Pontificum Scriblerus

We all know this about me: I am easily influenced, highly impressionable and moderately obsessive.  But even I am surprised. You see, I read a book. To put this in context, this is probably the first non-science book I read in several months.  I was on vacation, and a friend lent me her Kindle.  Upon her recommendation, I delved into The Paris Wife, by Paula McLain.  It is about Ernest Hemingway's first wife and their beautiful yet wrenching love story, marriage and demise.  I don't even know very much about Ernest Hemingway, and have not read much of his writing because in high school, when I took American literature, I happened to have a very anti-establishment teacher (ironically, educated at Harvard and Yale), who concentrated mostly on African American, feminist and gay/lesbian literature instead of "dead white male" literature.  She had a vendetta against "dead white males."  While others read The Great Gatsby, I read Olivia Butler, the name ...

So, incidentally, Munchkin turned one. It was about a month ago that this happened. And I still really can't believe it. It is completely and totally cliche to say this, but, oh my god, where did the year go?? I mean, forgive me, but cliches do come from somewhere; they come from things that happen over and over. And no matter how many people told me, over and over, that time flies by, and that they grow up too fast, I still cannot believe HOW fast! I had a squealy little meatball, and over the last year, he has matured into an intelligent, fully functioning, very opinionated infant - toddler, now! - with likes, dislikes, and a distinct personality. For example, when he was about 7 weeks old, my mom and I dressed him up in a little red suit and took him out to Zaftig's. I put a little red sox hat on him, because it matched his red jumper, and I'm one of those crazy moms who matches her infant's clothes to, like, his receiving blanket. (life is better when esthetic...

It's July 15th - originally, before baby, I would have been 15 days old as a full-fledged gastroenterologist, my fellowship having ended. I keep thinking about the same time 4 years ago, when residency was ending, and comparing it to now. Back then, it felt like the world was ending, and now, I'm sort of just... floating along. Relieved, almost. I was also talking to someone this week, and I exclaimed at one point: Man, I miss being a resident. And the other person said, Wow, that is a really sad statement. But it's true, residency was fun. Fellowship, on the other hand, has sucked. So, this led me to think and compare and contrast some more, and try to figure out exactly what has made this so bad, hard work and personalities notwithstanding. There are just so many things. First of all, as a resident, I solidly felt backed up by the attendings. We had their trust and benefit of the doubt, no matter the issue, be it a crazy ER attending trying to admit everyone, an unreasona...

Leaves fall, lights dim, mice die. Why try when I know No- vember brings failure? A swatch of sky and rain. How you throw dirt over a sinking feeling! The sun, a magic number, arbitrarily looms in the distance... The clock is ticking, wasting time, what harvest will I reap? How foolish! It's dark, where am I, how did I come to be here? Don't know. Will I stay?

Everyone should read this article in detail. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/12/opinion/12sibert.html Opinion Don’t Quit This Day Job By KAREN S. SIBERT Published: June 11, 2011 For female doctors, the decision to go part time isn’t just personal; it has consequences for patients and the public. Afterwards, should read http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/wont-hurt-bit/201106/the-mommy-wars-medical-edition. The bottom line is this: the top article's writer, a female anesthesiologist from California, asserts that the fact that female physicians are choosing to work part-time is hurting patients and the economy, and has a negative impact overall on a societal level. She plainly suggests that women need to choose between being a doctor or being a mother, and that both is not possible. The bottom article writes an intelligent response. I applaud Dr. Au, the latter writer, for keeping her wits about her enough to write an eloquent response, when the only thing I could say after I read Dr...

I blinked, and suddenly, the entire month of May disappeared, and I have not written a word for this blog. It seems my creative energies are directed elsewhere. To the same place most of my energies are directed these days - the baby. So, May is gone, and with it, several things have turned. For example, I just did my very last weekend call as a fellow. That's it. No mas. All the blood, and the sweat, and the tears... Also, today I got out one of my old 34D size bras. While hefty by most standards, after two years of unthinkable top-heaviness, I felt so small, almost athletic, basically, flat chested! I was ready to fly, lifted upwards toward the sun by my suddenly light breasts. Well - "suddenly" is, of course, far from accurate, as I have been dwindling my nursing for months, unable to give it up completely. It's because the baby uses me as a human pacifier, and being an attention junkie, and addicted to unconditional adoration, I've been loving it. Ex...

So, ok, yes, I got a fancy shmancy job. Although I am quite looking forward to having an office with a door and a desk, I am also starting to despair. And not just because I have about 5 months of training left and I feel no readier to practice than a year ago. (just today, my cecal intubation rate was about 50%, and I had to ask my buddy for advice on managing a routine situation with a vaccine...) I'm in despair because I don't know if I'll be happy living Down There. I've always looked at this fellowship and this three-year relocation as temporary, with the endpoint being moving back to Boston, or the Metro West. In fact, I wanted to live in an N-town, where I grew up, or even a W-town if I could stand the waspiness. When I started to look for jobs, though, I realized that apparently, the Boston area practices have hired all they needed to hire about 2 years ago, and now, no one was looking. Well - that's not quite true. Some were looking for people who wou...

Europe vs. USA. It's not a real battle, not even really an argument. It's more like a comparison, or a tug of war, or like a friendly competition, in the spirit of New York vs Boston and St. Petersburg vs. Moscow. I feel like they patronize us like an older, wiser, more experienced sibling. In turn, we contend that we know better and do even better, like a teenage smartass, while at the same time, harboring some deep and painful insecurities. Of course, that insecurity might just be me. When I travel to Europe, I get jealous of the way the live: seemingly, so much more relaxed, not to mention the free healthcare, education, the 5 weeks of vacation and the paid maternity leave. Also, the sidewalk cafes, the delicious bread and coffee, the public transportation and the Puritan tradition-free ... everything. Conversely, when I meet Europeans here, I always feel a little bit apologetic about how things are here. I'm halfway to guilty regarding making my husband move from...

We went for sushi today. We were out for only a couple of hours, and yet, there was a myriad of things I couldn't believe that I can list. First of all, the place was in this strip mall. And the strip mall is apparently a hub of activity because there were people everywhere. And apparently, you had to have a reservation for dinner at this strip mall sushi place. Can you believe that? Me neither. Secondly, while waiting for a table, we were sitting down next to a large group, and part of that group was a young lady, about my age. Munchkin became completely enthralled with her. Absolutely fascinated. He just kept staring at her and half smiling in awe. Then, he waved. That was the first time he waved ever. He's never waved at me. Or at daddy. Or at his teachers. But yes at this girl. And he then proceeded to wave at her 4 more times. Can you believe he waves now? And can you believe he waved at some random girl? Third, the idee fixe du jour is where we are goin...

I've been walking past these posted fliers for weeks. Only yesterday did I stop and read one, and I just had to share. They hang on the walls and doors of the endoscopy department. Line 1: Colorectal Cancer awareness benefit This line makes sense because we are the GI and endoscopy department, which is where one would go to either detect, diagnose or treat colorectal cancer. Line 2: at Leo's Ristorante This also makes sense, because it's a local venue that is both big and nice enough to host an event such as this. Line 3: Come support colorectal cancer awareness! Good, remind people why they're reading the poster to begin with. Line 4: Drinks served at 6 Self explanatory, and convenient: late enough so that people can make it from work, and yet, early enough so that people can go to work the next day. Line 5 (and this is where it gets interesting): Followed by a talk on... "Sex and the History of Prostitution" ?? Why does this benefit colorectal cancer and wh...

We had sushi for dinner tonight in this little place on the corner right next to our hotel. It was fun: I drank some kind of muddled blackberry vodka drink, and ate some rather tasty raw fish. El Baby was being nice tonight, and was, for some reason, extra flirtatious, happy and dancy, leading us to make friends with all the waitstaff and hosts, because who can resist a baby dancing in place with a toothless smile and a tiny tongue sticking out? You almost couldn't tell it was Texas at all; there was even loungy trance music in the background... It made me think about about 10 years ago, on my infamous (well, at least as far as the characters in my head are concerned, it was infamous. In fact, when I say, "that time in Spain when..." the characters in my head close their eyes, and nod understandingly: mmmyea yea. Yup.) and life changing trip in Spain. It was a summer study abroad program through the international study institute that apparently, had some sort of tie...

Why am I not even surprised that this happened to me on the streets of Boston? There I was, peacefully walking with my friend D, and her baby, down Beacon St... By the way, if someone tells you that it is possible for two women with strollers to walk side by side down a street around here, reject that person. We were only able to walk in tandem, and communicate via bullhorn and body language... ...walking down Beacon street on the way to my favorite park. There is this age old little shed-like shoe repair shop, which, I was fairly convinced, was a mummified version of itself when it opened in the late 1940s, until I saw it actually open that day. We were making our way past there, strollers and all, when this middle-aged to elderly Russian man approached us, went straight to me, and, showing me a slip of paper, started to hurriedly speak. I thought he was going to ask for directions, but he said, "Vat is dis? I have to pay или vat?" I'm a good samaritan, no problem...

I think it's winning. The pregnancy, I mean. I've been coasting along, with an "see? it's not so bad" kind of attitude, despite occasional gripes about blisters on feet, but lately, I think it's taking over. The other day I went home early from work because I thought I was having contractions. After sitting around for two hours, going, God, this is SO uncomfortable, regularly every 5 minutes, it dawned on me that maybe these were the famous Braxton Hicks? I called the OB office, and was instructed to go home, drink a big glass of water, and lie on my left side. Yes, Please! I tried to sneak out unseen, but got spotted by the secretaries, and soon the news had spread, and panic ensued. Typical. WHO WILL COVER THE INVALID PREGNANT GIRL WHILE SHE IS GONE? Meanwhile, it escaped people to try to find out what's going on, and if I'm actually gone for good, or just enyoing a doctor-sanctioned 3 hour afternoon nap. So, now, everyone thinks I might be having ...

I applied for GI fellowship knowing that chances were we might end up elsewhere, as in, Baltimore or Chicago, or even Albany. So, the fact that I got a spot in the area was actually a huge win. But that didn't keep me from crying about having to give up our cozy little apartment in Boston and make the move to Out Here. I work Out There, and Out Here is much closer than Boston. Ironically, initially, I gave up and said, let's just go for it... let's just live Out There too - at least, in my anticipated misery (and was I right!), I can be very very close to work. We poked around Out There's "luxury rental communities," but they were pretty depressing. They were mostly cardboard boxes with guilded decorations, and the only "luxurious" thing about them was the price - albeit, still cheaper than Boston. Out Here was a breath of fresh air. It was a sturdy solid construction and lacked that cookie cutter little box quality most "rental communite...

I'm an egocentric little girl, and I'm the first to admit it. I see the world mainly through Sasha-colored goggles, and tend to assume that everything has something to do with me. While often, it means I get a high from reveling in the sunshine of attention from - well - everyone, it's not always a good thing, as far as my self esteem and well-being go. I'm the type of person that will say, Why is so and so upset, are they mad at me? And then, I'll spend hours worrying about what I did to make it so. This, along with the fact that I continue to stick to the notion that no one REALLY cares about anyone... But before I continue. About my theory on caring. I do believe that no one really cares about anyone but themselves, and maybe one or two other people. I've discussed this before, I must have. It's the main dogma on which I pretty much base my entire existential crisis/critical existence. I've had arguments before about this. Kind-hearted folks...

The jig is up, I'm definitely pregnant. Strangers in the elevator are asking me when I'm due, and little old ladies at the grocery store are petting my stomach. So, that's fun story #1: I'm into the 3rd trimester, which, in and of itself, is a little unbelievable, considering I just found out I was pregnant in the first place. Fun story #2 is that, apparently, I've been cast in a remake of Alien, because on a daily basis, my own belly changes shape a la Lava Lamp, and occasionally, grows lumps that look like they're about to burst open and a release a little creature that runs off squealing across the spaceship. I no longer picture a seacreature doing nosedives across the uterus to romantic music; I now picture a very uncomfortable scrunched up little fetus who's a little whiney, and keeps trying to stretch his legs, but is constricted by non-compliant walls of smooth muscle. Sometimes, I take the liberty of pushing back, and then we get into a thumb war...

A few years ago, we made a family trip to Spain. Among other places, we visited this little town called Ronda down near the Mediterranean. This little village is nestled in the mountains, and in certain places, gorgeous views of vastness open up to you. Should be enough to take your breath away - hence, the phrase, "breathtaking views." I remember, though, standing at the edge of a mountain looking over a huge rocky valley, dissected by a sharp line between shadow and coolness on one side, and rays of sun on the other - I remember standing there and thinking, this should be taking my breath away. It really should, and I know it here (points to head) but not here (points to heart). What happened to my ability to feel that shaky feeling in the pit of the belly, that odd combination of joy, happiness, anticipation, and awe? I pondered for a while, and decided, that the acuity of such feelings fades and blunts with age. Remember, when you were a kid and you'd run tow...

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;...

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...

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...