently, it's worth posting on the blog; although, I'm starting with this to make a bigger deeper point. We got iPhones, and I'm kinda sad. Don't get me wrong, I've been coveting this toy for a very long time, dropping passive aggressive hints at home left and right. I've always been met with basically a stone wall. Recently, though, something changed; life has been rough to us, plus, we got a small inheritance of about $340 to be spent as we wish. And by inheritance, I mean it's a reimbursement for moneys already rendered for hubby's trip to the Dominican ER, which we consider sunk cost. (Did I not write about that? For shame.) Thus, we decided to upgrade ourselves to the ultimate. Except that now I'm kinda sad. You see, I had an iTouch before, for almost 2 years, and it's never done me any wrong! We had a great time together, and now it lies forgotten, tossed aside, next to the landl...

http://crooksandliars.com/logan-murphy/ohio-republican-re-introduces-bill-gi So, a pro life Republican lawmaker wants to re-introduce a bill which would make abortion impossible unless written permission slips from both parents are signed. There is so much wrong with this, I don't even know where to start. I think I'll start with the point of view of a pro-choice woman. I am not a feminist, not really, not in the classic sense of the word. However, by this age, I can recognize when rights are being granted and then taken away. So, by telling a woman that yes, she has the right to choose - but only if a man agrees, and signs a paper - is patronizing, offensive and incongruent. Plus, I'd like to point out the blind assumption that every woman who is pregnant out there has a man whose permission she has the chance to obtain; this implies horrendous stigma, as far as I'm concerned. I'm not even talking about special cases, like rape or incest, although it's wor...

-By 9 am Saturday, I'd already gotten a phone call from a well known borderline psychotic patient, whose emergency of the day was that although he eats ok, the vitamins and minerals don't seem to be absorbed. Upon my reasonable suggestion that he move up his clinic appointment next week to talk about it with Dr Z, he said, "I see where this is going; I think I'm gonna get the hell away from this hospital, or somethin." Yours truly is just jaded enough at this point to say, "Ok sir, sounds good," wish him a nice weekend, and hang up. And to think, the first time I spoke to this patient, I was actually concerned he might be suicidal, and was gonna call the police to his house. It only took 3 or 4 3am phonecalls requesting percocets, and proclaming love for Dr Z for me to stop taking him seriously. -The high light of the day so far is the giant tray of slightly soggy sandwiches left over from the farewell party for Kerry (is it bad that I don't know...

I bitch about work. A LOT. In case any of you out there think I'm exaggerating, here's a little chat I had with an actual patient, not an actor, about her experience in the ED of a prominent tertiary care institution. This particular patient is a highly educated young woman under the care of a fertility specialist, hence, the follistim references. Here we go: Actual patient, not an actor : I came in to the ER at 2. Explained to the triage: follistim numb painful arm fear of blood clot, known side effect of follistim my Dr. who is at COLUMBIA(this was a Columbia ER) SENT ME please help us rule out blood clot does that seem clear to you? me : rather. APNAA : no really please tell me I may be expecting too much seven hours later SEVEN I come up and that's when the nurse says oh so what did you inject into your arm? me : you should have been like... antifreeze.Is that bad? APNAA : it was just like unbelievable!! i have no words for that experience apparently the THREE triage...