On Being Sleeping Beauty and My Age

Continuing on a theme of things I'm addicted to... Hi, my name is Brenna, and I'm addicted to yarn. I've actually managed this particular addiction fairly well. Though, if you were to enter my apartment, you would be hard-pressed to not note the signs. (I can't hide it! - my apartment has less built in storage space than a dog house, thus forcing me to have everything I own on display.) I did move up to storing the yarn in baskets now, though, which makes it at least appear more... dignified.

I love the yarn so much not just for itself, but for the promise of what it can me. Well, some yarn I just love for itself - the really soft ones. Mmmm. I so love soft yarn. My mother taught me how to crochet when I was a youngster - twelve or so. At that time, I started making a 'scarf' which quickly turned into a 'Barbie blanket' as I gave up when it got about six inches long. When I got my wisdom teeth pulled before senior year of college, it seemed like a good time to try my hand at it again. And I've never looked back. Since 1999, I have had at least one crochet project going on at all times. (I don't count the ones that I'm 'working on,' including a few that I probably started in 1999...) So the yarn is obviously very important in crocheting.

I remember my first trip to a specialty yarn store. I thought my head was going to explode. It was beautiful. Here in this town, which possesses so many things that I don't like, there is a beautiful AC Moore that almost makes up for the bad things with its fantastic yarn department. If I could build my dream house, it would include a huge DVD room, an expansive library (a la Beauty and the Beast) and the yarn department from AC Moore.

So what could be the ultimate pleasure, in the world of a yarn-lover? Taking the next step from appreciating yarn to making yarn. Control over something I love? How fantastic. Oh, and I'd have a chocolate room in my house, too. Next door to the coffee cabana.

Thus I found myself this morning in the first of my three spinning classes. Not bicycle spinning, but spinning in the ancient sense of the word - with spinning wheels and spindles and wool and all. In the 'olden' days this was a task delegated to the children of a household. In the 'new-en' days (aka now) watching grown adults (aka me) learn how to spin is somewhat comical. It was actually not all that bad. I got a pretty good looking (small) skein of wool yarn after a few hours. And the instructor was kind enough to tell me that some people actually 'go for' that thick-thin look.

Spinning today was pretty cool. The jury is out on what my final response will be. I'm scared to start really liking it. My apartment is full enough of yarn as it is... I don't know that I could fit a spinning wheel in there (not to mention the fact that they cost several hundred dollars). I think, though, that I'll really enjoy spinning. Sigh... Yarn.

Okay, moving on from feeling like a five year old trying to learn how to spin to feeling like a 27 year old griping about the 'younger' generation. I was watching My Super Sweet 16 on MTV. Good grief! I'm all for having a memorable 16th birthday. For instance, when I turned 16, there was a festival of bands and a parade. Seriously. Of course, I was wearing a wool and polyester uniform (complete with shako) and toting my clarinet. But memorable, indeed. This MTV show is showcasing little teeny-boppers who have nothing better to do than spend their parent's money in ridiculously lavish shin-digs that serve to ever-widen the gap of the 'cool' kids versus the 'kids who wear shakos on their 16th birthday.' Eh. Whatever floats your boat. I shouldn't worry myself with these wee kids-ies who have VIP rooms at their birthday parties (VIP rooms! Good grief)

What really set me off about it was seeing the glee with which these girls presented the 'select' people with their engraved silver medallion invitations at school (the better to let others know they weren't invited), and then later designated the ultimately select crew their in to the VIP room. That bothered me almost as much as seeing the kids who bought into the hype enough to try to manufacture fake invitations to sneak their way in.

Why waste time on things like that when you can play with yarn and eat chocolate. Ahhh... perfection.

By the way, I didn’t use a spindle today, nor do I really know what one is. So, I wasn’t really acting like Sleeping Beauty at all. I am tired, though.

St.Olaf: Too Liberal?

I have never talked much about my alma mater on this site before - despite the fact that my Five Year reunion is rapidly approaching - a fact I am vehemently denying and very much NOT attending. The denial is based much more on the unwillingness to admit that time actually progresses in a forward manner than my feelings towards St. Olaf itself. Thoughts of my college days really warm the cockles of my heart. Ahh, those heart-cockle warming memories...

Okay, sorry - enough reminiscing. Because of my loyalty, I get happy when I see stories that praise St. Olaf and get annoyed when I see stories that ridicule... wait! There aren't any stories that ridicule it (outside of the whole Golden Girls thing, which I'm not even going to address right now) I mean, really, what harm is St. Olaf doing - sitting perched up on its little hill in a little town in Minnesota?

Until now... [cue the ominous music]. It seems that St. Olaf's new focus on 'Sustainability' is a little too liberal for some people.

Come again? Sustainability? Liberal?

See, it seems that there is a new website, called Intellectual Takeout, that is being aimed towards 'conservative' college students with the intention to "support free exchange of ideas on campus" and "expose students to points of view not readily available in the classroom." In their debut editorial section, the piece focuses on St. Olaf's sustainability project (which includes such things as a composter, a wind turbine and community bikes) labeling the whole thing as tantamount to 'liberal presumption.' The main point of contention appears to be this essay that the school is requiring First Years to read. I must admit, I haven't read all 20-some pages, but the basic gist of the paper appears to be 'think about what you're doing and how it will affect the world and resources available to us and future generations.'

Intellectual Takout's beef is that the paper is only addressing one side of the issue, and doesn't give 'opportunity for dialogue' about the good things involved in just doing what you want to do without thinking about the consequences. They support themselves with such statements as (referring to a project involving biodegradable tableware): "As for the biodegradable tableware, it only has value if you believe we’re running out of landfill space, which we are not." Hmm. How is a statement made with such finality (without any evidence) supposed to leave an 'opportunity for dialogue.'

I'm going to come back to the fact that this is St. Olaf they are talking about. St. Olaf, where you can major in Norwegian or Organ Performance but can't drink on campus (it is a 'dry' campus). St. Olaf, where everyone is required to take two religion classes, and there are 20 minute chapel services every day. This was the school they chose to attack in their DEBUT editorial. Now, if you wanted to attack my school for not giving 'opportunity for dialogue' there are certainly some areas where I would support you, but sustainability is NOT one of them.

I can't help but think that someone at this web site heard 'liberal college' and 'Northfield, MN' and confused St. Olaf with our extremely liberal neighbors from across the river - Carleton College. (Oles had to go somewhere to drink!)

Okay. Diatribe over.

I'd Have Guessed Higher...

You Are 40% Weird

Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it!

How Weird Are You?

Overachievers Anonymous

Seeing as the attending I'm supposed to be working with is gone for the rest of the week, one would think this would be a perfect opportunity to sit back, relax and enjoy what is left of the summer. While that is true to a certain extent, I'm also thankful for this time for a more practical reason: I have stuff to do! I have this teeny-tiny little problem. I participate. Initially, I think of it as 'getting involved,' but without fail that turns into 'helping plan' and sometimes progresses all the way to 'being in charge.' This would not be a bad thing at all, except when everything starts to happen all at once and I'm left with too much to humanly finish in my allotted time.

My name is Brenna, and I'm an over-achiever.

I've had this problem since high school. I thought that medical school would cure me of it. I tried to convince myself that I was like the other pre-meds in college - only participating to pad my resume. I tried to deny the fact that I just love, love, love organizing and planning and being in charge (read: having an excuse to be bossy). Alas, I ended up in med school with all of those resume-padding participators, who wanted nothing to do with responsibility as soon as they got that hot little acceptance letter in their hand. Thus, I found myself... planner... treasurer... secretary... skit actor... slide-show-putter-togetherer... editor in chief of the yearbook... and now Student Chair of the Health and Effectiveness Committee. [Note: there are a few select other people that I include with me in my little club of OCD overachievers - Susan, of course being one of them]

What it comes down to is this: I have a week free to get as much of the yearbook and the new HEC member orientation done as I can.

Which may explain some of my annoyance right now. See, I had a meeting at noon, after which I was going to work on the yearbook, but I had cramps, so I had to go home to take copious amounts of Advil, but then when I got back to school the yearbook computer wouldn't go online, inducing me to bring it to Academic Computing where they took it hostage to install Windows XP, and I had to find a different computer to log onto to work on the yearbook, and right when I was in the middle of a very time-consuming part, a classmate came up and basically kicked me off because that was the ONLY place in the WORLD where she'd saved her CV and she just had to have it right then, so I had to move to a different computer (this one) that has a really annoying keyboard, forcing me to hit the backspace key at least forty time while typing this post.

At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that my CV has a lot more worthy stuff on it than that girl's. Here's to over-achieving!!!

Hostage!

Ahh... The first day of a new rotation is always so dreadful and exciting all at once. Just when you get lulled into the security of actually knowing what is going on during rounds, and knowing exactly what your responsibilities are, and what depth of knowledge you need to have on various topics... you move on. Not that I am complaining, mind you. Change is good, especially when it involves change away from the ICU.

The rotation I am starting today is different than any I have done up to this point. It is my second of two required "Acting Internships" (also known as Sub-Internship at some schools). At the end of third year, I was a little saddened at the prospect of never doing anything else in the OR. I actually really enjoy scrubbing in and seeing things that happen during surgeries. Not that I could commit myself to that kind of life - specifically that kind of residency. I (personally) firmly ascribe to the 'girls made of sugar and spice' view of life. Surgery requires a more 'puppy-dog tails' view. [This is by no way meant to be sexist - I'm just saying that I personally don't have what it takes to do surgery. Some of the best girls in my class are doing surgery.]

Ah, anyway. I digress. Because of my lack of enthusiasm about abandoning the OR forever, I decided that my second AI should be a surgery one. And, since we all know I love kids, I determined that I should do the "Congenital Heart Surgery" one. Awesome. So, I find myself in a rotation where I will be working one-on-one with the pediatrics cardiothoracic surgeon. It is quite exciting, really, as he is supposed to be a wonderful person.

I say 'supposed to be' because I have yet to meet him. See... he's going on vacation. Today. For a week. Which means... I don't know! I guess... I guess I get a week off? A week to study?

He is actually at the hospital today, and I did talk to him briefly. He had some meetings, after which he promised he'd page me. That was two and a half hours ago. Thus, I find myself stymied. I'm just wandering around the hospital, waiting for a page. Like waiting for ransom...

Still, it is much better than the ICU!

Oh, Yeah: Monday

Haha! You all thought that I was just going to totally skip telling you all about Monday, didn't you? Yeah, I kind of did, too. Last week went and got all... busy on me. But I feel like I left the story hanging (much like last year's Nano novel), so I shall finish it! Briefly.

Monday was check-out day, so we had to leave our magical room in the sky. Sigh... I was so tired by that time, that I am afraid I didn't do terribly good justice to the whole Manhattan experience. Though, I did come up with a name for our trip (I told you it would happen!): the Discover Manhattan trip. Oh, yeah.

Okay, I'm being brief. Brief, brief, brief. We left our bags with the concierge (I just had to point out that we used a concierge... just because) and headed towards Fifth Avenue. Did some shopping. Ate breakfast at Cafe Metro with all the guys that sell fake handbags on the street. I'm not sure why they were all there... but they were. And surprisingly, they CAN say things other than "Gucci, Gucci, Gucci. Five bucks! Ladies! Purses!" At least, I presume they can, as I didn't see any of them eating a handbag...

Um. We ended up wandering around Central Park for a long time. I knew Central Park was big, but MAN. It is HUGE. And there were people EVERYwhere. Susan and I rode on the Carousel. Becase we do things like that. And it was only a buck twenty-five!

Central Park, Central Park, Central Park. Then, we decided that what we wanted more than anything else in the world was... rice pudding!!! So we (finally, after some... drama) got on a subway and were back in Little Italy. We had a FANTASTIC dinner at a restaurant called... I don't know. But it was some of the best Italian food I've ever had. Then... rice pudding. So good.

Finally, we did have to go to the airport. Not having enough energy to try to tackle the subway all the way to JFK, we took a cab.

And that was that! Discover Manhattan trip was done. I am proud of the amount of stuff we crammed into those three days! Especially that we spent so much time out of Times Square! Go us!

Relief

The fellow just said, "Let's round in ten minutes." And I almost hugged him.

In a short period of time, I will be DONE with this freaking ICU rotation. And I will never, NEVER have to take care of adults in the ICU again. Maybe I will go hug the fellow...

This is the inside of the church that Susan and I went to on Sunday. I don't think we were supposed to take pictures of the inside. Oops. The incense obviously went to my head! 

Here, Susan is... surprised? Shocked? Thinking about what direction we need to travel in? I'm not actually sure. 

This is Aaron and a National Guard guy at Grand Central Station. When we passed him (the guard, not Aaron), Susan said "I thought he was real at first!" Then he moved.  

Grand Central Station gets pretty dark at night. Not this dark, otherwise Dana and I wouldn't have been able to see each other. But still dark-ish. 

This is Aaron, Dana and Susan. We're all on the Staten Island Ferry. They're not looking AWAY from me (I mean they ARE, but not on purpose) - they're looking at the Statue of Liberty. Or they were just tired of my face. 

Still Sunday, Some More

Mmm. Coffee. My quest to get coffee today was much more successful than Sunday's. We got of the ferry and wandered back into the financial district. Apparently, things are closed in that particular district on Sundays. INCLUDING Starbuck's. I about had a heart attack right there.

It was starting to get latish - meaning late enough that we had to acknowledge that we would need to start thinking about getting back to Grand Central Station so that Aaron and Dana could make it home. It was determined that we should go to Greenwich Village and find some dinner. Again, I'm not really sure how that decision was made. Though, I think at that point I was thinking more about my aching feet than Aaron or Dana (sorry guys!).

Back on the Subway. I feel so cosmopolitan travelling on subways. No, actually, that's not true. I feel... city-like. I feel cosmopolitan taking a cab. Or while... drinking a... Cosmopolitan.

So, yeah, we ended up on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village. I tried to channel Jack Kerouac or Allen Ginsberg, but then a car honked or something and I lost my concentration, so I decided to channel my stomach and find a restaurant. (I did Howl a bit though... in my head)

We ended up eating dinner at Lemongrass Grill more out of convenience (Hey look! There's a restuarant) than anything else. It was quite good, though, AND I was able to satisfy my little (aka BIG) coffee craving with some delicioso Thai Coffee - so thick, it sticks to your spoon! - sweetened with, of all things, condensed milk!

After dinner, we wandered around Bleecker and MacDougal Streets for a while, just chatting away. It is funny how many areas of New York remind me of other areas of the country that I've been to. This particular area made me think of Atlanta for some reason. Nothing in particular... it just felt similar.

Eventually, we headed back over to Soho so that Dana could pick up her luggage from her friend's apartment (she had come into town the day before). I felt pretty cool being in an actual New York apartment. I was too scared to ask what the rent was. The apartment itself was probably about the size of mine, but a two-bedroom whereas mine is called an... efficiency, I think (because the stove is small).

Things were winding down, which was probably good, as I think we were all pretty tired. We headed back to Grand Central Station. The food court was all closed there - I am always shocked when I find something closed in New York. Apparently in my head, they are ALWAYS OPEN. Everything. All of New York should be open all the time. But they're not.

There was some sort of Brazilian street fair going on in Times Square that day, and there were tons of Brazilian people wandering around Grand Central Station. I knew they were Brazilian because of their bright green and yellow shirts. I want to say something funny here, but... it just isn't coming today.

In the end, I did have to let Aaron and Dana onto their train. I thought about staying on the platform and running after the train waving a handkerchief or something. But I didn't have a handkerchief. And I had to go look for Platform 9 and 3/4 (I couldn't find it).

By this time, Susan and I were almost too tired to function. Well, at least I was. And I can read Susan's mind, so... (not really, Susan - stop thinking that!) We decided to get some snacks and get an in-room movie. On the way back to the hotel, we stopped by a shop that had an internet connection (where I started writing about the adventures!) There was an issue with Susan's connection, and something in me snapped - I attribute it to exhaustion and just being in New York - and I actually yelled at the poor man. Now, listen people, I get frustrated, but I simmer and occasionally boil over and take it out on my family and friends. But I don't yell. Except, apparently, in New York. I was so energized by the yelling, that I spent the rest of the walk back to the hotel cutting off all the Brazilian people I could find (a lot).

Back at the hotel, Susan and I watched "A Lot Like Love" and then went to sleep.

Phew, that was a lot of writing. But now, there is only Monday left. I really can't imagine that anyone but Susan (and perhaps my mother) has actually read everything. You'd better, though, because the next time I see you, I will quiz you. Be prepared!

Still Sunday

I didn't realize that I would be writing quite so much about our trip. But then, we are really good at cramming a lot of activity into a small period of time. I find myself growing less witty as the week progresses and I get back into the swing of the hospital, though. Sad, I know. Yet I shall overcome! That doesn't, of course, mean that you have to keep reading. In fact... why are you? Shouldn't you be mopping or something? Playing with a boomerang?

If you choose to continue the adventures, read on. Just let me fix the time on my pager first (the battery died).... Okay. NOW read on.

We were last found in the Irish Hunger Memorial. I imagine it was supposed to be touching or thought provoking or something, but I was just not feeling it. There was a lot of grass, so I kept thinking... couldn't they have eaten grass? I'd have at least tried. Grass stew. Grass potatoes. Grass pudding... I bet there's a lot you can do with grass. So, yeah. It was nice and green, though.

We continued our way on to the Staten Isand Ferry, traveling along the Battery. It was a lot of walking, and I was hot and my feet hurt, but... it was hot in New York and my feet hurt with Dana and Aaron (and Susan!), so it was all good. There are a lot of things in Battery Park. We didn't really look at any of them (except to wonder what the pyramid was - turns out it is the Museum of Jewish Heritage. Huh. I didn't know they did pyramids. (actually, it is six-sided, like the Star of David. Duh.))

Walking and walking... There are a lot of dogs in New York. Big dogs, small dogs, costumed dogs... There was even a dog being carried around in one of those papoose-y things people generally carry babies in. Poor pup! For all the dogs, there is not much dog poo. Impressive. Interestingly, there are a lot of dogs in Athens (or there were before the Olympics were there), but they were strays. I saw nary a stray in NYC. Nary a stray. Nary. I like the word nary.

Finally, we did make it to the ferry. There were a lot of people there - a mix of tourists and 'real' people. We hopped on the ferry (actually, we walked, but I've grown tired of talking about walking) and had a quick jaunt over to Staten Island. We were met on the ferry by Aaron's little sister, Anna. (by design, not happenstance) I hadn't seen her since she was a wee child of 18 - now she's 23, I think. So weird how people keep growing.

When we got to Staten Island, we got on the ferry to Manhattan. Except that it was still called the "Staten Island" ferry, not the "Manhattan Island" one. We spent a total of... three minutes, maybe, in Staten Island. Anna bought some batteries there.

Are you seriously still reading this? Batteries! I'm not feeling terribly sparkly today, as I'm writing this within stone's throw of a patient who has been loudly moaning for... two days now.

So, post-ferry, I was in the mood for some coffee (when am I not? in fact... I am right now... mmm... coffee... break time!)

This is not the view from my current location. It was, however, a mere 36 hours ago. Sigh.... 

Send rice pudding! 

And Then it Was Sunday

We woke excited for more fun on Sunday. Well, at least I awoke excited for more fun. I can't speak for Susan. On a side note, for anyone who has not had the pleasure of seeing Susan wake up. She goes from what appears to be a deep, deep sleep to sitting up talking. It is pretty amazing. It's like **sleep...sleep...sleep** "I'll take a shower now since I take more time afterwards getting ready." It is quite shocking, really.

Let's see. We ended up at Cosi for breakfast, which was quick and delicious. (But be forewarned, the Manager has no 'accsess' to the safe) Then we hopped on the One train up to the "Church and Gown" area (I learned that from one of our New York Walking Tour cards). Susan is a huge fan of Madeleine L'Engle, and wanted to attend a church service at Ms. L'Engle's home church.

The Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine. Wowwie-wow-wow. What a church. It is the kind of building that can only be described by making that sing-songy "awwhhh" sound while shaking your hands in front of you to try to describe the humongous enormity of it. It is also beautifully ominous. It is an Episcopalian church, so I thought it would be somewhat similar to my own Lutheran services. Hmm. There, I was wrong. They used incense. Lots and lots of incense. It was in this gold hangy thing - like what I associate with Catholic churches - and they swung it all around. It was like crazy-incense-swinging day at church or something. Except that I think I was the only one so amused by it all. Everyone else was very solemn and reverential, and even bowed towards crazy incense-swinging man. Maybe they were bowing at the incense. There was also lots of singy-chanting. We did the entire Nicene's Creed in one tone. That felt long. And the sermon itself was not a milquetoast-y Lutheran sermon (or even a fiery Lutheran sermon) it was like a campaign speech on a political trail. It was too liberal for even me. (Granted, I'm not the most liberal liberal) Very, very odd.

Wow. That was a lot of writing about the church. Man, that incense just really got to me. Oh, and the communion wine tasted funny. Jesus' blood tastes different in Episcopalian. (Is it sacreligious to say that?)

Because church went long, we bypassed the subway (my executive decision) because we were already late meeting my Special Guests. I thrilled with excitement as we crazily rushed, in true NYC-cabbie fashion, towards Grand Central Station.

Special Guest 1: Aaron. I met Aaron the very first night of college. I went to the pop machine (it was in Minnesota, therefore 'pop' is infinitely more correct than 'soda') with a dollar, desperate for a Diet Something. Unfortunately, the machine only took coins. Thwarted! Just then, a guy came up to the snack machine, his own dollar in tow in search of... let's say peanuts. The guy's dollar didn't work in the snack machine, so we made a trade. Peanuts in hand, he was satisfied. I however remained parched. He didn't have any change to give me for the pop machine, BUT! he did have Diet Coke in his room, and was happy to share. The rest was history. Aaron and I maintained a good, if sometimes slightly competitive (mostly on my end, as he generally won) friendship throughout our time at St. Olaf. I had not seen him since graduation, five years ago.

Special Guest 2: Dana. I met Dana in Salt Lake City, Utah at our orientation for AmeriCorps. She and I were two of the five volunteers headed for Sitka, Alaska. As I am wont to do, I made very fast first opinions. Everyone seemed very nice, but I did note in my trusty journal that Dana seemed like she might be 'boring.' That's all okay, though, as Dana labeled me as likely to be a 'snob.' We spent the rest of our year in Alaska proving each other wrong. She's the snob and I'm boring... Wait! No, both of us are freaking cool and can spend hours talking about absolutely nothing. I had not seen Dana since we each left for our respective medical schools three years ago.

I honestly wasn't sure if I'd easily recognize Aaron and Dana (who had already found each other before I arrived). But, there they were, in the middle of Grand Central Station, just like I remembered them. That was very cool. So we made our introductions and decided to head towards the financial district/waterfront are. I was in kind of a blur at the time, (I was still like "Oh my gosh! It's Aaron! And Dana! Here! With me! Aaron! Dana! Wow! This is weird! But not weird! How weird that it is not weird! Dana and Aaron!") so I don't really remember how we made that decision.

After some aimless wandering and bantering and catching up and getting to know each other, we ended up at the Heartland Brewery for lunch.

At some point, we decided that it would be fun (and free!) to take the Staten Island ferry out to... well, Staten Island. It would give us a good view of the Statue of Liberty and of the city skyline. So we walked (and walked) over towards the Battery. We made a little side trip to the Irish Hunger Memorial (Irish Hunger Memorial? Yes.)

Ooh. And now I must go help with an A-line. By 'help' I mean 'stand and watch and try not to fall asleep.' Ahh, the life of a med student...

Adventures, part 2

When we last left Brenna and Susan, they were happily ensconced in a land of magic, watching the "true" story of the witches of Oz play out in musical splendor before them. (We were also left waiting with the promise of 'more writing tomorrow.' Obviously this did not happen... oops... what ya gonna do?)

Alright, so I'll resist going on and on (and on) about Wicked, and just encourage you all to see it or at least to purchase the CD and memorize the music so that you can put together your own impromptu interpretation of it to astound and amaze your co-workers or the people at the local Krispy Kreme.

We did a little Stage-Door-Stalking as Susan wanted to see Shoshana Bean (aka Elphaba) in person. Alas, the green-tinted maiden decided to forgo an appearance. Susan managed to get over the disappointment relatively easy, however, and we went back to Restaurant Row in search of dinner. Again, dinner at eleven o'clock at night. Nice. We found a great little pub called O'Flaherty's that was filled with books (books!) and good live sing-a-long music.

A couple block jaunt back to the hotel, and then up 48 floors and we were in the Marriott Marquis' rotating restaurant called The View. As we waited in line to get seated a blonde lady asked the hostess what the view was of. She was totally serious. The hostess looked a tad taken aback (trying to figure out, I presume, if the woman was actually serious) then brightly replied "all of Manhatten." Like you'd travel to the 48th floor, sit in a rotating restaurant and get a view of... posters on the wall? I don't know. That was worth a good chuckle, though. The view from The View was pretty spectacular.

Finally, we did make it back to our room (with only a 39th floor, non-rotating view - though still awesome) and got some well-deserved shut-eye.

More to come. I've only covered Saturday, after all!!!

Adventures

I send my pardons to Susan who is currently sitting on my left dealing with an idiot who does not understand that 2 minutes online does NOT equal the thirty she already paid for. Sigh...

Alrighty. Despite my worries, we did make it to New York completely without any trouble at all. Except that they had to check Susan's film rolls for gun powder. (There was none)

Friday night, we hit Restaurant Row and got some Thai food. The lovely thing about it was that it was like eleven o'clock at night. It is really, really hard to find something open at eleven o'clock at night at home. So nice.

Mmmm. Let's see. We've done so much that I can't even remember!

I got up early on Saturday morning to work out. Shocking, I know, but how can you resist the lure of working out while looking over Times Square from the 23rd floor.

Susan and I made it out of the hotel before 10. Also shocking if you are familiar with either of our weekend sleeping schedules. (Saturday morning? What's that?)

We ate breakfast at Majestic Deli. Relatively unremarkable, except for the part where Susan threw her breakfast on the ground. No, it didn't make her mad, and no she was not trying to emulate the klutziness of yours truly. She was just trying to make her big splash on Broadway. Haha. Splash.

On the flight up from Greensboro, Susan had a Lucky magazine that

::Interruption, as I'm choking on the extremely overbearing and strong perfume of the woman standing near me. *Hack. Hack*::

talked about some interesting areas in NYC. One of the things that struck our fancy was a "Young Designer's Fair" in Nolita. That's "North of LIttle Italy" for those in the know. AKA me. I purchased some pretty cool earrings (aren't they lovely?) and Susan found a nifty, hand made dress which she actually got to purchase from the cool-accented designer herself. Fun.

Then we... wandered around Nolita, fell in love with various too-expensive purses and too-expensive skirts and a mirror. That was Susan who loved the mirror. (and it didn't even tell her she was the fairest in the land - it just sat there!)

Eventually we wandered into Little Italy after a late lunch at the Lovely Day Cafe. Delish. OH!!! And I almost forgot the most important thing: Rice to Riches. Rice to Riches, people, that's right. It is a desserty type place (akin to Baskin Robbins or Maggie Moo's) that specializes in RICE PUDDING. Who KNEW that rice pudding could be so sexy? It was terribly good. So good that we're both hankering to go back for more. I recommend the chocolate chip flirt.

Ummm... A bit of Little Italy, a bit of Chinatown, and a bit of frustration with the massive, slow-moving crowds. And a bit of purchasing of cheap junk (me) and a quest for the perfect shoe (Susan).

We finally had to get back to the hotel (did I mention that the hotel is magnificent? It is. The fairest in the... block) to change for... WICKED. Wicked, Wicked, Wicked, oh how I love thee. Let me count the ways. 1. You rock. 2. I love you. 3. Green is cool.

In the ... I've completely lost the word I was looking for. I'm almost out of time. That's what I was trying to say. I'll write more tomorrow, when I can expound proliferatively on our Saturday night and Sunday.

Oh, I forgot to mention the coffee at Ferrera's in Little Italy. Mmmmm. Love coffee. Love.

Take a Bite...

...of the Big Apple. T-minus 3.5 hours until departure for New York. I've been living all week on edge, just waiting for the thing that would happen to prevent this trip. Hopefully, I can continue to avoid catastrophe for the next seven or so hours and make it to the hotel unscathed.

On the agenda for the weekend:
Today: Fly to NYC, have fun
Saturday: Have fun, see Wicked, have more fun
Sunday: Fancy church, See two friends that I haven't seen in three/five years, more crazy fun
Monday: Have fun

Does that not sound perfect? Susan and I are determined to actually make it out of Times Square on this visit to New York. If we can avoid the draw of the TKTS booth. It is like an adddiction. Seriously.

Keep posted for the Further Adventures of Brenna.

(We haven't given an official title to this vacation yet. Fear not, it will happen in its own time.)

Breathe

Alrighty. Applications submitted. Now it is all out of my hands... Which is both terrifying and relieving.

Of course, there is the Seattle problem, but for now I'm going to forget about it and just float on my little cloud...

Happy, happy little cloud.

Ripple Effect

Even though I'm physically closer to Katrina's destruction than many I know, I did not expect the ramifications to affect me more than paying a bit more for my gas.

Then I logged on to ERAS (which, by the way, I can submit tomorrow. TOMORROW.):

MYERAS ALERT:
Due to the damage from hurricane Katrina ERAS emphasizes the importance of contacting programs prior to applying to confirm they are accepting applications.

I don't think that will really apply to 'my' programs, but it is still shocking!

PLUS, there is the rumor going around that airlines are going to cancel flights that aren't booked due to fears of jet fuel shortages. And I'm flying to NY this weekend! Never fear, if the flight is cancelled, Susan and I will be hot-footing it there in SUV style, despite the $4.00/gallon gas.

And, despite what it sounds like with what I have written, my thoughts and prayers are with the people of the Gulf Coast. I only wish I was an actual MD so I could go help. No one wants a medical student in a tragedy. We'd just gum things up.

Bada Bing

By this point we all know how I feel about adult patients in general and the ICU in particular. (In brief: it is like having my soul sucked out through my toes) I had an experience yesterday that defies all words. I haven't even been able to file it under 'why adult medicine is interesting' or 'why adult medicine sucks.'

I was hanging in the ICU like normal yesterday afternoon working on ERAS application stuff (which we can submit on THURSDAY). Something aggravated me greatly (a whole 'nother story), so I decided to take a brief walk around the hospital. I left right as they were rolling a post-op patient up from the PACU (not pacu). I was gone for about twenty minutes, and when I came back in, I saw that everyone was clustered around the new patient's bed, which was relatively normal. Then I realized that there were TOO many people clustered there. And that some of the people were donning sterile gowns. And that one person was CRACKING HER CHEST. That's when I realized that something unusual was going on.

Turns out the patient's heart had stopped beating, and chest compressions weren't working, and she conveniently had a nice un-healed incision through her sternum, and bada-bing, bada-boom. Open heart surgery in the ICU.

The rest of the afternoon progressed in a similar fashion. Things just went crazy. I was actually happy to have stuff to do, even if a lot of it was just fetching and holding. (get me the chart! I need a suture removal kit!) I did get to do some procedure-ish stuff yesterday as well. I changed two lines over wire - which involves sticking a wire into a central line that is already inserted, pulling out the old line, sticking in a new one and stitching it down. I don't get to do the actual stick, which is generally the hardest part, but it is still a good chance to do something.

And during the open heart surgery, I got to squeeze in fluids. Which sounds like what it is. I squeezed a little plastic tube to make fluids go in faster.

In the end, it didn't matter. When you reach a point where you need your chest opened emergently, your chances of survival are minimal. We didn't beat the odds on this one.

I remember the first time a patient of mine died. I was horrified. I didn't write it down here, but I remember feeling that the world should stop to acknowledge the passing of a soul from this world. Even at that time, I knew that I'd have to accept death as a part of medical practice. I didn't realize that it would happen so quickly. Bada bing, bada boom: I'm 'professional.' I watched this person die yesterday, and what I'm left with is the coolness of seeing it all, and doing procedures, rather than the grief of losing a person.

I guess it is what we need to do to keep functioning on some level. I have yet to lose a pediatric patient, however. Somehow I feel that that will be different.

Good Advice

(From those who know better than me)

I was told tonight that one (especially if one is female) shouldn't wear anything to a residency interview that a man who is not gay would remember.

Makes sense, no?

Fellow

My fellow in the ICU hums all the time. Hmm-hmmm-hmmm. No tune, just humming. And he reads out loud. And he sits perched over the computer screen like a big scary bird about to snap up a worm.

It drives me BONKERS!

Now it is time to round. Again.

Dancing Through Life

My goal for today is to spend as little time as possible in the ICU. So far, outside of rounds, I have spent 35 minutes there. Including rounds, it has been four hours and 35 minutes. Did I mention that I hate rounding?

In that 35 minutes, I waltzed in, told the resident and attending that my patient's urine showed "Too Numerous to Count" bacteria and that is phosphorus was improving (it was 0.2 this morning - yes that is point two). Then I waltzed on out. 'Twas fantastic.

I really, really, really want to take a nap.

Vermin

Before I moved to North Carolina, I had this vague idea of there being cockroaches running rampant. I have lived in my apartment since I moved here, and in my three plus years there, I've only seen about two or three cockroaches. They seem to crawl out of whereever they live to die on my bathroom floor.

So, the other day, when I heard some rustling sounds coming from my bathroom, I assumed that maybe I'd have to battle an actual live roach. I avoided the bathroom for a while, but finally I had to go. That's when I saw The Evidence. The Evidence that I was sharing my apartment with something with teeth. Little teeth that nibble on things. Although, the fact that the little nibbly teeth had chosen to eat some Caress soap makes me think that at least the creature is hygiene-conscious.

Even after The Evidence, I decided to pretend to myself that it was an isolated, one-time incident, and the creature would get over its taste for soap and move next door.

But yesterday, when I was pulling out my garbage can to dispose of my coffee grounds, there It was. My brain couldn't at first process the large fuzzy gray thing perched on the edge of my trash can. I thought 'I don't remember throwing away any yarn.' Then, it moved. And I screamed.

If you'd asked me before yesterday what I would do if I saw a rat in my apartment, I don't think I'd have said that I would scream.

But I did.

Like a little girl.

A quick call to my apartment manager (landlord, I guess is the right term) and the exterminators played a little visit. Now I have this little black box under my sink. I don't know what it is supposed to do. I just don't want to see the rat again.

Oh, yeah. And when I got up this morning, there was a cockroach laying upside down on my bathroom floor. It was still alive, so I covered it with an upside down cup.

But I didn't scream.

Never Ending Story

A few months back, I declared the saga of the (MM)PWHM to be at an end. Once third year ended, I really thought it was so. It was quite thrilling to be free from the drama that surrounded all of that nastiness.

Shortly after the end of third year, however, I got a note in my box from one of the (MM)PWHM. And, oh how angry I got. How dare he disrupt my new-found peace and calm, thought I. I stewed in my own anger and resentment for a few days, and wrote a very mature (if I do say so myself) response. Basically, I said, it was bad and hard and I got over it and moved on.

Then... I felt some satisfaction, but also some... disappointment I guess is the right word. That was when it really felt over to me. I'd closed the door on what had once been a very good friendship.

Well, it turns out that someone's foot was in that door. Over the last few weeks, I've found myself in the company of the letter-writing (MM)PWHM. And what was most unusual was not only the fact that I didn't get nauseated or break out into hives in his presence, but also that it almost felt normal. But there was still that underlying thread of tension. See, I still thought that he hated me, or at least had at some point thought terrible things of me.

So, times passes on, and people gain courage and resolve, and suddenly I found myself in the park yesterday afternoon, having a real conversation with (MM)PWHM. And, it turns out he doesn't actually hate me. At all. Never did. He's a (MM)PWDAHM - that's (Mysteriously Missing) Person Who Doesn't Actually Hate Me.

And what does that all mean? I guess we're going to try to be friends. It just baffles me, really, as had this whole process. I am consciously entering into this. Both my eyes are open, and my feet are firmly planted on solid ground. I fear that I will end up back in the same place I was before, but I have faith that I know myself better now. So, even though it may not be the best decision, I am letting my heart beat out my reason on this one.

I just hope that I don't come to regret it.

(I don't think I will...)

Oompa-Loompacide

The saying "kids are not just little adults" is one maxim that we hear repeated a lot in the hospital. After a few months of pediatric medicine, I find myself needing to re-learn the opposite: Adults are not just big kids.

One thing that is relatively uniqe to adult medicine is the phenomenon of making fun of the patient. Well... maybe "making fun of" isn't the correct term. But with adults that have tons of comorbid conditions - the heart patients with COPD and liver disease, for instance - there is the underlying knowledge that they contributed to their own condition. And so many adults are non-compliant with their therapies that it is not uncommon to have a relative level of cynicism when treating them.

Which leads to comments like the one made by an intern to another this morning: "Something fishy's going on. Her glucose is still 400-something and she's on enough insulin to kill an Oompa Loompa."

Love it.

Day By Day

I was thinking about what I'd write in my blog all day today, and now that I'm sitting here, I just don't care! Not about you. I love all of you, my semi-anonymous blog-reading crowd.

No, I just am not terribly enthused about the ICU. It doesn't lend itself to epic odes. Neither does it lead to ranting tirades. So instead of either, let me just tell you what I did today. If you really care. Actually, your time would be much better spent handing out stuffed animals to orphans wandering the streets. Or eating zucchini or cultivating a resistance to Iocane powder.

Brenna's Wednesday
5:15-ish - Get up.
6:00-6:45 - Rounds with the CT surgery team (during which I function as a third year since those punks are on vacation)
6:45-7:45 - Anesthesia Grand Rounds (Perioperative Management of Cardiac blah-de-blah)
8:00-9:00 - CT Surgery Conference (Boring boring boring)*
9:00-11:00 - Rounds with the ICU team and Pharmacist
11:00-12:00 - Anesthesia lecture (Asthma)
12:00-1:00 - Lunch
1:00-4:00 - Excrutiating Boredom
4:00-4:40 - Rounds with CT Surgery fellow and ICU team

Ugh. We don't always have quite so many lectures, but we do Round like it is going out of style. Oh, and did I mention that we have four patients. Four. We spent TWO hours rounding on FOUR patients. I totally forgot that adult rounds get like this. But I am learning, so that is good. So they say...

*Somewhat related mini-rant: The CTS conference was about some sort of new-fangled radiology techniques. Fancy X-rays. Such a sweat stain. There was one guy - a salesman I'm sure - had this terribly annoying booming voice. And he kept saying "facile." Repeatedly. But he used it in this bizarre manner that I don't think was correct. Actually, I'm fairly certain it wasn't correct. Example: "I will sit down with you and make you facile with the buttonology." Buttonology. Facile. I was so annoyed my brain exploded.

Paint by Numbers: A Life

I finally got my board scores today (yay!) and while I'm not displeased with the results, I am struck anew how much importance people place on all these 'numbers' in our lives: IQ, salary, weight, GPA, test scores, class rank, etc. As if they define us. And yet, we all hide them, as if people will judge us. "NO! I can't tell you what I got - it will make me stupid or possibly arrogant!" Well, as we all know (or at least strongly suspect) I am both stupid(ish) and arrogant. So why not bare all. An existential streaking, if you will.

Here, then, is my life, in numbers:

SAT Verbal - 770
SAT Math - 740
HS GPA - 3.98
MCAT Biological Sciences - 9
MCAT Verbal - 11
MCAT Physical Sciences - 11
MCAT writing - can't remember...
College GPA - 3.85
USMLE Step 1 - 215
Med School Class Rank (years 1-2) - 46 of 104
USMLE Step 2 205
Med School Class Rank (year 3) - 71 of 98
Salary - yeah, right
Weight - yeah, right (okay, so one number still makes me cringe)

There you go. Feel like you know my any better? Didn't think so.

Some numbers that really matter:
2 - number of sisters I have
2 - number of parents I have
Innumerate - number of friends I have
2 - number of working eyes I have (or four depending on your maturity level)
About 30 - number of times I laughed today
Infinite - my possibilities (gag me! how cheesy!)

Now I'm off to get my 5-6 hours of sleep!

Personal Manifesto

For all y'all that have been clamoring for it (okay, so it was just my mom...), here is the famous "Personal Statement" that the residency programs will be receiving from yours truly.

In my dream life, I am a world renowned actress, have several best-selling novels under my belt, and spend my free time doing good deeds. I can also sing like an angel and am as graceful as a swan. In reality, I can’t act, haven’t the wherewithal to complete a novel, and sing more like an android than an angel. Plus, I am a bit of a klutz.

I realized early in life that I may not progress terribly far with a singing and acting career, so I focused on “doing good deeds.” By the age of twelve, I knew I’d be a pediatrician. Why? Because, as the regular neighborhood babysitter/game inventor, I knew that I liked kids, and I knew that doctors did good things. It sounded logical to my concrete brain.

Fast forward a few years to college where I joined the masses of pre-med students, striving to make myself a good applicant. The only problem was that my motivation had not changed since I was a junior high student: I liked kids and I wanted to do good. I had developed abstract thinking skills since I was twelve, but the reasoning behind my ultimate goal was still very concrete.

And then medical school started.

And it was everything I expected it to be, and nothing at all like I expected it to be. Everything was new – the people, the language, even the smells were completely foreign. It was all overwhelming at first, but I slowly began to see that saying “I want to go into medicine” was just as vague as saying “I want to do good.” This realization forced me to finally apply abstract reasoning to my decisions.

It was during third year that I was really able to put my motivation into actual words, and at the same time moved beyond liking pediatrics just because I like kids. While I enjoyed learning about diseases and treatments on a pathophysiologic basis, I found that I was even more drawn to the patients’ histories, trying to identify ways in which we could have prevented the disease in the first place. I found myself getting frustrated when I met patients suffering from avoidable illnesses.

Pediatrics to me, has come to mean more than simply diagnosing and treating sick children. It requires caring for entire families, and teaching them how to raise healthy children. I think anticipatory guidance is just as important, if not more so, than choosing the correct antibiotic to treat a sinus infection. It is the ultimate form of preventative medicine. While I do want to learn how to more accurately diagnose and treat children, I also plan on getting a Masters in Public Health at some point to better equip myself in promoting children’s health and welfare. I look forward to being a strong advocate for my patients.

My personality is ideally suited for both pediatrics and preventative medicine. In my third year rotations, I excelled in the categories involving rapport with others - patients and peers. I listen well, and am generally able to get my own message across without being condescending or mean. Working with children and families requires patience, creativity and a good sense of humor, attributes which I believe I can use to my benefit.

I can think of nothing more fulfilling than to spend my life helping and teaching children. They are full of surprises and joy and promise. How could any day be boring when there is a four year old in it? Is there anything more challenging than trying to get a fourteen year old girl to open up? Unless perhaps it is trying to look in the ears of an uncooperative eighteen month old?

I am no longer the concrete-thinking child who wants to be a pediatrician simply to “do good.” I have learned and grown a lot both in life and in medical school, but in the end what it boils down to is this: I like kids and I want to do good.

The twelve year old inside me is very happy.

100% of Me Wants to Go Home

According to the NBME site, my boards scores were mailed on Wednesday, which means that I expected to receive them today. No such luck! Susan got hers (whines Brenna), but my mailbox contained merely a survey from the NBME asking questions about the testing experience.

Sigh.

I get my scores sent to me at school, which means that I won't get them before Monday now. Today is my last day of Peds Neuro and Monday I start in the Cardiothoracic Surgery ICU on Monday. Interestingly, I got my Step 1 scores while I was in the CCU (coronary care unit) which is somewhat similar to the CTS ICU. I like the synchronicity of that.

I also like the word 'synchronicity.' Come on - say it with me: synch-ron-i-city. Now, was that not the most satisfying thing that has come out of your mouth today? The most satisfying thing that has gone in to my mouth today was a bowl of peanut butter cup ice cream. Mmm. That was good.

There is still a slight chance that when I leave clinic this afternoon my scores will have arrived. In fact, 57.8% of me is hoping that they still will. But the remaining 42.8% just wants to enjoy the weekend without the burden of knowing.

99% of me wants more ice cream...

Oh, Y!

Anyone who has been around me for a good length of time knows that I love the YMCA. It is like an oasis away from regular life where people go and get all sweaty and look nasty and no one can think bad of them because they're working out. Fantastic.

Another reason that I particularly love my particular Y is that there is a full work-out area in the women's locker room. Which means that, if I'm feeling particulary icky or girlish, I can get my sweat on away from prying male eyes. And there's a sauna and a hot tub and a swimming pool! Okay, the swimming pool isn't in the locker room, but you can get to it from there.

One thing I always did in the women's area was running on the treadmill. It is mostly because I turn a very distinctive shade of fuchsia. Plus I'm not the most graceful runner (I've been known to throw my CD player flying many a time). But one day a few weeks ago, I ended up on a treadmill next to a girl who inspired me to move to the treadmill in the upstairs, co-ed area.

I first came across this girl in the weight room. She spent half an hour - HALF an HOUR on a machine I was waiting for. It struck me at the time that she looked like a girl I'd gone to elementary school with. Except an evil version. Evil Elementary School Girl. She seems to live at the Y, too. I see her there a lot - always scowling.

So, back to the treadmill incident. I was innocently running my merry little way on the treadmill when EESG came up and started zipping away next to me. After a while, I noticed that she kept looking over at me. I generally tend to look around me as I run, too, so I thought nothing of it at first. But she KEPT doing it. Then I started to get angry. How dare the little punk judge me? At least I was trying! So what if I wasn't good. But, I finally realized she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at her ass in the mirror (yes I just used the word ass - it just seemed appropriate here). Stupid EESG was so fascinated with her own ass that she had to stare at it the whole time she was running. Who was she trying to impress? The 50 year old woman on the other treadmill?

Anyway. That annoyed me so greatly, that I graduated to the Big Girl treadmills. Which is nice, because it is a lot less hot and humid working out in an area where there is no sauna!

Survival of the Fittest?

I know I've blogged about PMS in the past, but... when you find a good topic, stick to it...

There are many lists of PMS symptoms out there, but none of them mention things like: back pimples. Or paranoia (that's Susan's) or over-analyzing everything (that's mine). I knew I was PMS-y today, when I had cake batter for dinner. Yes, cake batter. Pink cake batter to be specific. (and it was good. E. coli be darned!)

That's all beside the point, though. The point being that I have a theory as to why females that live/work in close proximity tend to cycle together. This phenomenon is known in research circles as 'menstrual synchrony' (look at me pretending to be involved in 'research circles!' haha!) There are some theories that it was an evolutionary development to prevent packs of wild animals from detecting bleeding females all the time so they'd only have to be prepared for attack, oh say 20-24 days a month. (huh?!? Caveman: "Uh-oh, women bleed, get sharp stick! Ugg!")

I have a new theory - also involving evolution. It is this: females living/working in close proximity need to be PMSing at the same time. That way we can all retreat to our paranoid/over-analyzing/teary corners, poke at our back pimples and eat cake batter at the same time. If we weren't PMSing at the same time, one PMSer could easily take out a few chipper girls in one bad day.

I think my theory is sound. Perhaps I will write it up for publication?

"My Daughter-In-Law Has it Worse Than You"

There is a woman working in the pediatrics neurology clinic who is... less than fully socially adept, I'll say. You know the type - if you make eye contact with them, they'll launch into their whole, long, drawn-out, tragic history (Granted, this particular woman really did experience a tragedy) while you sit there squirming, thinking 'Wait? Am I supposed to know you?' and 'How do I gracefully exit the room without looking like a jerk.'

After several such situations with this woman, it appears that we're on friendly terms now. She has now progressed to accidentally insulting me! Yesterday, I had the beginning of a conversation I have, oh, probably once or twice a month:

Other person (usually older woman): Is your hair naturally curly? (alternately: Is that your real hair?)
Me [humbly brushing hair out of face, and scowling on the inside]: Yes.

This is usually followed by a comment along the lines of: it's beautiful / you're very lucky / do you know how much people pay to get hair like that / etc. To which I generally reply: thanks / I know / Haha! All while thinking - jeez people, it's only hair!

Yesterday, however, as I was preparing to pretend to not be annoyed, I was surprised to hear Neuro Lady say: "My daughter-in-law has it even worse than you!"

Even worse than me?! I didn't have a response to that. Which was, as it turned out, okay, as Neuro Lady launched into several ways I could attpempt to straighten my hair. I just smiled and nodded...

No one has ever made me appreciate my curly hair as much as she did!

Sorry, Lindsay

I used to make fun of Lindsay for saying that mint made her sneeze. But then I realized that it makes me sneeze, too.

I still think she's weird for saying white chocolate give her hiccups, though.

Class Rank

One unfortunate aspect of medical school is the fact that we have to be graded. Along with the grading, goes the ranking. Class ranking. It is a hateful way to determine who is the best, and who is the... not so best.

At the end of first and second years of school, I was ranked at 46 (I think? 40-something anyway) of 104. I was totally okay with that. Not thrilled - we all want to be number one, right? - but not at all bothered.

Today, we just got our ranks for third year. I did okay during third year. I passed everything. No honors, no low passes. I did almost always get honors in the sub-categories "Health Care team rapport," "Patient rapport/Professionalism," and "Motivation/Attitude toward learning." (See - I'm nice and I'm interested. Not always the brightest bulb in the package, but at least people like having me around.) I don't know what I was expecting my new rank to be, but I find myself a tad disappointed. My rank is now 71 of 98. Again - not horrible (not in the bottom quartile anyway...barely) - but this time, I am... not happy.

Though, I did just go back and look and saw that this was JUST my third year rank, so hopefully the 46 of 104 will bring me back up a little bit in the ranks. Not that residency programs see that, though. They'll see the 71.

In the end, though, I am more proud of the things that I do excel in. I'd rather have my patients like me than have the correct answer 100% of the time. I am less likely to get sued that way for one; plus it will just be a better experience overall. And as far as residencies go - I just have to get my foot in the door and get an interview. Once I get that far, I should be fine.

On a separate, scary note - I will apparently be getting my Step 2 scores any day now. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Money Money Money

One thing that apparently goes along with any final year at a private school is the official Asking for Money. It really does get a tad annoying, when I just received my latest loan installment. Yes, I will be close to 200,000 dollars in debt by the time I graduate. That is a lot of money. I can't even comprehend how much money that is. And now they're asking me to donate some to the school? What money is this that I'm supposed to be donating, may I ask?

I do actually make piddly donations (we're talking five bucks) to my undergrad. The only reason I do it is so that they can say a certain percentage of my class gives back to the school - it makes the school look better on those ranking lists when alumni give back. I had even been planning on giving a paltry amount to my med school this year, too - again, just to add to the percentage.

But today, I got a letter from them asking for money - and my NAME WAS SPELLED WRONG.

Sorry guys. No money from "Breanna."

The Worst Secret

Every day at 4:30, the peds neuro on-call pager is handed off to the night team. So any page that comes after 3:30 or so is a HUGE hassle. Which was why the page last Friday at 4:00 pm made us all roll our eyes and groan loudly. Very loudly. Like person-passing-by-in-the-hall-does-a-double-take loudly.

That particular page was about a young baby who had just been brought in with non-accidental head trauma and seizures. For those of you not in the know, 'non-accidental' is a legalistic euphemism for 'child abuse.' Babies don't really do all that much. They eat, they sleep, and they cry. Unfortunately, that crying can lead to frustration and anger, and a phenomenon known as Shaken Baby Syndrome. This particular child has it about as bad as it gets. This is a person that has no chance at all of being normal - that is if they even survive.

I've seen several cases of shaken babies, along with other forms of child abuse during my few months on peds rotations. The thing that is striking me about this case is that they still don't know who did it. In my (albeit limited) experience, they've known, or at least had a really good idea, who the culprit was. No one is breaking down in this case though. We suspect it was one of the parents. But we don't know which one. And, as awful as I feel for the baby, I can't help hurting for the parent that is hiding such a dark and painful secret inside.

How to make a Brenna

Ingredients: 5 parts success 3 parts brilliance 3 parts empathy

Method: Add to a cocktail shaker and mix vigorously. Add emotion to taste! Do not overindulge!

Username:

Personality cocktail
From Go-Quiz.com

Boredom Reigns

There is no peds neuro clinic on Thursdays. My first reaction was "Yay! Free day!" But now... I'm bored. Sigh... So bored. I'm waiting for the attending (who is a fantastic and wonderful person - I'm not actually complaining about him) to decide to round on our one patient. I know that if I go home - where I can always find ways to entertain myself - I will be immediately paged back here. So, I've just been wandering around since 9:30 this morning. I've run out of things to do.

I must admit, it is kind of fun to just meander around the hospital. I keep running into fellow fourth year students, and we'll stand and chit-chat for a while (I'm up to ten chit-chats already today) and then continue on. Meandering.

The most interesting thing I've learned today is that the national Human Genome Research Institute has announced that it will sequence the genome of the bushbaby. The bushbaby? Seriously? They announced 12 other animals that they're going to sequence, as well, but I really can't get the image of a bunch of dorky researchers sitting around in a conference room going "Dude! We totally need to sequence the bushbaby!" And then breaking out into riotous laughter. Because that's the kind of thing that dorky researchers do.

Or perhaps they're trying to figure out the gene sequence that leads to those huge freaking bushbaby eyes in an attempt to bring those Japanese anime characters to life.

That Girl

Yesterday was the day that all the little first years started their orientation at our school. I love love love seeing them all come in, all bright-eyed and well hair-cutted. This is before girls get catty and guys get ratty. Haha! That's a little poem I just wrote. I guarantee you that by four months from now, there will be at least one guy with a full on beard and one guy who gave up cutting his hair entirely. And there will be at least one girl that everyone hates. But right now, they are all on a level playing field. And perky! Yesterday, I had to give them all a short (like three minute) presentation to them on one of the groups I'm in. Such power - me and a microphone in front of 100+ perky smart people.

Tonight, as one co-editor in chief of the yearbook, it was my privilege/duty to attend the first years' Dean's Dessert Reception thingy. The first years get all dressed up and mingle and try to impress each other and the deans. And I was there, camera in hand. It was pretty cool. I felt absolutely no compulsion to do any mingling. I only actually met one first year. The rest of the time, I'd point my camera, snap a shot and then scurry on my merry little way. And I had some cake.

The weirdest thing, though: there are at least three people in the incoming class that I taught Verbal and Writing to in Kaplan MCAT classes. I couldn't figure out how I knew this one girl until she reminded me. Weird! They were my students! They were ones that I remember had good essays, though, so that's good. I am amused that these three students have now seen me: teaching Kaplan, representing one student group, and taking pictures for yearbook. They must think I'm 'that girl' - you know the one who does everything. The thing is... I guess I am! But at least I'm not the girl that everyone hates!

If I'd Only Known Three Years Ago...

As I continue to plug away at my ERAS residency application, I am doing more research on pediatric residency programs across the US. Probably something I should have done earlier, but I really do procrastinate well. Actually, the fact that I've done everything on my ERAS app but the personal statement (and letters of recommendation) is really quite an accomplishment for me.

Anyway. I have fallen in love with Rainbow Babies. It may just be the name. What a fantastic name for a children's hospital! So much better than naming it after a rich person who donated a bunch of money who has a really hard to pronounce name. You know, that's just cruel to those poor, sick children. Rainbow babies makes me think of... butterflies and books and things that make me happy.

Plus, it is one of the top ranked programs in the US. Here, too. I would love to learn pediatrics at Rainbow Babies - the program itself looks fantastic with an okay call schedule and 4 weeks of vacation. I think it would be perfect!

Which all means: I should have studied harder.

Sigh. No reason I can't apply to one "wildest fantasies" school, though, right?

Wedding Report

The wedding last night was lovely. It was probably the smallest wedding I've ever been to (not that I've been to tons - most of my closer friends are taking their sweet time to approach marriage, much like me). There were probably 60-70 people there in total.

The ceremony was outside. It was hot. I don't recommend an outdoor wedding in the middle of the summer in North Carolina. It was lovely, though. Another thing: if you do have an outdoor wedding, find a way for the bridesmaids (and bride!) to not have to walk on grass in heels. I was really worried that they'd fall flat on their faces. I can't imagine how worried they were!

After all that spatula talk, I didn't end up getting them anything even remotely spatula-like. I didn't make it to Williams-Sonoma until about two hours before the wedding (after spending an hour straightening my hair...not sure why I did it...) There were only a few things left on the list, and it took three employees to help me find the Baker's Peel. You didn't know it was called that, did you? No one did. I feel like I bought them a paddle. Part of me is very happy to know that every time they move, and have to find a spot in a box to fit that freaking thing, they will think of me. Hahahaha!

Anyway, the wedding was lovely, and the food (heavy hors d'oeuvres) was great. And they had a completely open bar - maybe I should have spent a little more on a present after all!

Paul and Lauren took waltz lessons in the week before the wedding. It was very cute. 

The ceremony was outside in the "White Garden." Thankfully (as it was freaking hot), they passed out fans as we signed the guest book. Of course, you can't give me a fan and not expect me to stick it on my head. That's just the way it is... 

I think this may be a preview of the expressions of the bride and groom when they open my gift. Except that they WERE the ones that registered for it. 

The cake: obviously the most important part of the reception. (It was delicious) 

Spatulas!

I am going to a wedding tomorrow night of two of my classmates. There are several couples that formed within our class, and this is the first of the couples actually getting hitched.

Seeing as they are two medical students, I suspect that a large number of the guests at the wedding will be fellow medical students, or prior classmates of the bride and/or groom. Which puts the median and mode of the attendees at around 24-26 years old. (Not the mean, however - that gets skewed by grandparents and other elderly relatives) Okay, I am admittedly no statistician, but my guess would be that the average salary (mean) of the majority of the guests will be... let's just say not that high.

Does it seem petty of me then, to question why the cheapest thing I can find on any of their registries is a seven dollar spatula? I have a spatula. Three, in fact. They came in one package that cost me about a buck, if I remember correctly. Granted, mine doesn't withstand heat up to 500 degrees. But then again, my oven doesn't get that hot.

According to The Knot and Kohl's, you should apparently never spend less than $50 on a gift for the happy couple. (Quick math: $50 = 7 spatulas) Hmm. The Knot also recommends taking those college pals into consideration when you do register. I guess I should be happy there are spatulas on there at all. And THEY should be happy receiving a set of spatulas from me.

Hi, My Name is Brenna...

...and I'm a Target addict.

Let me tell you about my secret, super-amazing ability, though. If you give me an hour and a good clearance at Target, I can - without fail - fill my basket with almost exactly $60 worth of merchandise. Without even trying to add the prices in my head. Without even really having an idea of what is still in the basket, and what has been relegated back to the shelf in a fit of Brenna-shopping.*

Tonight, I went to get various sundry good-smelling things (conditioner, deodorant, hair gel, air refreshener refills to cover the summer scent of Mold that has permeated my bathroom, and the like) and ended up spending $60.58. The socks were on clearance! And ALL of the purses. You can't fault me for spending $3.24 on a cute, funky purse, can you? Sigh... I know, I know. I have a problem. Still, though - most of that sixty bucks was on the smelly stuff. So I don't feel too bad.



*Brenna-shopping: Picking up something in one area of Target, finding something else in another area of Target and exchanging the second for the first. Kind of mean to the employees, but Target employees rock, so I think they enjoy my little game. Well, actually they probably don't. But they still rock.

Two Fifty Four

Once, in my on-call internet wanderings, I came across a blog where the guy titled each post with a number. One, two, three and so on. Like they were chapters or something. It worked, because the guy was only on post twelve or so. I wonder if he is still blogging. Will he continue it on to... say, two thousand thirty three? It wasn't the most interesting blog, so I didn't ever go back to it. I guess I'll never know!

After a month away from the hospital, I was pretty worried about getting back into the swing of things, as I think I mentioned previously. I always harbor this fear that I'll come back, start seeing patients again and have this horrible realization that I absolutely despise what I'm doing. Thankfully, I'm finding the opposite is true, and am happy to report that I actually missed seeing patients during my month's absence. Hindsight, right?

The one sore spot (literally) in being back is being back on my feet for so many hours in the day. My feet are trying to rebel - they got very used to being spoiled by sandals and fresh air and sitting. Now they're back in socks and shoes that start out as comfortable-ish and end up feeling like they're made of concrete. Ah, well. I shall overcome and my feet will be beat back into submission. I feel I must send out an ethereal apology to my grandpa, the former podiatrist, for such blatant foot-abuse.

Do you know how close September first is? It really isn't that far away. That is the date that we can start to turn in our residency applications. Which means that I need to get it done ASAP. Susan and I did start our personal statements last night, which is generally the hardest part. I just need to keep up my momentum. I cannot believe it is already time to write another personal statement! Ugh. I feel like I just did this, but I guess it was four years ago. Pbbblt. I'll save you all the agony of reading what I did write last night. I may post it when I have a draft that doesn't make my want to vomit.

You know what bugs me? When almost every sentence in a paragraph starts with the word "I." I guess I need to read a little more Anthem.

Back to the Grind Stone

It was so nice to have a full month away from the hospital. I almost broke out into hives last night thinking about coming back. I guess I'm still too new at all of this to be able to comfortably slip in and out of "semi-doctor" mode.

Today is Day One of Pediatric Neurology. I thought I'd give it a chance, what with my love of both pediatrics and neurology. The only problem - if I do like it - is that you can't do a peds residency followed by a neuro fellowship (like you can for peds cardiology, hem/onc, allergy/immunology, neonatology...) It is an entirely separate residency program. So! I guess I hope I don't like it too much, or that I absolutely love it.

My first impression: it is FREAKING HOT. I guess I hadn't noticed that summer was in full swing, as I've spent most of the last month shuttling back and forth between air-conditioned places in my air-conditioned truck. The five minute walk to school this morning (at 8am!) left me drenched in sweat. Ick.

As far as the actual peds neuro goes... I'll let you know once I actually see a patient. I met the resident, and she told me that last Thursday was a busy day: they saw three patients. So, yeah. I don't think I'll be stressing too majorly this month.

Gives me more time to get started on residency applications (!)

For Better or...

...for Worse...

Well, the test is over - no problems in actually taking it today. Other than the fact that it kicked by butt. I'm holding off a celebratory "yay, I'm done taking tests as a student" blog for oh, about 6 weeks - until I get my score report back. I'm not guaranteeing a pass on this one.

I AM, however, going to purchase a season of Sex and the City at Costco, and maybe swing by Banana Republic to get this shirt I've been wanting. I need to reward myself a little for seven hours of testing hell today, right?!

If It Wasn't Screwed On...

So, this morning went pretty well. I woke up, showered, put on my cute little Test-Taking outfit and got on the road with plenty of time to make it to the testing center.

I pulled in right behind another classmate of mine (who is incidentally, one of the sweetest, nicest, kindest people I've ever met). I mentioned to her on the way in that I had never confirmed the date of my test, and jokingly said "I hope I wasn't supposed to be here yesterday!" We laughed, and took the elevator up.

I walked in and confidently handed my ugly orange testing sheet (which I've been guarding with my life for months now) and my ID. The Kindly Gentleman took my ID and scanned the list. Once. Twice. Three times. There was no Brenna on the list, you see.

I started some deep, relaxing breathing, and my friend started saying all those things you say at times like this ("I'm sure it's okay. Worst case, you have to re-schedule, you'll be fine" etc.) while Kindly Gentleman stepped in to the other room.

See? My test? Is scheduled for TOMORROW.

Good grief.

I was so filled with relief to discover that I was a day early, instead of a day late, that I just burst out laughing. Actually, I am still laughing. It is pretty funny, after all. BUT! I have to go through it all again tomorrow!

And now I really don't know what to do with myself today...

Hold on to that luck and send it my way tomorrow!

T-minus Twenty Hours

Well... That's it. I'm officially done studying for Step 2. I believe that is the scariest part about studying for a huge test: stopping. I was going to attempt to finish all 1500-some Kaplan questions, but I'm calling it quits with 200 to go. I do feel a bit of free-floating anxiety about that, but I told myself that if I did well on the practice questions the USMLE provides, I'd be done. I got a freaking 85% overall! I qualify that as good. Freak occurence, perhaps, but good nonetheless.

Now comes the question of what to do with the rest of my time. I live to study. Everything else I've done this last month has merely been... study break. Soooo... No more studying (no matter how tempted I am to just run through the Cram Pages of First Aid just one more time).

Maybe I'll go to the mall.... Mmmm. Mall....

I was planning on getting a hotel room closer to the testing center, like I did last year, but it would have cost nigh on $120. What am I? Made of money? So, alas, no Drury Inn this year. It means an even worse night of sleep, but at least I'll have that $120 to... spend at the mall... Mmmm. Mall....

Wish me luck!

This is a picture of anal warts. I just wanted to share with you all the image that appeared on my screen as I do Kaplan questions at Panera. I sometimes forget that the entire world is not used to seeing things like this... I hope I didn't ruin anyone at Panera's appetite. Y'all's I don't care about so much. 

Beans, Lots of Beans, Lots of Beans, Lots of Beans

I wish my brain thought up stuff like this.

Since it does not, I shall continue studying... Blech.

The Clinical Skills exam was entirely unremarkable. I was there with Meg, and there were actually two other people from our class there (and twenty complete strangers). I will say that I found it extremely annoying to be ushered around by the proctors going "Doctors! This way, please, doctors!"

I don't know what I found so annoying about it. Perhaps because once you're out of elementary school, people tend to stop referring to groups of people as a collective noun. "Lawyers! Please smile for the camera now, lawyers." "Okay, shoe salesmen, we are going to go here next." Anyway. It was annoying.

The rest of the day was... eh. Pretty uneventful. We are warned not to speak of the actual test, on threat of expulsion from the Medical Licensing thingy. It would be a "Testing Irregularity" if I was to say too much. So I shan't! The lunch they provided was good, though.

Rush hour in Tlanta is icky.

One week until the next Harry Potter! Can you taste the excitement!!!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, the cow is back!

O Mylanta!

I's in Atlanta! Or, as I call it (in my head only) Tlanta. I'm not sure why my brain decided to call it that. It's more fun. Try it. Go on: Tlanta. Not many English words use the letters T and L in juxtaposition that way. Well. I guess there is "battle" and "nettle" and... "wattle" (as in wattle and daub) but they're not quite the same, are they. No. They're not.

Why am I in Tlanta? Ah, yes, those of you with longer memories will remember that a few weeks ago I mentioned that I had to venture to this great city to take an English test. Well, tomorrow is the day!

I am joined in my adventure of insanity by a fellow student (who, sadly, does not have a blog I can link to). We hit the road in mediocre spirits this late morning and drove drove drove. Along the way, we:

1. Came across some really rude people at a Panera outside Charlotte
2. Drove through a monster storm
3. Pulled over for refuge from the storm into an "Adult Entertainment" type store's parking lot.
4.

Okay, that was really all that happened, which, in the end, is a good thing. Uneventful cartrips are good when you actually need to arrive at your destination relatively unscathed and on time.

We met up with another fellow student (and alas, another non-blogger) who has been chillin' in Tlanta while she studies. We went to Eclipse di Luna for a dinner of tapas and sangria. It was PHENOMENAL. I highly recommend it to future (and current!) visitors to Atlanta. Mmm-mmm-mmm. Tapas and sangria. Definitely worth the 5.5 hour drive.

As for the test? Blah-blah-blah. Test-test-test. We'll take it, then we'll be done. We'll most likely pass and then get to drive back up to home sweet home.

Where I fully intend to start messin' with some wattle and daub.

Portland, Schmortland

I graduated from college in 2000. I started med school in 2002. There is a two year gap in there, which I commonly tell people was because I 'couldn't get into med school.' That's only half true. I applied to several different schools over three different years, that is true. I interviewed a total of six times over those three years, at three separate schools. I got into medical school two of those three years, into two of those three schools. Why do I present those two years as a failure then? Because I could not get into the school that I wanted to go to. My home-state school (Oregon) does not like me.

The rejection letter I got from them on my second try (the year I didn't get in anywhere) actually included a comment along the lines of "maybe medicine isn't actually the field for you." Yeah. That's a nice thing to say to a rejected med school applicant.

Despite that, I still do want to go home, and as there is only one med school and only one Pediatrics program in the state of Oregon, I have to set my sights on them.

But, the thing is, I got ANOTHER rejection letter from them today. Preventive tactics on their part? Nah. I had applied to do a fourth year rotation there - commonly known as an "externship" or "interview" (I hate that second phrase - it is four weeks! That ain't no interview) Apparently, the illustrious OHSU is all full. No space for me to come spend a few weeks making sure that they're not all mightier-than-thou full-of-themselves jerks.

That makes FOUR rejections from one place. Am I crazy? Is someone, somewhere trying to tell me something? I feel less and less enthusiastic about applying for residency there. Darn them all.

Well. At least they didn't cash my application check this time.

On a completely unrelated note, in case you were wondering I am worth $1,871,000 on HumanForSale.com

Happy Birthday, America.

Rock on with your bad self. Let's celebrate by crashing a space probe onto a comet 83 million miles away! Sounds like fun, ya? It will totally be like galactic fireworks.

Man, I wish I had wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up. Someone should have warned me...

[hazy edges around your eyes indicate that this is either a flashback or a dream]
Generic adult: Little girl, what do you want to be when you grow up?
Little Brenna: A doctor!
Generic adult: Oh, no, no, no. If you do that, you'll have to study all the time, even on the Fourth of July. You don't want to study on America's birthday, do you?
Little Brenna: That sounds horrific! (little Brenna has a big vocabulary) Maybe I should be an astronaut...?
Generic adult: That sounds much better. You don't get motion sick do you?
[fade to black, indicating the end of the dreamy flashback.]

Alas, poor little Brenna didn't know any better. So big Brenna finds herself studying the day away. Independence day my gluteus maximus.

It is nice to see that I did learn something over the last year or so, though. When I studied for Step 1, it took a long, long time to get my overall average on the Kaplan Q-bank up to 65% (the rumored average you need to get to pass the boards) Right now, I'm at a comfortable 69%, and still have another week of studying to go. In high school or college, 69% is abysmal. Now, though, it is cause for celebrating (bring out the comet probes!) - it means that I have remembered almost 70% of EVERYTHING that has been crammed into our heads over the last three years. Imagine taking a test in your senior year of college about what you learned in freshman philosophy. Sounds more impressive when you put it that way, huh? Or, maybe I'm just trying to make myself feel better...