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. 

Dunzo

Last Friday was my last day of medical school EVER.  Sadly, there was no party, no fanfare, just one last test to close out my anesthesia rotation.  And it was harder than I had expected.  Thank you, anesthesia department, for making sure that I felt stupid up to the last second of medical school.  Mission accomplished.

So now I'm done with school and I don't start residency until July 1st.  Ah vacation, glorious vacation....er....

What?  Weezy wants to get up at 6:30?

Weezy needs to be entertained every second of the day?

Weezy needs her laundry done?

Weezy needs a bath?

Weezy needs me to follow her around to make sure she doesn't choke on something/smack her head on something/knock something over/lick the floor/abuse the dogs?

Weezy doesn't understand that mommy is on vacation!

So this past week has been a crash course in stay-at-home-mommying.  I'm convinced that I stink at it.  Weezy's convinced that I stink at it and has asked, on several occasions, when I get to go back to work so Oma can come over.  We are learning together.....this will be a process.

Thankfully, GG came over on Wednesday and played with the Weez so I could try to get a few things done around the house.

GG has a way of getting Weezy to fall asleep.  Nicely done GG, nicely done.  While this was going on, I was dusting in our sunroom.  I was all proud of myself too and then Danny came home and didn't even notice.  My feelings were crushed.  I'm still recovering.  

Then Bethany and Natalie came over for a visit.  And Bethany brought Chipotle!  She is my favorite person.  

And that baby of hers is one cute little punkin.  Look at that face!  

While Bethany and I were eating, we did what any good parents would do.  Tied our children down and plopped them in front of the TV.  Ah silence :)  They were watching educational, life enriching television....of course!

Natalie was born in December and Bethany is already skinny again.  Skinnier than she was before Natalie.  It's a good thing she brought me food, otherwise I wouldn't speak to her. 

On Thursday we had coffee with our friends Nici and Maggie.  Well, Nici and I had coffee.  Weezy and Maggie practiced interacting with each other.  Maggie was very eager to play, but Weez was in a bit of a stand-offish mood.  Aloof, really.  And a bit whiney.  Not sure what that was about, but she warmed up eventually.  Nici gave me some pointers on stay-at-home-mommery.  She seems to have it mastered.  Her house (at least what I saw of it) was spotless, her hair was curled (at 8:30 in the morning), and there were fresh muffins and fresh coffee in the kitchen.  Freaking birds were chirping outside of her window.  Oh, and I'm pretty sure she makes her own baby food too.  If she didn't give me lemon-poppy seed muffins, I wouldn't have spoken to her either. 

After our playdate, The Weez and I were on our own.  She was tuckered out from being snotty, so she took a 2.5 hour nap when we got home.  During that time, I contemplated my existence, cleaned the kitchen, dusted the blinds, came to the conclusion that I need a cleaning lady, remembered that we can't afford a cleaning lady and then wept violently.  Then I watched Days of Our Lives.  

Tomorrow, Weezy and Mommy make cookies...... 

 

A Recent Conversation

(Between me and James B. Nutter Guy (JBNG))

Me: Hello Mr. JBNG!  We're thinking about buying a new house.  How much can we get approved for?

JBNG: Well, lets see here.  How much money do you make?

Me: Well....my husband is a teacher and I am getting ready to graduate from medical school, so our income will increase a bit starting in July.

JBNG:  Oh, well, that's great!  So where are you going to be working?

Me: The Med Center

JBNG:  A doctor, huh?  That's great!  I'm sure we can get you set up with a great loan.  How much are you going to be making?

Me:  I'll be making about (insert measly resident salary here).

JBNG:  Oh.....

Me:  Uh.....?

JBNG:   I thought you said you were going to be a doctor.

THE END

Anesthesia

If I had been around the anesthesia department earlier in medical school, I might have considered it as a career choice.  But, alas, my soul belongs to the Internal Medicine department.  And that's okay, I still love IM. 

In the past week, I've been hanging out in the OR with the anesthesia folks.  I show up at around 6:00 in the morning, help hang fluids, draw up drugs and do whatever else they tell me to do.  "Hey med student, go get me a 20-something-or-other-anesthesia-foreign-language-talk."  Yessiree!  And then I spend 15 minutes hunting around the supply room, for what, I have no idea....but it had the number 20 in it.

You get to see some pretty cool stuff in the OR.  We all do surgery rotations during our third year, but it's a lot of the same stuff over and over.  I saw lots of gall bladders, prostates and livers last year.  Got a little boring after a while (with the exception of the day that the attending stepped out of the room on a retroperitoneal lymph node dissection and I got to be first assist with the resident and he let me use the Bovie right up between the renal artery and the aorta....sweet!).  But in just one week of anesthesia, I've seen a brain surgery, a gunshot wound trauma, a spine surgery and a bypass surgery.  Here's a brief run down:


1. The brain - pretty cool.  And, well....it does take a neurosurgeon.  While I was in the room, the resident and I were just chillin', making sure the vitals were looking good, when all of a sudden I hear sounds reminiscent of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.  Oh yeah, that's the saw cutting into the skull.  No biggie.  Then the surgeon hands chunk of said skull to the scrub nurse, and there's the brain.  Hello brain!  At this point I stopped paying attention to what the anesthesiologist was doing....because there was a BRAIN - sticking out of a patient's head - and the flow of isoflurane just didn't seem very interesting anymore - because there was a BRAIN - did I mention that already? 

2. GSW (16 in the clip and one in the hole....I love Nate Dogg & Warren G) - So, some poor kid got shot in the gut.  Lost a lot of blood.  About 20 people packed into an OR with blood all over the place trying to keep him alive.  As far as I know, they did.  Didn't stay for the whole case, because I went to.....

3. Cabbage - actually CABG (coronary artery bypass graft) - it's not every day you see someone's chest cracked open (more Texas Chainsaw Massacre noises) and their beating heart right in front of you.  Well, unless you're a cardiothroacic surgeon....or Indiana Jones.  Anyhow, so there beats the heart.  Then they hook it up to the "pump," which shunts blood away from the heart and lungs and reoxygenates it and sends it back into the body, and then they STOP THE HEART.  Like, for real.  One minute it's ticking away and the next, it stops.  Flat line on the monitor and everything.  BEEEEEEEEEEP.  Then the surgeon goes to work fixing up the coronary arteries.  The surgeons usually have their iPODs playing during surgery, and this particular surgeon had one of the most appropriate surgery songs I've ever heard in the OR - I Will Try To Fix You - by Coldplay.  Cute.  I think this surgeon really likes music because as he was mucking around with the heart, he was giving a dissertation, comparing and contrasting Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift.  He went on and on about how Taylor Swift is a better musician, but is still just a tall, skinny, awkward teenage girl without a lot of stage presence.  While Miley Cyrus, who doesn't necessarily have all of the musical talent in the world, is a fantastic entertainer.  This was all done with a completely straight face....like he was lecturing on some cutting-edge cardiothoracic surgery breakthrough....except he was talking about Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift.  I love surgeons. 

On a super-exciting note, I got my first intubation today!  Right through the cords on the first try.  Made me feel better after the two failed attempts earlier in the week. 

Have a lovely weekend! 

Last Palliative Care Blog....I Promise.

Now that I'm done with Palliative Care and have moved on to Anesthesia, I thought I'd do a little wrap up of my month on PC. 

Here are a few things I learned......

1. The Train.  People die in hospitals every day.  Some days, however, it seems that one person after another dies....every room you walk into, the patient has either just expired, or is taking his/her final breaths.  On these days, it is common to hear talk around the PC service that "The Train" came today, or "The Train is here."  In my head, the train is much like the Polar Express, except that it takes you to Heaven....hopefully :)

2. "I see dead people."  One strange phenomenon that happens as death draws near, is that patients will tell you that they were visited by family members.  That's great....everyone should have family come by to say their goodbyes.  Except that the family members that these patients report seeing are usually people that have already died.  It's crazy how many times this happens.  And it seems to me that it only happens when people are very close to death.  It might be easy to chalk this up to delirium, but it just happens so consistently that there has to be something to it.

3. Miracles.  Most people who are dying pray for miracles.  Family members hold out hope and say that they are praying and that God can work miracles.  While this is all well and good, (and you can bet your false teeth that I'd be the first to hit my knees if myself of anyone I love was dying) sometimes I wonder if we have a teeny-tiny-in-a-very-small-box-idea of what miracles actually are.  I believe whole-heartedly that God can do anything He wants, be it cure cancer, reverse congestive heart failure, bring people back from death.  Most of us would say that these things are miracles.  And I would agree.  The longer I spend around death and dying, however, I've come to believe that death is just the beginning of the true miracle.  It's a miracle that I can't comprehend and don't understand, but a miracle that I know is greater than anything we could fathom in this life.  The miracle was set in place a couple of thousand years ago when Jesus hung on a cross and died for all of us.  And yesterday we celebrated the miracle of the resurrection and the forgiveness of sins and the eternal life that is offered to all of us.  That miracle blows curing cancer and healing brain death out of the water (although I would take either of those if offered.)  I'm not trying to make light of death, because it sucks.  It's horrible, it hurts, it leaves a hole in our hearts.  But I just have a feeling that when we die, there is something so spectacular waiting for us that, well....there really are no words.  Just the voices of hundreds of thousands of angels.

"Where O death is now thy sting?"

I hope you hear the angels someday.....but not too soon :)