Overheard in the ICU Today

Resident 1: Did that patient die?

Resident 2:  Yeah, celestial discharge.

Resident 3:  D/C to JC.





Resident 1:  Hey, did you call Urology to see the patient?

Resident 2:  The rod squad?

Resident 3:  The stream team?




Resident 1:  Did you check that guy's penis?

Resident 2:  That's what she said......




Fellow:  How'd the tap go?

Resident:  Good....I tapped him twice.    Er....(giggle giggle).



Apparently the ICU team has regressed to 12 year old boy humor. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hello Friends!

Hey there!  So, I've noticed that I have a few followers of this here little blog.  While I know most of you...some of you are peeps that I haven't actually met.  And that leaves me wondering....Who are you?!?!  I'm excited that you think my blog is worth coming back to (you must have a lot of time on your hands) and I'd like to know more about you.  So if you have the time, leave a comment and introduce yourself.  This will kind of be like a bridal shower where you go around the room introducing yourselves one by one.  And if I already know you, feel free to leave a comment as well.  And if you just stumbled on my blog because you googled "pigs feet" and this is were you ended up, you can also leave a message! 

Word to your mother.....

I See You - Life in the ICU

I think I finally have my sleep cycles straightened out.  It was a bit difficult going from working nights to working days, perhaps what jet lag feels like.  Anyhow, it's nice to be able to sleep at home, in my bed, with my super-cute and cuddly husband.  And it's also nice to be able to put my little Peanutty girl to bed with a big smooch and hug each night. 

I'm just a few days into my ICU rotation and it has been a whirlwind so far!  On my first day, I got to place an art line, watch a chest tube insertion and see an autopsy. 

I'd never seen an actual autopsy before and it was an experience I felt like I needed to have as a doctor.  We spent a lot of time with cadavers in med school, but they are so altered by the preservation process that they hardly seem like real people.  The autopsy was just crazy because the body was so freshly deceased.   The pathologist had already started the procedure when my senior resident and I showed up.  We walked into a big room, and there in the center, on a metal slab, was the patient.  Chest and abdomen were opened up and all of the organs had been removed.  It looked like something out of a horror movie.  The pathologist slowly and methodically sliced into all of the organs to take samples for analysis.  He looked more like a butcher than a doctor.  It's amazing the things people can get used to after doing them on a daily basis for several years. 

Pathologist: Hey, have you seen the pancreas?

Assistant:  Well, I'm sure it's around here somewhere (rumaging through the abdominal contents which have been placed in a large bucket).

Very surreal.


I almost got to start a central line today but my senior resident beat me to it.  I'm going to have to start being a little more aggressive.  Instead I got to take another stab (quite literally) at an art line.  This one I missed....dogonnit!  Intern fail.  Then the med student came in and got it.  I haven't seen my ego since...last I heard she was in Bermuda. 

Okay...I'm having a really hard time keeping my eyes open.  I'm going to go to bed now.   Then I'm going to get up at 4:30 and go back to work.  Where I live. 

Hello....I suck at blogging.

My apologies for being a blogging failure.  And I don't have a great excuse for being MIA....my schedule has been relatively tolerable for the past month or so.  Right now I'm on nights at the VA, so I'm actually blogging in the middle of taking random calls from nurses.

Some of my favorite pages so far:
 - Um, hi....Dr. Bartlett?  Yeah, so this patient is complaining that his butt feels paralyzed....

 - Hello Dr. Bartlett.  This patient has a blood sugar of 350 and he is on a regular diet.  AND I found candy wrappers in his room.  He needs a diabetic diet and a diabetes educator to visit him.  (Now this would be a perfectly fine page, except that it occurred at 2:00am.  I'm sorry, but we don't have diabetes educators on call for STAT consults in the middle of the night.) 

 - Hi there, I'm calling about Mr. X....on the red team.
    (Dragging myself out of bed, finding my glasses)  Well, I don't have that person on my check  out list.  Are you sure he's a red patient?
    Yes...Mr. X....on the red team.
     I didn't get check out on him....is he a new admit?
    No....he's been here a while.
    (I look in the computer and find that Mr. X is on the green team)
    Well, it looks like he is on the green team.....
    Oh....oh my goodness.  So sorry....
    Humph!

 - Hi Dr. Bartlett.  Ms. R is having 9/10 pain!!!
  Where is her pain?
  EVERYWHERE!!!
  (I walk up 6 flights of stairs to evaluate the patient....who states upon my arrival that "well, I'm really not doing too bad."  With a smile on her face...at 1:00am)

After this experience, I'm convinced that patients lay around all day thinking of ridiculous reasons to wake me up in the middle of the night.  So far, they are winning.  And the nurses seem to be in on it. 

Okay....patient with pressure dropping....I'm off.  And no mom, they don't need a chest tube :)

Then Sings My Soul (alternate title: The day I cried like a baby infront of complete strangers)

I apologize for my extended blogging absence.  I temporarily lost my blogging mo-jo.  Because I was working 80 hour weeks.  So I guess I temporarily lost everything but the basic functions needed to sustain life....heart beat, aerobic metabolism....you get the picture. 

I did another stint in Palliative Care last month and I loved it!  I'm fairly certain that I'll do a fellowship in PC after I finish my Internal Medicine residency.  If you're not familiar with PC, it's functions are broad.  Palliative Care docs help manage symptoms, help patients and families navigate our complex medical system, support patients and families during difficult illnesses and help in end of life care.  That barely scratches the surface of what Palliative Care involves, but I'll leave it at that for now. 

So during my Palliative Care rotation, I got to spend a few days at the Hospice House.  This is a really beautiful facility that houses patients who are often in their final days.  One afternoon at the HH, my attending suggested that I shadow the music therapist.  I'd never seen the music therapist in action, so I agreed. 

We walked into the room of a patient whom I had never met.  I introduced myself to her family and took a seat at a small table.  The music therapist took out her guitar and asked the patient's son what kind of music his mother liked.  It didn't take him long to report that her favorite music had always been hymns.  If there is one thing in this world that is guaranteed to make me cry....hymns. 

The music therapist then started strumming her guitar slowly.  The first sounds of an old familiar song.....How Great Thou Art.  

Hello there, my name is Dr. Bartlett, and I have a tendency to cry.....easily.

It was surreal as she sang:
When Christ shall come
With shouts of acclamation
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart......
Then I shall bow
In humble adoration
And there proclaim
"My God! How great Thou art!"

She finished How Great Thou Art and went right into His Eyes are on the Sparrow.  

Breathe.....just breathe........weenie.

Then In the Garden, one of my dad's favorite songs.

Are you kidding me, lady? 

All the while, the patient is lying in her bed, eyes closed.  Peace and serenity evident in her wrinkled face.  Her son recalled her involvement in the church throughout the years....up until she became too sick to attend. 

And then.....you can probably guess for yourselves.  The final nail in my coffin. 

Amazing Grace

I tried to focus on something....anything other than the fact that I was in a room with a dying woman and her family, listening to Amazing Grace.

I generally find catheter bags helpful in these situations.  (Hum....wonder how many cc's in the last 24 hours.  Looks kind of dark.  He he....that's pee pee!)  But this patient didn't have a catheter.  Blast!
I managed to hold it together until the last verse.  The last verse is often left out, especially in all of the new-fangled versions of the song (don't get me started).  But the last verse is my favorite:

When we've been here ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Then when we've first begun

Stick a fork in me.

So there I sat.  Trying to be all professional and doctor-y, but reduced to a puffy-eyed, snot-dripping, tear-streaming, blubbering mess.  Seriously.  I was crying so hard I could barely speak.  In a room full of strangers.

I was sure that the patient's son thought I was nuts, but when the music ended, he put his arm around me and said, "That lump in your throat is what will make you a great doctor.  Don't lose the lump." 

The music therapist and I stepped out of the room and I tried to make a joke about regaining my composure, but I still couldn't even speak.  I spent the rest of the day with red, puffy eyes and splotchy skin.  The curse of a fair complexion....and a tender heart.

T waves

Last month I had a patient with a potassium level of 5.5 when I checked his labs in the morning.  5.5 is slightly elevated.  Slightly elevated potassium scares interns (me).  Slightly elevated potassium can turn into really elevated potassium which can turn into an arrhythmia which can turn into death.  Death is bad - I catch on quickly.  So I did what any good intern would do....rechecked the potassium level and got an EKG.  Sure enough, potassium was still high on the recheck, and the EKG.....well....I'm only on chapter 3 of Dubin's Rapid Interpretation of EKGs, but it looked to me like the T waves might be peaked.  They were certainly tall.  But I wasn't sure.  This is the part where the intern (me) freaks out a little bit.  Peaked T waves can be the first sign that the elevated potassium is affecting the patient's heart.  It was certainly affecting the intern's (my) heart....as it began beating more rapidly. 

Are these T waves peaked?  Well heck....they look a little peaked....maybe they're just tall....tall but not peaked.....or maybe they're just peaked and the patient is going to die in 5 seconds because you don't know the difference between peaked and tall.  Maybe you should just call your senior....or maybe you should sit down with your head between your legs.  Or maybe you should go get a doughnut. 

Just then, a senior resident, who I'd never spoken to before in my life, started walking down the corridor toward me.  I lurched out from behind the patient's chart, clutching the EKG in my hands, knuckles white, thrusted it out in front of me and said, "ARE THESE T WAVES PEAKED!?!?!?!"  My heart was beating 500 times a minute....I was about to call a Rapid Response on myself.  He looked at me like I was crazed....which was an accurate evaluation, but he took a quick glance at the EKG and said, "No....just a little tall.  Give him some calcium gluconate, D50 and insulin, and a little kayexalate." 

Yeah....that's what I thought......

So now I'm much more comfortable managing hyperkalemia. 

Next time....managing an upper GI bleed. 

briefly....

I got to sleep in until 6:40 this morning.  There was a bright yellow ball in the sky when I drove to work.  This frightened me initially.  Then I recognized it as the sun. 

The End

No, but I play one on TV

Most days I feel like a complete and utter impostor.  I walk around the hospital with my long white coat, examining patients and writing orders and wondering who in the world thought it was a sound idea to slap an MD behind my name and let me be responsible for sick people.  Nurses address me as "Dr. Bartlett" and ask me questions about patient care.  They call and tell me that my patient just had a run of sinus tachycardia in the 170s.  Then they ask me what I want to do about it.  My response usually starts with an  "Uh......well......uh......"  Then the pharmacist pages me wondering why on God's green earth my patient with c. diff is on both vancomycin AND imodium.  "Well.....er.....uh....."  I've heard on several different occasions that you just have to act the part.  So far, I think I'm a pretty crummy actor.

And speaking of pharmacists...they must think that doctors are the biggest idiots in the world.  We have a pharmacist that rounds with us daily, and bless her heart, she's as sweet as can be, but the look on her face would suggest that she wonders, frequently, who in the world thought it was a sound idea to slap an MD behind my name and let me be responsible for sick people.  She paged me yesterday and had to explain that the dose I'd written for on a particular medication didn't exist.  Intern fail. 

Thursday was a bad day.  I felt particularly incompetent on Thursday.  I spent most of the afternoon on Thursday cornering my co-interns in the halls and asking them if they felt incompetent every second of every day, like I did.  The response was an overwhelming YES.  So that made me feel better.  Then I called my smartest doctor friend Bethany and she reported that she also felt incompetent on a daily basis.  Again, I was reassured.  I believe, however, if you got a CT of my head, you would see a striking amount of atrophy.  Or nothing at all.  Just a big, empty skull.  Abrainia. 

Today was a better day.  My incompetency meter was probably a 4/10 today, as opposed to a 9/10 like on Thursday.  And I got home at about 4.  And I have tomorrow off.  That means I can go to church and ask God to make me a little less incompetent. 

So, in summary:
 - I am incompetent
 - Pharmacists believe most doctors to be stupid
 - Pharmacists are correct in their assessment
 - I have the day off tomorrow

Differential Diagnosis Part 2

During my Hematology rotation, I became convinced that I had leukemia, or some other horrible cancer that had metastasized to my bones. My symptoms were: weight loss, night sweats and leg pain.  I had several conversations with my senior resident trying to convince him that I needed a bone marrow biopsy.  He thought I was crazy. 

After analyzing the situation further, it was determined that my symptoms were residency induced.  The leg pain was secondary to being on my feet all day, and being dumb enough to wear heels.  The night sweats were caused by my crazy stress and anxiety.  They got better when Danny started turning the fan on at night.  And the weight loss....well, I guess that's expected when you have no time to eat.

So....I feel better now. And I have all day tomorrow to try to re-gain the weight I've lost.  And my senior resident was right.  

Day Off!

Happy Saturday to you!  This is my fourth day off for the month and I'm enjoying the heck out of it!  I went to bed last night at 9:30 and woke up this morning at 9.  During that time I dreamed that I had another baby....who I delivered all by myself.  And then somehow I ended up in a canoe.  And then a strip club.  Freud would love me.  Last week I had a dream that I could palpate my own pancreas.

Enough about my freaky-weird dreams.  Things at the hospital have been good.  I kinda-sorta feel like I'm getting the hang of things.  For one, I've learned that when I go to the bathroom, I should leave my pager elsewhere.  I've also learned not to pimp the med students.  They seem to know more than me.  But my coat is longer, so neener neener neener. 

Oh, and my journalism degree is finally benefiting me.  I've received several complements from my fellow and my attending on how nicely written my consult notes are.  This really says nothing about how knowledgeable I am about Factor IX deficiency or thrombophilia, but how well I can feverishly scribble down what my attending rattles off and translate that into a note.  It's been suggested that I write better than I speak.  I'm not sure what to make of that.  Maybe I'll stop speaking. 

And of utmost importance.....I finally got PAID!  They don't pay the residents very much.  One of these days I'll calculate the hourly rate.  I anticipate it will be in the neighborhood of $3.00ish/hour.  But regardless of how measly my salary is, and how utterly and hopelessly and hilariously in debt I am, when your family income doubles all of a sudden, you can't help but feel like you're RICH!  I've warned Danny that I might go a little "willy nilly" and take myself on a shopping spree (don't tell Dave Ramsey!).  I told Louisa that we can start shopping at Gap Kids and Janie and Jack.  She didn't seem to care.  At the time of this conversation, she was wearing a yellow and white polka-dot halter top and pink and white stripped terry-cloth shorts....happy as a clam.  Okay, so I won't go too willy nilly with my newly found riches, but at least I can buy myself some new underwear so I won't have to do laundry so often.

Alright, I'm going to get back to my day off.  Have a lovely weekend!

-Dr. B 

Hellooooooooooo

Is anybody out there?  Anybody? 

Just wanted to let you all know that I'm still here.....still alive.....haven't been eaten by the boogie man.

Residency is going pretty well so far.  Everyone has pretty low expectations of the interns which is fantastic.  I'm on the Hematology service, so I see lots of patients with leukemia and lymphoma.  Cancer sucks.  That's what I've learned so far. 

My attending is an old salty fellow who is quite legendary at the hospital.  He commands the attention of everyone in the room and he makes my blood pressure, as well as my anxiety level skyrocket when he shoots me his infamous, squinty-eyed glare.  My co-intern and I, as well as the two med students on the service, have taken several a tongue-lashings from him.  But as much as he tears us down, he tries to build us back up as well.  His tirades usually go something like this:

One breath:  Why didn't you check Mrs. So-and-so's fibrinogen?  That is completely irresponsible!  Is this your patient?  Are YOU managing this patient?  Why don't YOU know the side effects of all of the medications she is on?

The next breath:  I remember what it was like to be an intern.  It's hard.  You don't know whether you're coming or going.  You guys are doing just fine.

The third breath:  Did the patient have pulsus paridoxus?  What?  You don't know?  You didn't check?  This patient might have tamponade and you didn't CHECK FOR PULSUS PARIDOXUS!?!?!?

Next breath:  You guys are doing a fine job.  I think we have a really strong team of residents and students. 

I must say, although I might be developing an ulcer, I really like this attending.  When he's not making us want to pee our pants, he's so darned funny that I forget how scared I am. 

So that's what's been going on with me.  I've been averaging just under 80 hours a week, but when I'm at the hospital, the time seems to fly.  I hardly have time to eat and go to the bathroom.  This might be the best diet plan ever.  And when I finally had time to eat today, I really had no appetite.  Hard to snarf down a quick meal when you can't get the sight and smell of your patient's diarrhea out of your head.  (Thank you, Mr. Patient, for saving that just for me.)

Colorado.....where the wind comes sweep....er....nevermind

Okay, so I was going to write a series of entries, one for each day we spent in Colorado, but, you see, my time is running short.  So here's the quick and dirty.

Danny and Christi; Adventures in Colorado.

Day 1:

Drive to Denver.  I have a bit of a cold, so I buy some Vick's Vapor rub at a gas station and slather it on my neck and chest.

We spend the night in Denver (which is a rockin' town - if you didn't already know).  I become paranoid when I read a notice next to our hotel door that says: For your safety, please bolt and latch your door.   And then I was tempted to sleep with a knife under my pillow.  But that seemed kind of dangerous.

Day 2:

Wake up with rash all over my neck and chest.  Strong work, Dr. Bartlett.  Got a little carried away with the Vicks.  Glad I didn't put it on my face.  Continue driving to Redstone.  Stop for lunch in Carbondale.  Eat the most delicious burger ever.  Go to the pharmacy and pick up some steroid cream....because steroids fix everything.  Except TB.  And they can make your testicles small, but that's not really a concern of mine.

Check into The Avalanche Ranch.  Sit on porch, take in view of mountains, drink hard cider.

Day 3:

Wake up to a mild, yet strange odor.  Reconcile that it is merely my feet.  Forget about said odor.
Go for a hike on a desolate, isolated, abandoned, unpopulated trail.  Become paranoid that we will be eaten by a bear.  Especially after seeing this:

Clearly the paw print of a very large, mean, people-eating bear.

And then this.....

Most likely left over from a bear attack.  Probably human, but I have no way to confirm this.

Do you see the crazed "I'm-convinced-a-bear-is-going-to-eat-me" look in my eyes?

Look closely, it's there!

Luckily my psychosis didn't keep me from enjoying the scenery.

Because I like to plan ahead, I made Danny rehearse what we would do in the case of a bear encounter.  It went something like this:

Me:  What if we see a bear?

Danny:  I don't know (clearly not concerned).

Me:  No, really!

Danny:  I don't know.

Me:  Well, I've heard that if you stand really still, they can't see you.

Danny:  I'm pretty sure that's the T-Rex in Jurassic Park.  Doesn't work on bears.  

Me:  Blast! 

~ THE END ~

So, I guess we really didn't have a plan.

Returned to cabin.  Again noted smell.  Continued to assume it was my feet, socks, shoes or some combination of the three.  

Day 4:

Drove to Aspen.  Very upscale and kind of snobby.  A bit like the plaza, but in the mountains.

Danny buys Northface jacket.  I get nothing but annoyed and resentful.  

Spend more time in Carbondale.  Attend local rodeo.  Resolve to move to a ranch and spend my time wearing Wranglers and barrel racing.  Will make a cowboy out of Danny.

See?  He clearly loves this. 

Imagine Weezy having field parties on our land.  Imagine the debauchery this entails.  Resolve to stay in the suburbs and send her to the strictest of private Christian schools.  

Day 5:

Smell is worse.  Danny believes that while my feet are generally rancid, this smell is a bit more carcass-y.  We alert ranch staff and they relocate us to a new cabin.

Go horseback riding with Cowboy Randy and his staff of ranch hands through the mountains.  

Danny does an exceptional job for a beginner.  I nearly drop my mom's camera and fall off my horse as we go galloping through a field.  Poor job for a seasoned equestrian city girl who used to have horses. 

Luckily I didn't drop the camera and managed to get some cool pics.

Of course I asked Cowboy Randy about the bears.  He assured me that in the 5 years he'd owned Avalanche Outfitters, he'd only been charged by a bear 4 times.  And really, it's the mountain lions that are dangerous.  

Thanks for putting my mind at ease, Cowboy Randy!  Now, do you have any xanax?

At least the cowboys had their pistols and hunting knives handy. 

Finished horseback ride and hopped off my horse like I was John Wayne.  Landed on noodle legs and prayed to God that I wouldn't fall over.  Clutched horse's neck until I could use my legs again. Couldn't sit comfortably on my tush for the next several days.   

Day 6:

Missed our girl way too much.  Got up early and headed out of Dodge....or toward Dodge?  Heck, where is Dodge?  

Made good time.  Made fun of Danny and his issues with Cruise Control.  If I get a chance, I'll address this annoying quirk of his in a new post.  But.........

If you don't hear from me in the next 3 years, it's because I'm starting residency this week.  If I have any extra time in my schedule it will be used for sleeping, eating and bathing.  Hopefully I can maintain the blog on a somewhat regular basis (because I'm sure I'll have lots to blog about and I know that you depend on me), but I'm not promising nuttin'.  

And here are some more pics from our trip.....

On our way through Kansas, saw hundreds of these weirdo things.  I'm sure they're good for energy and what-not, but they're kind of creepy.

Cookies waiting for us in our cabin when we checked in.

I could be really obvious and tell you that this is the kitchen, but I won't.

I spent a good amount of time in that tub.

Danny prefers a shower to a bath.  He claims that a bath is nothing more than sitting in your own dirt.  I don't know who asked him to open his pie hole and spout out his opinion. 

My dream house will have a clawfoot tub.

Our first cabin.  The carcass-y one.

Danny in the Morning with Coffee - by Ansel Adams Christi Bartlett

My little hummingbird friend.

Dandelion path

Does anybody know what these are?

Does anybody know where I left my keys?

Obligatory blurry water shot, thankyouverymuch.

No bears here....

I like to eat a balanced diet - here I'm drinking my fruit group.

My fruit group makes me act silly.

Danny laughs at me when I'm silly.

I laugh at Danny when he wears tennis shoes to ride a horse.  Even though my boots were totally Steve Madden.  Not exactly intended for s#%t kicking.

It just does not get much better than this.

Avalanche Ranch Path

Look at me, I'm artsy. Or a tool....take your pick.

If I could drive any vehicle in the world, it would be this truck.  We parked next to this bad boy in Paxico, KS.  Did I just say "bad boy" on my blog?  How embarrassing for me.

Love

More Paxico

And some bathtubs...

And now......

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.....................

                                                                                ..........The sound of me falling off the face of the earth.

Further into Domesticity

Today I did something that I have never done before.  I.  Made.  Pie. 

We had lunch with some friends this afternoon and I had offered to bring dessert.  I was going to make old faithful - chocolate chip cookies, then I considered strawberry shortcake (thanks for the suggestion Humble Hostess!).  And then, for reasons yet to be understood, I decided to make mulberry pie.

What is a mulberry, you ask?

Why, I have no idea, I say.

Alls I know is that we have two giant mulberry trees in our yard that leave a purple mess on our driveway every spring.  And the birds love the berries....I've seen the purple poop!  Ha Ha....purple poop!  [Insert favorite K-State joke here.] 

So I decided to use the resources in our front yard and make a pie.  I put Danny in charge of the picking.  He put me in charge of everything else.  Including the homemade crust.  How we all lived and thrived without Google for so many years is a mystery I ponder daily.   

The following is a how to regarding mulberry pie.....

1.  Move into a house surrounded by mulberry trees.

2.  Find yourself a husband to go out and pick them.  Ideally, he will be tall with a large wing span.  He should also have broad shoulders and a kind heart.  And a nice tush.

3.  Have a baby that can watch out the window as her daddy picks berries.

Then when she sees him.....

4.  I'm sorry, what was I talking about....?

5.  Rinse the mulberries in cool water.  I'm just guessing on this one.  Not part of the actual recipe, but it just sounded like a good idea.

6.  Google "how to make pie crust."  Then fill said pie crust with berries smooshed together with flour and sugar.

7.  If you're feeling especially daring, you can also google "how to make lattice pie crust."  Find instructions with pictures.

8.  Have a big fat Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder moment and make sure your slices of dough are EXACTLY THE SAME WIDTH!!!

9.  Take some xanax.

10.  Feel really good about yourself when you figure out how to lattice.  Say something like, "What's up now!?!?"  or "Who's your daddy?!?!"

11.  Have a melt down when you realize that you messed up one of the strands of lattice work.

12.  Feel better after your husband suggests that you repeat the same mistake on all of your pies as your special "signature."  Kind of like a serial killer.

13.  Bake.

14.  While the pie is in the oven, take pictures of your baby's chubby thighs.  Wish that your chubby thighs were as cute as hers.

15.  Remove from oven.  Take lots of pictures of your pie.  In the event that you never make pie again, you'll have proof that once upon a time....you made pie.

16.  Do like they do in the old folks home and wipe your drool.
 

17.  Repeat step 16.

18.  Slice.  Plop some vanilla ice cream down next to your pie. 

19.  Eat

Girls Weekend, WOO HOO! (alternate title: 7 old hags get out of town for the weekend)

I really want to blog about our trip to Colorado, but I haven't had time to edit my pictures yet, so you'll just have to wait.  One of the reasons I haven't had time to edit pictures is because I had the pleasure of spending a few days at the lake with six of my bestest girl friends!  So you get to hear about that. 

Ready?

Here goes.

Myself, the Socialite, the Supermodel, the Artist/Preacher's Wife, the CRNA, the Coach/Preacher's Wife and the Shopper headed out last Thursday for a weekend of fun and sun to celebrate the year of our 30th birthdays.  And to escape all responsibility.  And husbands.  And children.

We stayed for FREE in a beautiful condo overlooking the lake.  There are perks to being friends with a preacher's wife!  After we rolled into town, we made a quick trip to Wal Mart where we bought the necessities....wine and bacon.  And a few other things, I think.  But none as necessary as wine and bacon.

We got settled into the condo late in the evening and kicked back with some fantastic drinks that the Socialite whipped up.  They weren't as strong as they could have been because the Shopper didn't like vodka.  Blah blah blah...

We slept in a bit on Friday morning, because that's what you do when you don't have a husband and a baby making demands of you.  The sky looked stormy, so we decided to go shopping, because that's what you do when you don't have a husband and baby making demands of you. 

First stop:  the outlet mall.  Ahhhh, outlet stores as far as the eye could see.  I splurged a bit and bought some new shirts for myself.  Danny bought a new Northface jacket in Aspen, so I reckoned that I was entitled to a little money spending of my own.  That and I needed more responsible looking clothes to make my patients believe that I am a competent doctor.  Right?  Right!  Nothing says "trust me, I'm a doctor" like a T-shirt that says "Trust me, I'm a doctor."  Oh, and a closet full of cardigans.  And glasses.  I will be wearing my glasses each and every day, starting July first.   

So we shopped forever at the outlet mall until one of the preacher's wives became a shoplifter.  Then we decided it was time to hit the road.  Before lightning struck her down.  Our next stop was MEGA MARSHALLS.  I could have wandered around that place for all of eternity.  Maybe that's what heaven is like....my heaven anyhow.  Danny would argue that it is the other place.  Anyhow, other than the fact that the store closes at night, I couldn't come up with any good reason to ever leave.  They have clothes, furniture, bedding, towels, food.....and cute little office organizers so when Danny forwards my mail to MEGA MARSHALLS, I will have somewhere to keep it.  Neatly.  Finally the Socialite decided that she'd had enough of MEGA MARSHALLS and demanded that we leave.  The Socialite sorta runs the show.  I generally do what she says.  That's why we've been best friends for so long.  Mutual respect. 

That night we got dressed up, the Supermodel teased our hair, we put on too much eyeliner and went out for mexican food.  We laughed because we couldn't figure out who we were dressing up for, but we went ahead and did it. 

On the way back to the condo we stopped to take ridiculous pictures in front of a miniature golf course with a huge pirate sign.  They didn't turn out very well, but here's one of them.  In the name of modesty and decency and potential legal action, I will refrain from posting a picture of one of the preacher's wives mooning the camera.  I won't say which one it was, but it was the same one who shoplifted earlier in the day. 

This is me and the CRNA.  Respectable health care professionals. 

Then we went back to the condo for some wine and girl talk.  Which turned into cookie-eating and inappropriate picture-drawing.  Again, mostly from the Preacher's Wife. 

The next morning we got up and ate some more bacon.  The following conversation took place during the cleaning up of said bacon:

Shopper:  What should I do with this bacon grease?

CRNA:  My mom always put it in a can.

Shopper:  Lets turn the water on really hot and put it down the drain.

Socialite:  My mom always put it in a can.

CRNA:  Just make sure the water is REALLY hot.

Shopper:  You don't think it will catch on fire, do you?

Socialite:  No.

CRNA:  Well, if you throw a match on it.

 - THE END - 

After the bacon grease was disposed of, we went to the pool to get some sun.  I got fried after about 45 minutes and caught endless slack because I didn't put any sun screen on.  Apparently when you become a doctor, people expect you to start eating vegetables and wearing SPF 50. 

So that was our weekend in a nutshell.  Oh, heck.  I left out the part about the Supermodel and the Goober-burger.  Probably for the best. 

Here are a few pictures:

On the road again....(they made me sit in the back).

Preacher's Wife #1, Socialite, Shopper, CRNA, Supermodel, Me and Preacher's Wife #2 at lunch.

Me with Supermodel and Socialite.  (Re: hat - my ode to Matthew McConaughey)

Ready for our night on the town.  First time my hair had seen a curling iron in years!

Supermodel and Shopper - work it....OWN IT!

Shopper's not-so-graceful enterance into the car.  Preacher's Wife wondering how she ever ended up friends with hooligans like Shopper.  Contemplating existence.  And another glass of wine.

Lake of the Ozarks Barbie

This was the cute little place we had lunch.  The picture was super-cute, except for my heinous appearance.  That's why I'm all scribbled out.