Interview Frenzy...!

...okay. So, not an interview frenzy, per se. Not even really an interview hubbub, actually. Maybe a tad bit of interview commotion, though.

For those of you new to... me and my ramblings: I am going into pediatrics. And for those of you not familiar with the direct realtionship between monetary remuneration and the popularity of medical specialties (and/or the inverse relationship to level of difficulty): peds is not hard to get into. (presuming, of course, that you are sensible enough to apply to a school or two outside of the top ten - or smart enough to get away with it)

Originally, I wanted to apply to 10 schools. Ten is a nice, round number. Plus it is how many we get 'free' with the first lump payment of the application. Every school above ten costs an additional amount. Ten made a lot of sense.

I tried moderately hard, but couldn't narrow it down to ten. So... 15. Fifteen is also a good number. A strong number. Fifteen. Very nice.

In the end, I applied to 16 schools. Maybe not as sexy a number as 15, but still very elegant in its own square-of-four fashion. I like square numbers.

After submitting my application, I got three interviews relatively quickly. One of those three was quite persistent, too (making me believe it is a 'lesser' school - I'm that desirable??) My own school rounded my interviews out to four.

Then the silence.

No interviews. Which was all good and fine until someone introduced me to the forums at studentdoctor.net. Every time I open that freaking site, my whole body goes into panic mode. Panicpanicpanic. It was from those forums that I discovered that two of my top four choices were already offering interviews - and I hadn't gotten one! Horrors! Panicky-panicky horrors!

So... Nineteen. Nineteen schools is a great number of schools to apply to, don't you think? I mean, nineteen may not be as elegant as 16, but 19 is a prime number. That means it is special, and therefore luckier, right? Of course, right.

It especially helps when the three schools you add are ones that you know are offering interviews. I'm up to six interview offers now. I'm not a fan of the number six, though... too smug.

Talking to the peds residents who have been through all of this before - they say that 5-8 interviews was about all they could take. One I talked to this morning had done 11 interviews and said it was way too many. I need to start making decisions, I guess. But at the moment - it is SO addictive getting the interview offers. It helps ease the panicky panic. I just want more! More more more!!!

23 is a prime number, too, right...?

And 25 is a square....

Premature Maturity

There are times in my life where I walk around the hospital all day composing my next blog entry in my head. Those are the days where I consider faking a bathroom break to skip out of rounds to go capture my witticisms before they escape my head. I actually do carry around a notecard where I jot down funny things to blog about. These are the times where I refer to blogging as being 'addictive.'

Lately... eh. I seem to have kicked the habit. It isn't that my life has suddenly grown so exciting that I have no time to blog, or that it has grown so boring that I don't have anything to blog about. Really, it seems to be that I've found the right amount of business/laziness to actually get me out of my own head for the time being.

Because really, honestly? What is blogging if not the ultimate expression of self-centeredness and self-obsession? Here I am, writing about my piddly little life, and expecting others to not only read, but to actually care about it. And I do! I expect people to care and to appreciate me and my life and what I have to say! I'm not too proud to admit how self-centered I am.

I've actually been thinking about this for a while - the selfishness of blogging. It is a craze that has seemed to have swept the younger generations more so than the older ones. This is partially due to the fact that most of the 'older' generation don't spend hours on end in front of the computer. And, I believe, it is partially due to less selfishness in general in the older generations.

Right now I am 27 years old, single, and childless. The most important thing in my life is me. I'm always there, I know my every thought and I always try to make myself happy. The perfect relationship! Why not be selfish and self-centered? I'm gosh-darn good at it - as are most other people in my situation. Why shouldn't we blog about our lives? Children and teenagers are by their very nature completely self-centered. It is only as we age that we begin to comprehend the world around us. Until then, the entire world is just "I." We live inside our heads and within our desires.

Though I am no longer a teenager, I do still live inside my head a lot. Not as much, but enough. I don't know for sure, but I feel pretty certain that I'll stay this way until I have children of my own. I don't think you can really move outside yourself completely until there is someone else completely dependent upon you.

That said, the fact that I haven't been blogging most definitely does not mean I'm pregnant. (Though this would be a really funny way to announce it... I'll have to remember that for the future...) I think I'm just suffering from a bout of maturity.

Don't worry. It won't last long!

Fair Time!

Susan and I actually went to the fair on Monday. I've been too lazy to actually post anything yet. Here are some pictures for your visual pleasure:


This is Susan feeding an alpaca. Doesn't it make you just want to shear it and wash and card the wool and then spin it into yarn and knit a fuzzy scarf so that you too can look like that?? The alpaca, not Susan.


Me and a yak. Don't talk back!


This is evidence of how Susan and I share one brain some times. Note the same brown Danskos, the same Gap Long and Lean jeans. We're also both wearing gray shirts. Not quite the same shirt, but I came this close to wearing the same one she did.


We went on some rides, but I actually have a lot more pictures of the animals at the petting zoo area than of any of the rides. I think I was too annoyed because someone spit on my head from the ferris wheel. Ick. Still, gotta love a fair!

Marathon Wo-MAN

My dear sister is in a marathon today. Marathon. MAR-athon. That's 26.2 miles. Wowie-wow-wow. GO Melissa GO!!!!

How awesome is she? Totally.

This brings the marathon participation rate of our family up to 40%. (Melissa and Dad) That may be as high as it gets.

Half-Way...

...done with my last year of medical school. ::nervous laughter::

In less than a year, people will be calling me 'Doctor.' ::uncontrollable, nervous laughter::

Of course, I have to stop all this nervous laughing, or people may start to think that I'm a "Doctor." You know... Like... I made it up... or something... like... I'm not really a doctor... but say I am... and laugh... you know... haha...

There are some inflections that are just hard to get across in type.

Things That Make Life Worth Living

If you've noted the title of my blog, you might be aware of my appreciation for words - big or otherwise. (There is also the reference to medical school intended in the title, as well - the 'big words' of medical academia... like armamentarium, or gastroenterology or... polyhydramnios)

Well, we are at that special time of year again when Webster's dictionary announces the new words that they are going to add to the dictionary. I'm always fascinated to see what makes the cut. Apparently it takes about ten years for a word or phrase to actually make it in. I guess they need to make sure the word has staying power. Which explains why 'bikini wax' is just now making it in. And 'hospitalist' and (joy of joys) 'chick flick.'

It does not explain how I have made it through my life without ever hearing the phrase amuse-bouche (noun): a small complimentary appetizer offered at some restaurants. Or, my new favorite - retronym (noun): a term consisting of a noun and a modifier which specifies the original meaning of the noun. ("Film camera," for instance).

Mmmm. Isn't it great?

I will say that Webster's is way behind Wikipedia in sheer volume of new concepts and words and, well, just everything. But still, Webster's is an institution. And, I don't see Wikipedia putting anything out in print form! Egads!, that would be hu-normous!

Productive Uses of Time

When I was in AmeriCorps, I had a job that kept me busy for maybe 10-20 hours a week. But I was at work for about 40 hours a week. During that year, I got really good at wasting time. Mostly on the internet, and generally not in a productive helping-humanity-or-even-learning-anything-useful way. Basically, I had a list of websites that I'd visit every day, and a few online games (Scrabble, a crossword, etc.) that I'd play. After a few months of that, I felt like my brain was turning to mush. I was quite happy to leave that job to start medical school.

Well. I'm back to that brain-mushifying state of doing nothing. I'm on a surgical rotation right now, but my attending only does surgeries on Tuesday-Thursday - and even then, not always. I'm left with a lot of 'reading time.' If I was a better and wiser person, I'd use this time to, say... read. Alas, I am neither better nor wiser. So I end up watching television, playing computer games (Snood and Spider Solitaire mostly) and regularly checking my e-mail, people's blogs, and entertainment news sites. What an exciting life.

I've known for a long time that the busier I am, the more productive I am. Give my any free time, and I turn into a slug. I'm looking forward to residency because of that - I love feeling productive and busy, and this fourth year of med school thing really isn't doing it for me.

Words I will surely be eating a year from now.

In slightly more interesting news, I do have three interviews set up now. Three of the 16 programs to which I applied. A couple of the programs don't even start looking at applications until November 1. Slightly annoying. Only slightly, though.

I am so bored.

Theme Day

You know how some days there is some topic or person or word that just keeps popping up over and over seemingly randomly? Something like the word 'egregious' (which no one ever really uses) being used in a book, a newscast and by your sister-in-law all in the same day. I think of these as 'theme days.'

Today was a theme day.

And the theme was not egregious - neither the word or the meaning. Whatever could the theme be, you ask? Ex-boyfriends. Bizarre, no? No less bizarre from the fact that I was not the only person taken into this particular theme.

Susan and I (mostly Susan) had a Yard Sale today. In in, I sold the guitar given to me by an ex-boyfriend, and Susan sold a bracelet and Waterford crystal make-up brush (seriously) given to her by an ex. Then there was a new post made by an ex-boyfriend. And finally, to top it all off, I got a call from an old friend to tell me that she ran into one of my old boyfriends last night at a party and that he was asking about me.

Okay, so maybe that really doesn't count as a theme. But I'm taking it. AND, I'm taking the opportunity to discuss here, on my blog, my less-than-extensive dating history. To save for posterity as the 'before' as I await my exciting, date-filled 'after.'

My first boyfriend was named Joe. We started dating in Germany while on an exchange program. I was 16, he was 15. I think we started officially dating a few days before we left Germany - he asked me out as we were getting back on the bus after visiting a bunch of really beautiful churches and fountains. One might say that a beautiful German church or fountain would be a better setting for one's first 'wanna date' talk than the exhausty back of a bus. One would be right. Joe was a good first boyfriend, though. We dated through band camp (yes, I said band camp). He played the bass drum, and therefore had the coolness factor that made it okay for me to date a sophomore during my junior year. Eventually, Joe dumped me for a girl on the color guard named Jamie. My being a junior didn't make up for the distinctive un-coolness of being a clarinet player, I guess.

A few months later, I asked a guy named Aaron to the girl-ask-guy dance at our school (which, for some reason still unknown to me was called Bali Hai). I had had an on-again, off-again crush on him during our sophomore year. We ended up dating for about three weeks, I think. Not very long, but it was high school, so three weeks is a long time! Even if one of those weeks we missed several days due to snow. Aaron and I parted relatively amicably. I think there was just a little too much ego to split between two people there.... During our senior year, Aaron started dating a mystery girl from another high school. Apparently, they are married now! That makes me officially the Last Girl He Dated Before He Got Married. Weird.

After high school there was a looooong stretch of un-boyfriendedness marked by several close misses of disastrous relationships - notably during my junior year of college where I nipped a semi-budding flirtation in the bud. Mostly it was because he was two years my junior and I was on res life staff in the dorm he lived in. Also, it was partly due to the fact that his name was Bert.

When I was 24, I started dating a great guy in Alaska named T. I never knew how to spell T's name for sure. T? Tee? He didn't seem to care. I generally just avoided writing it, so that worked fine. T was a wonderful boyfriend. For my birthday, he threw me a party, gave me a guitar, painted me a picture, AND had two Dairy Queen ice cream cakes packed in frozen ice and flown up from Seattle. (seeing as there was no DQ in Sitka, and that is 'my' traditional birthday cake) I was not a very good girlfriend to T. I knew when I started dating him that I'd dump him when I left for med school. Yeah. I felt too guilty to do it at first, so I waited about a month before I crushed him. He is married now too, marking the second time I'm the Last Girl He Dated Before He Got Married. I heard he proposed on top of a mountain (literally) - I did do better at finding boys who have a better sense of setting by that time, I guess.

After T was.... well... No one really. I've had a couple of disastrous and/or spark-less dates during med school, but no official 'boyfriend.' Which REALLY makes it weird that I could have an ex-boyfriend themed day, don't you think? Hmm.

Oh, well. I made some money at the yard sale AND I got a suit yesterday. FANtastic.

Make Checks Payable to...

...the Save Brenna's Teeth Fund

I went to the dentist today. I'm not really a fan of the dentist. Not really. As a child, I'd do my bi-yearly duty and go to the dentist for my cleanings. I don't recall ever being terrified (my mom would have to verify that for me), but I DO remember exactly what the dentist's offices looked like. Including the one I went to in Minnesota in first and second grade. And I don't have the best memory from when I was that young. (In my memory, I don't really exist until about fifth grade and the advent of abstract thinking).

Actually, all I really remember about that dentist of yore was a really tall staircase on the outside of a brick building. It may have been tan brick.

The point of that memory is, that it was memorable enough for me to... well, remember. Meaning that it made an impression on me. Leading me to think that, despite my relative calm, I have never actually enjoyed going to the dentist, and, in fact, think it somewhat scary. And painful.

This realization hit me today as I noticed that I was white-knuckling it in the chair as I got my teeth cleaned. My fingers were sore from clenching them so hard!

And, yeah. I have five cavities that need to be filled.

I guess better now than waiting until I need a root canal again. That wasn't fun either. I knew that I was on the verge of some cavities - eleven, to be exact, based on last visit's estimation, which came with the encouragement to floss 'more' (more being relative when you floss...oh, once a month). I guess I did okay in that I only need 5 and not... 10 or something. I did start using mouthwash.

To celebrate the news, I went and donated blood. There, I was told that I have an irregular heartbeat (I had just chugged some Starbucks, though, so that didn't worry me) and just barely squeaked by on the 'iron' test. She actually checked it three times before I passed. And even then, just barely.

Now I feel a bit woozy, though... Oops. I guess they check our hematocrit for a reason!

Alright. I'm off to brainstorm on ways to raise some tooth-fund money. I am reviewing a book for Blackwell (for $100) and am participating in a yard sale this weekend, which will help. Unfortunately, I can't sell my blood now!

I Don't Like Labels

...but I was a bit under-whelmed with these results:

You are a Social Liberal (63% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (23% permissive) You are best described as a: Democrat You exhibit a very well-developed sense of Right and Wrong and believe in economic fairness. Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating

Wisdom of the Ages

Reset

Right now, it is 1:30 in the morning. I'm tired, and I'm bored, and I should just go to bed... but I don't feel like it. I'm doing absolutely nothing of consequence. I am house sitting, and have access to both cable television and internet which keeps me marginally entertained. (Hmmm. That makes it sound like I'm accessing all sorts of porn. I'm not.) (Hmmm, again. Now people searching for 'porn' and 'Brenna' will find my page. Because a lot of people search for that, I'm sure.)

I think maybe I am resetting my body clock. I haven't been on call for a while, so my poor little body doesn't know what to do with all this sleep I've had access to lately. I shall have to sit my body down and have a good talking-to, reminding it that in a few short months it will be living the life of an intern, and will have all the sleep deprivation it wants.

Susan and I went to see Just Like Heaven tonight. It was pretty dang good, which was a refreshing change from the theater's fare for the last couple of months (aka bad movies involving scariness and... well, that was it) The most distressing thing about the movie was the portrayal of a young, single, female doctor. Good grief, the girl had to die to find a man! That ain't so much something you'd find on my five-year plan. I'm wondering if the school administration would let me take a year off for an official 'husband hunt.' Ha! That would be so cool. But it is very likely that I'm only saying this 'cause it's late. I'll rescind it all tomorrow, and staunchly maintain that I can do it all.

I did make an important decision recently, though. It is something that I've pondered for a while, and now that I've actually made a choice, I feel that I made the right one. I decided that my first dog will be a small dog. I grew up with a small dog, and didn't live with a big dog (huge) until later in life. Well, as late as you can get in life when you're 27. Most of my friends here in med school that have dogs have big ones. And while I do love the big dogs, I just think it is a little easier to live with a dog that won't knock you over when it is happy. I fall easily enough on my own - I don't need the dog helping me get there. Now, I just need to pick a name. Oh, yeah, and get into a residency program, move to a new city, get a house and actually get a dog. Someday. Someday.

Alright. I guess I'll be getting off to bed now. How boring. In the meantime, ponder this. Keira Knightley? Really? And... how will they get what A&E took five hours to do into a mere two hour big screen fiasco? I said it. Fiasco. Colin Firth IS Mr. Darcy. There can be no other. Of course I'll go see it. I do like Miss Knightley, and I love Jane Austen. But I know I'll spend the whole movie whispering the bits of lines they had to cut out to make it shorter. I know because I already did that during the preview.

Games

My last post bored even me, so here are some fun baby shower pictures to make up for it!

This is a game I call "Paper Plate on Head, Draw Baby" as I don't have a better name for it, and I like giving things descriptive titles. Basically, you put a paper plate on your head and... draw a baby. Then the mom voted for the best looking baby. Which was hard, as they all looked like fancy blobs.


This game still makes me laugh. I took six different varieties of candy bar and melted them into six diapers. Then we passed them around the circle and people had to identify them by smell and appearance. This is the Mom-to-be looking thoroughly disgusted. Just wait a few months, dear. You'll be begging for the chocolate filled diapers.


Here are the dirty diapers. The Snickers looked the best, I thought. Warning if you ever decide to play this game on your own: don't make the diapers yourself or you will eat all the parts of the candy bars you don't melt and then you will feel sick. I can't - I mean you can't eat as much candy in one sitting as you could when you were eight. Ahhh... Halloween...


Here is Ari opening baby presents. Baby presents are SO much fun. In fact, from now on, all I want are baby presents. I don't care that I'm not pregnant, and probably won't be for the forseeable future. I want cute baby things, darn it!


This was my gift to the future baby. It's a blanket! This is the first and only white thing that I've ever crocheted. That was some white-white yarn.

Carpal Tunnel

One important aspect of a yearbook (that I rarely put much thought into) is people's names. I guess it makes sense that we'd want to know the names of who we're looking at. We don't put any captions in our yearbook, trusting that people who care will know who is in the shot. We do, however, have names by everyone's 'mug shot.' 'Portrait' or 'head shot' whatever you want to call it. Here, for example, is mine from orientation first week of med school back in '02 (That's said ought-two, by the way. I'm being quaint girl today.)

Doo-de-dooo. I lost my train of thought. Did you know that Mark Twain had a son? Yeah, they called him Choo-Choo. Choo-Choo Twain.

Okay! There it is. Train of thought. Names. In my mind, the names and pictures just magically appear as if placed there by lucky little leprechauns. (What else does that Lucky Charms guy do in his spare time if not putting name/picture combos into yearbooks. It just makes good sense.)

Alas, I learned differently a while ago. No little leprechauns. Which, in a way is good, as leprechauns are frightening little nasties.

Good grief, this is a boring story.

Short version: I have to type in the first and last name of every med student, grad student, PA student, house officer and faculty member at this institution. There are a lot of names. A lot. So many names.

It is interesting to see the trends, though. For instance, there are at least two people named "Mandeep" here. Who'd of thunk it? And the name "Michael" appears to be one of the most popular names around for guys. There are a lot of really kind of fun names, too. Like... well. I can't actually tell you any of them, as I'm sure that would be breaking some sort of privacy act. There are some good ones, though.

I don't mind doing this sort of task. It is always a little refreshing to have a mindless, repetitive thing to do for a few hours. Like resetting the brain or something.

But now my wrist hurts! I'm sure it is partly due to the fact that I don't type correctly. I'm okay at hitting the keys with my correct fingers, but for some reason, I've only ever used the "Shift" key on the left side of the keyboard. It doesn't matter much for little things, but this is not too little. Go ahead - try typing a capital "A" using the left shift key. See? Awkward, isn't it? You just shouldn't do it that way! I'm trying to break myself of the habit now. Heaven knows, I've got enough typing to do to practice!!!

Names, names, names.

Eek!

I was just about to leave when I got it: my first interview invitation! And it isn't even from here (aka the 'pity' interview)!! It is from Phoenix... not my top choice, but definitely in the running...

Look:

We have reviewed your application and would welcome the chance to meet you at
one of our program's interview dates.

Okay, not terribly exciting sounding, but still...Yippee!! I feel much relieved. I've been feeling like a second-hand applicant lately. Mostly due to feeling that way when I applied to med school for the third time. Remnants of that feeling of mediocrity have made it hard to get excited about this round of applications. But now I am!

Baby Showers and Bat Caves and Deans

Oh my!

Yesterday I attended (and co-hosted) my first ever baby shower! This is not my first friend to have a baby, but it is the first friend I've seen pregnant. Well. That's actually a lie, too, as I've been marginal friends with a couple people that I've seen pregnant, but now we're just getting into semantics.

That is my new favorite argument, by the way. The next time you find yourself arguing with someone (which I heard you do a lot, you smarmy monkey), don't end it by saying "Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree" or some such inflammatory nonsense. That particular statement annoys me SO much, that I actually feel my hackles raise. (rise?) It is a visceral annoyance. No. Much better is the statement, "Well, now we're just getting into semantics." That way, you're allowing each person to be correct in their own fashion without leaving a level of conflict behind. (It doesn't help that a peron who I never, ever got along with said "we'll just have to agree..." to me a lot. A lot.)

ANYway. First baby shower. Can't disagree with the semantics of that one. It was a lot of fun. At least, I had fun. I can't really speak for anyone else, but no one left in a huff or broke into tears, so that at least is a good sign, no? I'll try to post some pics of some of the games. Heh. Baby shower games can be funny.

For anyone who follows my life as obsessively I do, you may remember that today was my first day back at the hospital after what was pretty much a surprise week-long vacation. I doubted my ability to completely blow off an entire week doing only some yearbook things. Never shall I doubt myself again. Turns out that I am a very accomplished slacker when the opportunity presents itself.

I arrived at the hospital this morning before 8 am, marginally bright eyed and clumpy-tailed (Versus, you know, bushy tailed? Oh, shut up) I paged my attending, and I waited. And waited. And waited. During my waiting, several other fourth years - each waiting for someone else - came in and out of the Bat Cave (the third and fourth year student lounge area - aka Bat Cave, because We Are Batman.)

But then these guys broke into our secret Bat Lair because they wanted to paint. Pshaw. We're students! We don't need quality or health codes in our lounge!

We collectively decided to go invade the first and second years' student lounge (aka...student lounge - hey they're too busy studying to be clever) On my way out, I ran into my attending, who informed me that there are two procedures tomorrow and that he'll page me if something happens. I guess that is my job today then: wait to see if something happens.

Have you seen a trend for fourth year? Cause I certainly have: Wait. Everyone said fourth year was easy, but I thought they meant it was because we were smarter. I didn't realize it was because no one makes us do anything!

I only stuck around school for the promise of some amusement and a free lunch at the "Town Hall" meeting with the school's deans. They do this twice a year - the deans put themselves on the chopping block and let the students ask them whatever they want to about school policy or finances or curriculum or whatever. There are reliably two questions asked: why can't we use the gym at the undergrad, and some sort of complaint about curriculum. As a senior student, I know how little these things matter in the brief time that we are here, so it is funny to see the youngsters get all inflamed. Today was actually kind of boring, though. I guess we're all marginally satisfied for once.

Now, I guess I go wait some more. This time, I shall be waiting at home, though. And possibly watching some more Lord of the Rings.

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?