Panties in a bunch....kind of

Today during rounds, I was presenting one of my more complicated patients.  Well, they're all complicated.  Especially when you've been up since 4:00am, your baby didn't feel like going to sleep the night before and your brain needs an oil change.  Did that make any sense?  See what I mean?  Even this blog is complicated.

I digress.  So, I was presenting my patient, and all of a sudden, when I was going through the pertinent lab values from today, my resident and my attending just started laughing.  They acted like they were trying not to, but they both were finding something really entertaining.  I shot a quick glance to my right and then my left, but there was nothing I saw that was funny.  "Oh crap," I thought.  I could feel my face getting red and warm.  "They're laughing at me."  I'm turning into the med student that rattles off random lab values, comments on the color of the patient's gown, reports the music that was playing in their room, says "um" every other word.....  But I hadn't. Did I have a booger?  Were my boobs leaking?  Ugh!  Why are they laughing at me? 

I'm usually not a very sensitive person, but I was a little upset during the remainder of our time rounding.  My paranoia festered so much into the afternoon that I finally broke down and asked my resident what they were laughing at.  I played it all cool though, like I really didn't care. 

Apparently while I was in the middle of my accurate, concise and well thought out presentation, one of the ICU nurses went to change out some bags on the ventilator in my patient's room.  When she bent down, her pants were sitting really low and her shirt came up a little bit and... heavens to Betsy!  Her thong was showing!  Actually the resident said...."and we saw her THONG!"  I don't know what part of my naive little brain thought that an ICU doctor might be a sliver more mature than the average joe, but alas!  I was wrong.  

You wish you were as cool as me

So, I'm getting the hang of this whole doctor gig.  I've got a spring in my step...my step which is accompanied by my friggin' awesome doctor shoes.  My swagger makes my cute little pink stethoscope swing.  I'm so important that I don't even have time to brush my hair in the morning.  I was walking my awesome self out of the hospital tonight when.....when..... oh dear....my friggin' awesome doctor shoes hit some black sidewalk ice.  And in a moment of complete and utter humiliation my swagger became a splat. 

And I was kidding about having the hang of things.....don't get sick when I'm on the job :)

Oh, and I'm SO not important.  I don't brush my hair in the morning because I'm lazy....when most of your patients are unconscious it's hard to find the motivation.

More than you ever wanted to know....seriously

If you're squeamish, uncomfortable with bodily functions, or want to preserve your image of me as a proper lady, then seriously, don't read this.

Today I had a procedure.  It starts with a colon and ends with an oscopy.  Ooh, my sphincter just got all out of sorts just typing that sentence.  I'll spare you the details of the symptoms leading up to this, but the -oscopy (my tush and I don't like the word in it's entirety, so we'll just whack the first half of it off) was essentially to make sure that I didn't have anything bad lurking in my bowels. 

If you're under 50, then hopefully you have no idea what all goes into this process.  And if you're over 50, hopefully you're intimately familiar with it.  Anyhow....to get a good look at....er....what is needed to be seen, your bowels have to be empty.  Accomplishing this feat requires a full day of consuming only clear liquids followed by a cocktail of gatorade and some lovely medications designed to make you go go go!  Are you grossed out yet?  Because if you are, you can totally stop reading this.  I won't be offended. 

I left the hospital early yesterday, telling my staff that I had "a procedure."  He said something like, "Oh, okay, none of my beeswax...."  I think the whole breastfeeding thing freaked him out enough and he didn't want to hear any more about my bodily functions.  After I left the hospital, I went to my parent's house for my "prep."  My dad, being a seasoned veteran of the -oscopy, was my self-appointed bartender for the evening.  He whipped up my cocktail (sans any booze - dagummit!) and kept me on schedule.  And he poked a bit of fun at me as well, because really, you kind of have to have a sense of humor when you're running to the bathroom every 5 minutes (think Dumb and Dumber).

So keep in mind I can only have clear liquids....gatorade, water, tea, broth.  None of which even come close to filling you up, and by 5:00 I was freaking starving.  This was right about the time my dad whipped out the STEAKS he had bought and started marinating them.  Um....are you kidding me?  What had I done to deserve this kind of torture?  Oh, okay....I'll just sip on my sad little bowl of broth while you guys feast on steak and potatoes.  I didn't expect my family to participate in my fast, but for the love of Pete!  Have some respect!  And some cereal for dinner.  Apparently the steak was delicious, and my mom's was cooked "ah, just right!"  And I'm sure Danny's was absolutely delectable, and I think that my dad's probably melted in his mouth....whatever.  There will be reckoning for this....

The rest of the evening went well and I spent the night at my parent's house because the doctor's office is right down the street from them.  At about 2 in the morning I woke up shivering.  I had a long sleeved shirt and sweatpants on and was curled up in about 4 blankets but I couldn't stop shaking.  About that time I started feeling really crappy and decided that I must have the flu or something.  Then the nausea hit and I spent the next few minutes in the bathroom.  Ah, that toilet is so over me!  Then I did the only thing an intelligent, almost 30 year old woman would do under those circumstances....I went and got my mommy!  Because really, when I'm not feeling well, she's the only one qualified to take care of me.

I started feeling better (I think I had a little dehydration/non ion gap metabolic acidosis - for you nerds out there), and I was able to get back to sleep fairly quickly...with my mommy next to me, of course.  Then morning came and Danny drove me down to the doctor's office.  When I checked in, the receptionist thought I was scheduled for an upper GI (sticking a scope down your throat to look at your esophagus, stomach, duodenum....), when I told her it was the other end, she looked at me like, "Oh....well....that's bizarre....what the heck is wrong with you?"  That was comforting.  At least let me think that 29 year olds get -oscopys all the time and it's really no big deal.

When they took me back they asked me a whole lot of questions, made me get undressed and then asked me if I could be pregnant.  My 99.9% certainty that I wasn't didn't fly with them and they made me take a pregnancy test.  When it came back negative, the nurses all congratulated me.  Danny seemed a little disappointed. 

Then they started my IV and rolled me back into the procedure room where I met the lovely Dr. S.  Then the nurse anesthetist started the propofol and I was out in like 2 seconds.  When I came to, Danny was walking toward me in the recovery bay.  The first thing I said to him in my clouded mental state was, "They gave me propofol....that's what killed Michael Jackson." 

A few minutes later, I was pretty lucid and Danny showed me some paperwork that they had given him (he was my official "responsible adult" who was there to take care of me - which makes me giggle).  The paper had a box checked next to the word "biopsy."  Along with the -oscopy word, biopsy is right up there with my least favorite words.  When I hear biopsy, I immediately think cancer.  Just like when I hear the word delicious, I immediately think of Matthew McConaughey - you get the idea.  So this freaked me out a little.  I was sure that they'd found some huge necrotic cancerous mass and that I should just start preparing for the worst.  But a few minutes later, Dr. S. came by and said that the only thing he saw was a small polyp and that he really wasn't concerned.  Ah....pheewwww.  It will be sent for pathology and if it's pre-cancerous, all that means is that I'll have to have -oscopies every 5 years, but if it's nothing, then I'll get my next one when I'm 50, like normal people.  Then the receptionist won't give me such a funny look.

So....that was my adventure today.  I'm sure you could have done without hearing about it.  Sorry.
 

Life Update

Well, Monday saw the return of The Red Suit when I had my second and final residency interview. 

This time I was at UMKC.  They seem to have a good program with the residents alternating between Truman Medical Center and St. Luke's on the Plaza.  They shuttled us back and forth between the two in a Navigator limo.  Pretty pimp....a bunch of med school geeks rolling in a tricked out tool-mobile.  Unfortunately, the running board was pretty high off the ground and the combination of huge high heels, a somewhat tight skirt and a couple of inches of slushy ice on the ground did not make for a very lady-like entry and exit.  Oh well, at least I didn't face plant in the snow.  What I found really impressive about the program, however, was the air hockey table in the resident lounge.  Hummm, going to have to bring that up with the program director at KU. 

What else......oh, I started my Pulmonary/Critical Care elective on Tuesday.  Should be a pretty interesting 4 weeks.  I get to wear scrubs every day, which is awesome!  Yesterday, I got to hold up a patient's arm while the fellow put in a chest tube.  Pretty sweet, I hope I never need one!  Lots of needles, skin slicing, tissue tearing and finally, chest wall puncturing.  Oh, and then shoving a tube up behind the lung.  Fun times. 

*FYI - a fellow is someone doing specialty training after completing their residency training - this wasn't just "some fellow" who put in a chest tube. I know you were wondering....Danny.*

I love the first day of a new rotation when I have to tell the powers that be (usually a male resident or a male attending) that I'm breastfeeding and have to go pump.  The reactions have been pretty standard.  Er....um....(choke, choke)....breast....um...(blushing, twitching nervously)....you just do what you gotta do.  During my interview Monday, one of the male interviewees asked me what was in my bag.  "Oh, just my breast pump."  Gasp, twitch, fidget....

I got fancy new doctor shoes from my parents for Christmas, so I have been feeling more "doctorly" than ever.  They are pretty hideous looking clogs, but they are super comfortable and they are somewhat of a status symbol.  They say hey...I'm such a tool so totally awesome, I can wear ugly shoes!  You SOOO wish you were me! (Unless you have any fashion sense or self respect, of course.)

It's getting late and I need to ponder the many causes of pulmonary effusions (and pump my boobs - are you twitching?), but I will leave you with a few observations from today:

 - Pretty much everyone in the world is taller than me.

 - A surprising number of people are missing most, if not all of their teeth.

 - People who eat smart and work out still get cancer.  Boo, as if I needed any more convincing to eat oreo balls and lay around on the couch.

Survey

So....apparently there are a handful of people (besides my mom) who check in on this little blog of mine, either on facebook or at www.outthewinder.blogspot.com.

For those of you who consider yourselves regulars around here, here's my question: If I were to move my blog to the blogspot only, would you continue to follow? I'm thinking of allowing adds on my blog to see if I could actually make some moola. If I could make an extra $3.74 every month, that would be one more Caribou Coffee small-nonfat-white-chocolate-mocha-with-light-whip that I could buy and not feel guilty for paying nearly 4 dollars for a cup of coffee because I WORKED HARD FOR THAT MONEY!!!

Okay, just wondering. Oh, and if there is something in particular that you like reading about on my blog (Charlie, my dirty house, my limited knowledge of medicine) then let me know. I could use a little positive reinforcement/ego stroking. It's an only child thing.

Muchas Gracias!

The Conundrum

(You will learn in this blog that Charlie can speak. His voice sounds much like Anthony Hopkins character in Legends of the Fall after he has a stroke. Much like the scene where he says, "Screw em!" repeatedly. This knowledge will enhance your experience while reading this post.)

For whatever reason, Charlie - sweet Charlie, insists on chewing his nylabones on top of our metal heat vents. That is when he's not gallivanting through the house with them in his mouth, dropping them with a big bang-clank everywhere he goes.

The following is what can happen with such risky behavior. Let this be a warning to nylabone-loving dogs everywhere:

Oh, my....however did this happen???

A close-up of the casualty. And no, that's not a combination of dust and dog hair in my vent. How dare you even think it.

Desperate and running out of options, Charlie calls Mabel in for help. After this picture was taken, Mabel shook her head and walked away.


"Whud aw we gonna dooooo mom?" (Charlie can't pronounce "T's" or "R's" very well)

In a stunning show of intelligence, Charlie opts for the larger nylabone model, but is quickly drawn back to the small one in it's precarious position.

"I'm towwy (sorry) widdle (little) nywabone!" (Okay, Charlie has trouble with most letters of the alphabet.)

Inconsolable....

*Danny and I both tried to wrench the nylabone out of the vent with no success. As of now, it remains in peril.*

Paid in full

There's a joke amongst medical students that we're all so far in debt with student loans that the only thing we can afford to be is doctors. Sadly true, unless one were to run off to LA and become the "triple threat" like J. Lo. I don't foresee this happening anytime in my future because I'm really only a single threat. I can't sing or act, but I'd like to think that I can dance. But my sad, flabby little postpartum belly is something that should not be wiggled about. At least for now. How did I go from talking about student loans to my midsection? Redirecting.....

Anyhow, although we've been blessed by wonderful families who give us everything and anything they can to make our lives easier, it's rough sometimes to get by on a teacher's salary, especially now with Miss Louisa. We just bit the bullet and got a new-to-us '01 Camry (with a little help from my grandma....okay, a lot of help. Thanks GG!) The civic was starting to feel a little small and rickety and it is quickly approaching 200,000 miles. It was decided by all that Louisa needed a safer car. Forget about Louisa's parents. We are chopped liver. It's all about the baby.

We found a great car with pretty low mileage, but it had a little damage to the left rear panel that needed to be fixed before it started to rust. The guy we bought the car from had an estimate from a body shop for about $700.00.

After we bought the car, we took it to a collision center which is owned by some dear friends. We frequented their business all too often when we owned "Black Betsy," an '05 Corolla that was cursed by the devil and destined for mutilation. We sold her after her 5th wreck in 2 years, none of which were our fault.

My parents were going to pay to have a keyless entry device installed in our new car for a Christmas present, so the car spent a few days getting un-dented, re-painted and keyless-entry-ed. Danny and I went to pick up the car last week, fully prepared to pay for all of the services....it was a good investment, after all. We picked up the keys as the owner walked by.

Us: Car looks great! How much do we owe you?

Him: Um....well....nothin'. Been paid in full.

Danny: (bends over to pick jaw up off of the ground. He's tall....it hit pretty hard.)

Me: (thinking to myself "don't cry, don't cry, don't cry!")

Us: (after Danny's mandible had been reattached to the rest of his face) No, really...we need to pay you.

Him: Nope. Merry Christmas.

Wow! They always give us a deal and do fantastic work for us, but this was completely unexpected. And it wasn't done for any recognition or praise, just a great guy helping out some crazy kids who are trying to make ends meet. After several hugs and handshakes, we left the shop and headed home. Danny took the Camry and I climbed back into the civic to run some errands. Well, to go to Target. It beckons me.

While I was driving to Target, his words kept replaying in my head....paid in full. (don't cry!) He didn't have to do that! (okay you big baby, no tears!) I was still dumbfounded, humbled and elated all at the same time. And I couldn't help but think about someone else who paid our debt in full. Someone who, a few thousand years ago was born into this weary world to bring hope, healing, restoration. Who taught us how to live, how to love and how to give. He was ultimately crucified, but rose again and offers forgiveness and life eternal to those who love Him....for free. He takes our dented up hearts, makes them whole again and says, "Paid in full."

So during this Christmas season, I am thankful for our wonderful families who give so much of their time and resources, I am thankful for a warm home, plenty of food to eat, a new-to-us car and the generous man who fixed it up and in doing so (whether he realized it or not), gave us a little glimpse of the love that our Heavenly Father has for us.

I hope you all had a blessed Christmas this year!

I will now step down off of my little pulpit and retire for the evening :)