Drumroll....

Today was my last day EVER at the DHP. What, pray tell, is the DHP? I'm glad you asked. Unless you didn't, in which case, I'm a tad bit peeved with you.

The DHP is the "Downtown Health Plaza" which is the place where you go to see a doctor if you don't have any insurance. It is really a great service to the community, and is heavily used - as a place to receive medical care and as a place to force medical students to learn/practice Spanish. Lots and lots of Spanish. Once or twice, I started speaking Spanish (I use the term 'speaking' loosely here) to people with last names like 'Smith.' AKA Non-Spanish speakers.

We get the lovely experiece of going to the resident's clinics at DHP during Peds and OB/Gyn rotations. During Peds, I relied heavily upon the translators, but during OB I branched out more on my own. Dolor? Donde? OK, escuchar a la corazon de bebe ahora. (No clue if that is even close to right)

There are several translators there for people like me. Most of them are great. But then there is Miss Grumpy Pants. I have no clue what her real name is. She is a surly one, though. I was sorely tempted to grab her arm, maybe shake it a little and exclaim (because I do a lot of exclaiming in my mind) "If you hate the job so, why are you here?" Needless to say, no exclamations were made.

But, today was the last time I had to see Miss Grumpy Pants. Ever!

I'm stuffed up and my head hurts. I think Grumpy Pants cursed me.