I Heart You

Okay, so an update on my heart.  Started drinking coffee again and finally my PVCs came back.  Recorded a few good ones on my monitor.  Stopped drinking coffee.  Still having PVCs.  But now they have a hard time getting up in the morning and have less energy during the day.  Oh wait, that's me. 

I think in an earlier post I mentioned something about wearing the monitor for "a few days."  Well, make that 30 days.  Seems a little excessive to me, but what do I know?  I'm just a doctor.  A doctor withdrawing from caffeine.  A doctor withdrawing caffeine who just had to type C-A-F-F-E.... in the little google toolbar because she couldn't remember how to spell it.   Lord help me.  Isn't there some sort of caffeine substitute?  Other than meth? 

Anyway...so I get to wear my monitor for another two weeks.  And I'm starting to feel a little self conscious when I go out in public and have an EKG sticker stuck to my chest with a conspicuous wire attached to a black box on my belt.  I look like either I'm dying or I'm a suicide bomber....or a dying suicide bomber.  Is that redundant? 

Okay, it's late and my brain stopped functioning sometime in March. 

Word to your mother. 

Turn on Your Heart Light

Last week I got my heart monitor in the mail.  I wasn't expecting it since I hadn't even seen a cardiologist yet, but you know....they're probably all too busy golfing.  So they sent the monitor in their stead.  Clearly nobody thinks I'm going to drop over dead from my PVCs, so....that's reassuring.

This little monitor that I have is supposed to monitor events.  Would you believe that since I've stopped drinking coffee that my events have stopped?  Yeah, I've been wearing this silly thing all day, every day actually HOPING for some PVCs so I'll have something to record to show the cardiologists so the following scenario doesn't take place:


Cardiologist:  Well Ms. Bartlett....

Me: (coughs "Dr. Bartlett" under breath)

Cardiologist:  You've been wearing the monitor for 30 days and we haven't recorded any abnormalities.

Me: But....but....I promise.  I get these weird spells where my heart goes "lub-dub.....lub-dub.....lub-dub-lub-dub...................*come on little SA node!...........lub-DUUUUB. 

Cardiologist:  Oh, of course.  I believe you.  I'm just going to have our front desk make an appointment for you to follow up with one of the nice people in our psychiatry department. 

~The End~

So now I've started drinking coffee again to try to make my heart misbehave.  So far no luck.  I knew this was going to happen.  Stupid heart!

But....if it turns out that caffeine is the culprit...well, that just means that the universe is a cold, cruel place for Christi to live.  Starting my intern year without the performance enhancing effects of coffee is like dropping me off in the middle of Lake Michigan in a wee little boat with no paddle.  And then putting sharks in Lake Michigan.  Would sharks even survive in Lake Michigan?  I'm not a marine biologist.  Scratch the sharks.  Lets go with the traditional evil sea creature ~ sea bass with lasers.  The ill-tempered variety.  That's what intern year will be like for me.  Sympathy please!    

I don't know where I'm going with this.  Big surprise.  I'm just frustrated that there is no rhyme or reason to my crazy heart beats and I can't even catch them on the monitor.  They're like big-foot.

Stay tuned for my adventures in the psych ward.

Oh, and just for fun, here's a picture of me rocking my EKG sticker.  Don't even ask what I was thinking.

Well, what I was thinking was, "Oh heck, Carrody has a camera, quick, do the mad model look, no...don't do that, you'll look like a tool....blast....too late!"

Gradumication

About seven and a half years ago, I was sitting at a desk, working as a receptionist for EVCO Wholesale Food Co. in Emporia, KS.  One day, between taking telephone orders for chicken gizzards and being heckled by Sarge, the crusty old warehouse manager, I had an epiphany.  (Do I use too many commas?  If this bothers you I'm sorry.)  Where was I?  Oh yes, the epiphany.  I was going to be a doctor.

And that night I had a very interesting conversation with Danny.  Well, it wasn't so much a conversation as it was me talking about my change in career plans and Danny sitting there with his mouth agape wondering what had happened to the person he had just married.  

I had started out at KU as a pre-med major (mostly because it sounded good when people asked me what I was majoring in), but after taking chemistry and biology I thought, "Golly-gee-wizards!  This is hard!" and opted for a journalism degree.  I was going to be an uber-successful, uber-blond, Manolo Blahnik-wearing pharmaceutical sales representative.  But lo....that had too many syllables and I wound up as a receptionist at a food wholesaler making minimum wage and wearing knock-off Manolo Blahnik Tims (you know, the one's J Lo used to wear).  Fate is cruel.

Follow this link for a picture of me on their website.  Yep....quit working there in 2003.  They just can't let me go. Or they haven't updated their website in seven years.  Either is plausible. 

http://www.evcofoods.com/customer_services.htm 

You're welcome to leave me a comment telling me how I haven't changed a bit since then.  Or, if you have an aversion to lying, don't write anything.

Be that way.  

Where am I going with this?  I've forgotten myself.

My name is Christi, it's 2010, Barack Obama is the president....

Oh yes.  Graduation.

Last night, seven and a half years after my epiphany, I walked across the stage at the Lied Center in Lawrence as Dr. Christi Leigh Bartlett.  I was hooded, handed my diploma and recited the oath of Hippocrates....all while wearing some stinking cute red shoes.  Still not Manolos.  That dream has died.  And go figure, the "hood" isn't even a hood, which I found somewhat disappointing.  But I still consider myself "hood"...you know...I went to Shawnee Mission North.

So that's what's been going on with me. As Oprah would say, it was a "full circle moment."  Then she would give me a big hug and invite me to her mansion in Montecito.  Nate Berkus would be there and he would give me decorating tips while lounging by the pool and sipping mojitos.  Charlie and Mabel would be invited too and would spend the day frolicking with Oprah's cocker spaniels.

Oh please!  Tell me you don't have an Oprah fantasy!  

Talk to you all later.

Sincerely,

Christi Bartlett, M.D.

A Mother's Day Apology

I have a confession to make.  I have been judgemental, critical, mean and downright snarky to my mother.  It started several years ago and involved her affinity for granny panties.  I took every opportunity to make fun of her and her ugly, beige, "but-I-can-tuck-my-turtleneck-into-them" undies.  I thought I was superior because I wore cute little Victoria's Secret underwear.  Who cared if you could see my butt cheeks when I bent over?

All of this changed nine months ago when we brought Louisa home from the hospital.  As you may recall, I left the hospital fatter than when I was admitted.  The universe is cruel.  And the underwear that fit me while nine months pregnant were now too tight.  So I sent my mother out to buy me the "biggest, ugliest underwear you can find."  Because, clearly, she knew where to find them.  She didn't fail me. 

Initially I thought, "okay...I'll just wear these until I can fit back into my cute underwear."

After a couple of weeks, I lost my water weight and could legitimately fit back into my old, cute undies.  But I didn't want to!  I tried to wear them, but they just weren't the same.  The hot air balloon-sized Hanes in my underwear drawer were far too enticing.  So soft!  So comfortable!  So difficult to tell the front from the back!  They go so far down that you never have to pick a wedgie.  And they rise so far up your back that you don't have to worry about your tush hanging out.  In fact, I've noticed when I wear them that my shirt can creep up over my waist line, but those underwear go so far up my belly that it just looks like a tank top under my shirt.  No joke!

So, I have seen the light and have become an ugly underwear wearer like my mother.  And I sincerely regret all the trouble that I have given her over the past 29 years. 

I'm so sorry, Mom.  I'm sorry for laughing at you in dressing rooms.  I'm sorry snickering when I would walk past your laundry basket.  I'm sorry for trying to use your underwear as a Barbie parachute.  Thank you for being patient with me when I didn't understand.  Thank you for never giving up on me.

I love you!  Happy Mother's Day!

(You can send words of support/sympathy/your-wife-is-nuts to Danny @ dvb16@yahoo.com)

P QRS T

For the last 3 years or so, I've had some irregular heart beats.  It's really no big deal, I'll notice one or two episodes every day, and they don't cause any symptoms.  But for the last 2 weeks they have been getting pretty out of hand.  My heart is usually pretty chill....tickin' along at about 62 beats per minute.  But recently, it has been downright misbehaving!  At one point, I was having these little premature ventricular contractions (PVCs) every 5 beats.  Even though it's probably completely benign, it's a little unnerving when you can actually feel your heart going into a weird rhythm.  So last week I made an appointment with my doctor.  Wouldn't you know it....pesky little PVCs pretty much stopped as soon as I got off the phone with the receptionist.  I went ahead and kept my appointment though and I saw my doctor today. 

Nurse:  So, what brings you in today?

Me: I've been having some irregular heart beats.

Nurse: (eyes almost pop out of her head)  Oh.  My.  Are they associated with any anxiety?

Me: Well, you see, I'm going to be a doctor here pretty soon, and people's lives are going to be in my hands, and I'll be responsible for not letting them die and/or killing them, and then there's Weezy, who I'm afraid I'll never see after I start residency because I'll be working all the time, and then when I'm done with residency, she'll be 4 and she won't remember me and she'll have lots of bitterness because "you weren't there when I needed you!" and then she'll be in therapy when she's 30.....    No.

Nurse:  Okay then.  I'm just going to take your blood pressure.   Oh, 122/72.  That's very good!  Very good.

Me: (Please don't ask me what kind of work I do.)

- Doctor comes in....blah blah blah...EKG...blah blah blah...blood work.  Wham, bam, thank you ma'am! -

(Doctor leaves, nurse comes back in)

Nurse: Okay then.  The doctor wants you to get an EKG.  Have you ever had an EKG before?

Me: No, but I was on the monitor when I had my c-section.

Nurse:  Well, see here....I'm just going to put these little sticky pads on your chest.  You don't have to do anything.  Just lay back and relax.  It's really pretty quick and easy. 

Me:  (Please don't ask me where I work.)

So I got my EKG.  Of course it was normal.  And my heart rate was 62.  Because that's how it rolls beats. 

Then I went down the hall to the lab.  The phlebotomist (person who draws blood) had the personality of a clam, and apparently the dexterity/coordination/depth perception of my one-eyed dog Charlie.  I have pretty good veins, so it's usually no big deal when I have blood drawn.  Not the case today.  No siree Bob-O!  After she missed my vein on the first try, instead of drawing the needle out and staying superficial (because that cotton-picking blue thing RIGHT under my skin, is, in fact, my vein) she gouged the needle in even further.  I don't know if she was trying to hit artery or bone or what, but I gave her a look of disapproval, threatened to pass out, and suggested she try the other arm.  A-hem!

And now I look like a heroine addict.

So that was my day at the doctor's office.  I think my doc was going to wait and see what my blood work looks like before she sends me off for an event monitor (basically a portable EKG machine that I have hooked up for a day or so.) 

The funny thing is that the treatment for PVCs is usually a beta blocker.  Beta blockers slow your heart down.  If my heart slows down much more from its lazy 62....well....that probably wouldn't be a good thing.  I might just have to deal with my ventricles acting up every once in a while. 

And just for your edumacation....

This is a normal EKG:

And this is what a PVC looks like on an EKG

That's all I know.  Seriously.  And I had to google that.

Voyage into domesticity

Danny had been pestering me all week about making cookies, so I finally broke down and did it.  I thought it would be a good mother-daughter bonding activity.  So while Danny was outside mowing the grass weeds, the girls got to work in the kitchen.  First things first - the immobilization of Louisa.  This turned out to be easier than I had expected.  Apparently she doesn't mind sitting in her little highchair.  As long as I keep giving her cereal.  And attention.  And cookie dough. 

That kid's not going anywhere.

(Ah, look.  You've now seen my entire kitchen.  Danny thinks it's the right size, as it is just big enough for one woman.  Feel free to smack him the next time you see him.  But don't tell him why.  That would be funny.)

After I got her tied down I started on my cookies.  I talked Weezy through the process.  We discussed mommy's journey to find the perfect margarine, the margarine to flour ratio and the importance of using Nestle chocolate chips.  I made her promise me that she would never ever ever use the cheap chocolate chips from Aldi. 

So help me, amen.  

I don't want my girl to suffer through same mistakes that her mother has made.  She seemed only mildly interested.  Apparently she didn't understand the importance of the information that I was bestowing on her.  She was too busy fumbling around with the little nugget of dough that I'd given her, trying to get it from her sticky little fingers into her mouth. 

Then Charlie decided to get in on the action. 

When we finished up with the cookies, we went outside to watch Danny finish up mowing.  Weezy sat on my lap and clapped for him every time he went by.  She didn't clap for me when I was stirring up the dough....by hand....without a blender....

meh....

daddy's girl.