Pontificum Scriblerus

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...