Another meme from Susan.
IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?
So, here’s how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that’s playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
Opening Credits:
"The Child is Gone" by Fiona Apple
Waking Up:
"Hollywood" by The Cranberries
First Day Of School:
"Raining on Our Love" by Shania Twain
Falling In Love:
"Because the Night" by 10,000 Maniacs
Fight Song:
"When You're Hot You're Hot" by Jerry Reed
Breaking Up:
"Why Should the Fire Die?" by Nickel Creek
Prom:
"It Takes All Kinds" by Aimee Mann
Life’s OK:
"Trains" by Jill Sobule
Mental Breakdown:
"Gone" by Kelly Clarkson
Driving:
"Leave" by Barenaked Ladies
Flashback:
"Soldier, Soldier" by Natalie Merchant
Getting Back Together:
"The Hardest Button to Button" by The White Stripes
Wedding:
"Sad Songs and Waltzes" by Cake
Birth of Child:
"Driving Rain" by Paul McCartney
Final Battle:
"Sinking Feeling" by Roisin Murphy
Death Scene:
"Happiness" by The Weepies.
Funeral Song:
"Particle Man" by They Might Be Giants
This exercise taught me that there are a lot of songs on my computer that I haven't listened to for YEARS!
Sep 27, 2006
Sep 22, 2006
Brenna: A Map
I can't get to sleep tonight, so I'm playing with Google Image search.
I really wish I understood what this map was about. Cause it's crazy awesome. Like the cannon ball with antlers? I would totally have included that in a map of my psyche. Scary, man.
Sep 20, 2006
Another Enthralling Adventure
There are those who think I haven't been prolific enough of late.
To those, I say:
Well, honestly, I don't really have all that much to say. Other than: you probably wouldn't want to read about my life these days anyway!
Point in fact -- following is the story of the most exciting thing that happened to me today.
I am on my Emergency Department rotation now. This afternoon, I was scheduled for the Urgent Care clinic. Colds, rashes, yada, yada (not unexciting to me, but not worth much discussion.) The last patient of the day was like the textbook definition of The Patient You Don't Want To Pick Up Last In A Pediatrics Urgent Care Clinic. Seriuosly, picture the patient that you would like to see last in the day, and then picture a patient that is diametrically opposed to that.
(I always love the chance to use the word 'diametrically')
Anyway. That's not the Story of the Most Exciting Thing That Happened to Me Today. That's just the set up for why I didn't get out until 7:30, and why I was tired and distracted on the drive home.
Because today, for the first time ever, I spaced out and totally missed my exit. Actually, that's a lie. I didn't totally miss it - I un-spaced out about a quarter mile before I needed to exit, but I was in the wrong lane. I could have risked life and limb to make it, but my father's teaching came into my head at that moment. The driver's education I got from my dad, boiled down, consisted of "Don't be an idiot."
Or, translated into Oregon-speak: "Don't drive like a Californian."
And applied specifically to this occasion, meant "don't swerve across traffic to get your exit."
So, I got off at the next exit, turned around, and then got home.
Where I proceeded to sit on my butt and do zippo.
So there. The Most Exciting Thing That Happened to Me Today. It would have been better had the story culminated with me stopping a fleeing band of bank robbers while rescuing a bag of kittens that had fallen from the back of a very rich man's limo as he was on his way to reunite with his estranged grand-daughter, thus earning both a reward from the bank and the undying gratitude of the rich guy, who thanks me by paying for weekly pedicures for the rest of my life, and then writes me into his will.
But it didn't culminate that way.
It never does, darn it.
Which is why I have not been prolific. Of late.
Do you think Jane Austen would have kept a blog if the internet had existed in days of yore?
To those, I say:
Well, honestly, I don't really have all that much to say. Other than: you probably wouldn't want to read about my life these days anyway!
Point in fact -- following is the story of the most exciting thing that happened to me today.
I am on my Emergency Department rotation now. This afternoon, I was scheduled for the Urgent Care clinic. Colds, rashes, yada, yada (not unexciting to me, but not worth much discussion.) The last patient of the day was like the textbook definition of The Patient You Don't Want To Pick Up Last In A Pediatrics Urgent Care Clinic. Seriuosly, picture the patient that you would like to see last in the day, and then picture a patient that is diametrically opposed to that.
(I always love the chance to use the word 'diametrically')
Anyway. That's not the Story of the Most Exciting Thing That Happened to Me Today. That's just the set up for why I didn't get out until 7:30, and why I was tired and distracted on the drive home.
Because today, for the first time ever, I spaced out and totally missed my exit. Actually, that's a lie. I didn't totally miss it - I un-spaced out about a quarter mile before I needed to exit, but I was in the wrong lane. I could have risked life and limb to make it, but my father's teaching came into my head at that moment. The driver's education I got from my dad, boiled down, consisted of "Don't be an idiot."
Or, translated into Oregon-speak: "Don't drive like a Californian."
And applied specifically to this occasion, meant "don't swerve across traffic to get your exit."
So, I got off at the next exit, turned around, and then got home.
Where I proceeded to sit on my butt and do zippo.
So there. The Most Exciting Thing That Happened to Me Today. It would have been better had the story culminated with me stopping a fleeing band of bank robbers while rescuing a bag of kittens that had fallen from the back of a very rich man's limo as he was on his way to reunite with his estranged grand-daughter, thus earning both a reward from the bank and the undying gratitude of the rich guy, who thanks me by paying for weekly pedicures for the rest of my life, and then writes me into his will.
But it didn't culminate that way.
It never does, darn it.
Which is why I have not been prolific. Of late.
Do you think Jane Austen would have kept a blog if the internet had existed in days of yore?
Sep 16, 2006
On Stockholm and Eighty Hour Weeks
In 1973 a group of people were taken hostage in Stockholm, Sweden. They were captive for six days, and at the end of it, they were actually defending their captors. This phenomenon - the victim identifying with their victimizer - has come to be known as "Stockholm Syndrome."
Today was my last day in the NICU... and it seems that for all intents and purposes, I may just as well have been holed up in a bank in Stockholm. Because, despite the torture and the long hours and the frustration - I had a hard time leaving! I never thought I'd feel that way. The NICU is a small microcosm of the world - and I have basically lived there for the past month. Or been held captive, depending on your point of view.
In all, I ended up working 299.5 hours these past four weeks - 89 of those hours within the last seven days. That averages out to almost 75 hours a week. Which means that I could have legally worked another 20.5 hours this past month.
And... I almost wish I had. I'm not referring to Stockholm Syndrome here, either (okay, maybe I am) - I just mean that I missed 20 hours worth of learning. I've always been in favor of the Eighty Hour Work Week for residents. I think it is dangerous to the welfare of others - patients, family members, spouses, pedestrians, grocery store cashiers, etc. for residents to work much more than that.
But, had I not worked 74 (point eight-seven-five) hours a week in the NICU, there is no way that I could be feeling any semblence of competence in managing NICU babies. Not that I'm an expert by any stretch of the imagination. (excuse me while I laugh uproariously at the thought!) I figure that my almost three hundred hours expanded my knowledge base by almost three hundred percent.
But since I started with a NICU knowledge base of about 0.01%, that means I know about, oh... 3% of neonatology.
So, anyway. In the end, after some stressful days, some restless nights, and several of rambly, rant-y blogs, the NICU actually ended up being a lot of fun. Though I haven't actually described any of the fun parts here...
Maybe that's part of the Stockholm Syndrome.
Today was my last day in the NICU... and it seems that for all intents and purposes, I may just as well have been holed up in a bank in Stockholm. Because, despite the torture and the long hours and the frustration - I had a hard time leaving! I never thought I'd feel that way. The NICU is a small microcosm of the world - and I have basically lived there for the past month. Or been held captive, depending on your point of view.
In all, I ended up working 299.5 hours these past four weeks - 89 of those hours within the last seven days. That averages out to almost 75 hours a week. Which means that I could have legally worked another 20.5 hours this past month.
And... I almost wish I had. I'm not referring to Stockholm Syndrome here, either (okay, maybe I am) - I just mean that I missed 20 hours worth of learning. I've always been in favor of the Eighty Hour Work Week for residents. I think it is dangerous to the welfare of others - patients, family members, spouses, pedestrians, grocery store cashiers, etc. for residents to work much more than that.
But, had I not worked 74 (point eight-seven-five) hours a week in the NICU, there is no way that I could be feeling any semblence of competence in managing NICU babies. Not that I'm an expert by any stretch of the imagination. (excuse me while I laugh uproariously at the thought!) I figure that my almost three hundred hours expanded my knowledge base by almost three hundred percent.
But since I started with a NICU knowledge base of about 0.01%, that means I know about, oh... 3% of neonatology.
So, anyway. In the end, after some stressful days, some restless nights, and several of rambly, rant-y blogs, the NICU actually ended up being a lot of fun. Though I haven't actually described any of the fun parts here...
Maybe that's part of the Stockholm Syndrome.
Sep 12, 2006
Whinge
In Britain, the word 'whine' has a G in it.
I don't know why.
But to add a sense of Occasion and Properness and Grandeur to this blog I'm about to commence writing, I'll say that I'm 'whinging.'
I'm tired. And though I had a fun clinic today, it was the sort of fun that involved attempting to keep a GIGANTIC toddler from ruining every piece of equipment in the room, getting a parent to focus on actually telling me a story in a comprehensive manner that didn't skip from one symptom to another, and topped off with two grade school twins determined to out-do their sib. Fun, yes. Exhausting, you bet your bottom. Dollar. Bet your bottom dollar. Hey! That phrase actually makes sense -- assuming you keep your money in some sort of semi-vertical stack say like in your pocket. Or pennies in a jar buried under your grandmother's porch. My wallet is organized more horizontally, though.
Anyway. Clinic. Fun. Exhausting.
And only a precursor to my Penultimate Call.
Hi, my name is Brenna, and I have an unhealthy obsession with the word "penultimate."
Call tonight. Busy. Crazy. Patients getting transferred from all over kingdom come and arriving ALL AT THE SAME TIME crazy. Nurses demanding (though nicely) admission orders post haste on the five patients that arrived within two hours of each other crazy. Not eating dinner until 11 pm crazy. Doing 10 pm rounds at 1 am crazy.
I'm exhausted. And I'm sick of the NICU babies. And... I want to go to sleep. And I don't want to have to get up and be HERE again tomorrow morning. And round. And then go home, fall asleep, and do it all over again the next day.
You know... I don't think adding a G to 'whine' makes it any less appealing to listen to. Or read.
I think I'll go to bed now.
(Oh, yes. And two-and-a-half points to the person who gets tonight's post's movie reference.)
I don't know why.
But to add a sense of Occasion and Properness and Grandeur to this blog I'm about to commence writing, I'll say that I'm 'whinging.'
I'm tired. And though I had a fun clinic today, it was the sort of fun that involved attempting to keep a GIGANTIC toddler from ruining every piece of equipment in the room, getting a parent to focus on actually telling me a story in a comprehensive manner that didn't skip from one symptom to another, and topped off with two grade school twins determined to out-do their sib. Fun, yes. Exhausting, you bet your bottom. Dollar. Bet your bottom dollar. Hey! That phrase actually makes sense -- assuming you keep your money in some sort of semi-vertical stack say like in your pocket. Or pennies in a jar buried under your grandmother's porch. My wallet is organized more horizontally, though.
Anyway. Clinic. Fun. Exhausting.
And only a precursor to my Penultimate Call.
Hi, my name is Brenna, and I have an unhealthy obsession with the word "penultimate."
Call tonight. Busy. Crazy. Patients getting transferred from all over kingdom come and arriving ALL AT THE SAME TIME crazy. Nurses demanding (though nicely) admission orders post haste on the five patients that arrived within two hours of each other crazy. Not eating dinner until 11 pm crazy. Doing 10 pm rounds at 1 am crazy.
I'm exhausted. And I'm sick of the NICU babies. And... I want to go to sleep. And I don't want to have to get up and be HERE again tomorrow morning. And round. And then go home, fall asleep, and do it all over again the next day.
You know... I don't think adding a G to 'whine' makes it any less appealing to listen to. Or read.
I think I'll go to bed now.
(Oh, yes. And two-and-a-half points to the person who gets tonight's post's movie reference.)
Aug 31, 2006
Boffo!
I'm going to bring back the word "Boffo." (Was it ever really a word?) You know, as in "You passed the test? Boffo!" Or, "I was on call again last night, and it was totally boffo." Only one of those statements is true.
Don't worry, I didn't fail a test - that statement was just hypothetical.
But I was on call last night, and well, it was kinda boffo. Not I've-found-my-purpose-in-life-and-only-want-to-see-tiny-sick-babies-for-the-rest-of-my-life boffo. More like I-actually-had-half-or-even-three-quarters-of-a-clue-of-what-was-going-on boffo.
I have this tendency... If someone has a strong personality trait, I find myself doing the polar opposite. I'm around a talkative person, and I get quiet - I'm around a quiet person and I can't quit gabbing. My own little way of balancing out the universe, I guess.
Last week, the fellow on call with me was laid back, chill - cooooool, even. We're talking Fonzi cool. Unflappable. Which I didn't need to react oppositely to (is oppositely a word?) as I was already in semi-panic mode all day.
But last night was another story altogether. The fellow on was... well. Flappable. She wore a long yellow gown over her scrubs and just kind of flew around everywhere talking to herself. It was quite amazing. Very smart person, but very... hectic. And any time she'd talk to me, I think she started whatever she was going to say in her head (despite the consistent talking to herself out loud), thus only delivering 2/3 of the message to me. Her: "...so give 2 cc IV push now." Me: "Okay, but. Um. Of what? On who?"
Anyway, combining her strong personality trait, which we'll call "Flustered-ness" and my tendency to go anti-other-person's-trait, I was remarkably calm, cool and collected last night. Anti-flustered, if you will. Which is, overall, a much better way to manage a call night.
Boffo, man.
Don't worry, I didn't fail a test - that statement was just hypothetical.
But I was on call last night, and well, it was kinda boffo. Not I've-found-my-purpose-in-life-and-only-want-to-see-tiny-sick-babies-for-the-rest-of-my-life boffo. More like I-actually-had-half-or-even-three-quarters-of-a-clue-of-what-was-going-on boffo.
I have this tendency... If someone has a strong personality trait, I find myself doing the polar opposite. I'm around a talkative person, and I get quiet - I'm around a quiet person and I can't quit gabbing. My own little way of balancing out the universe, I guess.
Last week, the fellow on call with me was laid back, chill - cooooool, even. We're talking Fonzi cool. Unflappable. Which I didn't need to react oppositely to (is oppositely a word?) as I was already in semi-panic mode all day.
But last night was another story altogether. The fellow on was... well. Flappable. She wore a long yellow gown over her scrubs and just kind of flew around everywhere talking to herself. It was quite amazing. Very smart person, but very... hectic. And any time she'd talk to me, I think she started whatever she was going to say in her head (despite the consistent talking to herself out loud), thus only delivering 2/3 of the message to me. Her: "...so give 2 cc IV push now." Me: "Okay, but. Um. Of what? On who?"
Anyway, combining her strong personality trait, which we'll call "Flustered-ness" and my tendency to go anti-other-person's-trait, I was remarkably calm, cool and collected last night. Anti-flustered, if you will. Which is, overall, a much better way to manage a call night.
Boffo, man.
Aug 27, 2006
Never Fear, Grasshopper.
My second NICU call was worlds better. It helps to actually know the patients that you're supposed to be taking care of. And to know where the rooms are. And how to use the Vocera. And when you load up with jelly beans instead of dinner and you and the nurses order some of the best sushi ever made.
That didn't stop me from breaking out into hives (quite literally) when the Attending this morning said that he wanted to "talk to me" before I left.
Side note: I seem to have developed some sort of chronic neck hives as a response to stress. Or perhaps some strange rheumatologic disease that will henceforth be known as Brenna Bumps. They've been a-flaring up lately, let me tell you, though. Itch, itch, itch.
What did the attending say to me?? Well, today was his last day, so he wanted to give me feedback on my performance this past week. And... he said I'm doing great! HUGE sighs of relief that promptly deflated the hives and made all the babies all acidotic-like by increasing their CO2. Maybe not that big. But big.
One week down, three to go. Total hours this week? 82.5. Not counting the couple of hours of paperwork I've done at home. Oops.
That didn't stop me from breaking out into hives (quite literally) when the Attending this morning said that he wanted to "talk to me" before I left.
Side note: I seem to have developed some sort of chronic neck hives as a response to stress. Or perhaps some strange rheumatologic disease that will henceforth be known as Brenna Bumps. They've been a-flaring up lately, let me tell you, though. Itch, itch, itch.
What did the attending say to me?? Well, today was his last day, so he wanted to give me feedback on my performance this past week. And... he said I'm doing great! HUGE sighs of relief that promptly deflated the hives and made all the babies all acidotic-like by increasing their CO2. Maybe not that big. But big.
One week down, three to go. Total hours this week? 82.5. Not counting the couple of hours of paperwork I've done at home. Oops.
Aug 24, 2006
What's The Worst That Could Happen?
In our lives, we are privileged to have a certain number of Memorable Days - days which will stand out in our memories for the rest of our lives. (Or until we get all old and senile) And if you're lucky enough to be a resident working on call, you have the unique opportunity of having one of those Memorable Days co-incide with a Call Day, meaning it will last for a full thirty hours. Unfortunately, some of these Memorable Days stand out for the sheer horrible-ness-osity of them.
I had my first NICU call on Tuesday.
Here is some background on the NICU set-up: The team consists of three residents - one first year (me!), a second year and a third year. There is also a NICU fellow and the attending. For some reasons the rooms aren't numbered - they're labeled with names. Animal names, to be exact. So we have the Bunny, Bear, Deer, Elephant, Lion, Koala, Giraffe and Zebra rooms. The area is actually quite huge, so we wear walkie-talkie thingies (called Vocera).
Not surprisingly, I don't know all that much about taking care of babies in general - not to mention premature babies that weigh 860 grams (for comparison's sake - a loaf of bread weighs 680 grams). So I was happy to know that all those people would be there to teach me, and guide me and basically save my butt.
Except... On Monday, my 'orientation' consisted of "Here's the Vocera. Rounds start at nine." That was pretty much it. I knew a little about the four patients I was picking up from the last intern. I knew that there were a bunch of calculations I was supposed to do - not what or how, though. I winged my way through on Monday, but amid a crisis (not related to my patients) and other hullaballoo, I really didn't get any more instruction. And then I had to leave for clinic.
So, Tuesday morning felt as new to me as Monday did. And the third year had the day off, so we had to cross-cover her patients. Meaning, I had to round on eleven babies - still not really knowing the babies or the calculations or even what room was what.
The second year resident was post call, so we rounded on her patients first so she could get out by noon. Which left me to round with the attending and fellow by myself.
I think I mentioned that the attending on service is the Head of Pediatrics? Did I mention that he's from the East Coast? And, quite stereotypically, is very smart, very picky, and very not afraid to reprimand dumb interns during their presentations. And, unfortunately, he very much didn't know that it was only my second day.
It just went on and on. Me presenting, him yelling at me, me presenting while trying to not burst into tears. And, then? In the middle of all of it? My period started. Early. So I wasn't prepared. So. Add to the yelling, and fighting back tears, the worry that I was going to bleed through my scrubs and be on display to all the nurses and parents of these tiny babies. (Thankfully, I didn't bleed through - until Wednesday morning, that is.)
Rounds didn't end until 12:55, and we had a discharge planning meeting at 1:00. So, I did get lunch! And then I got to go over the disposition of all 30+ babies on the service with the social workers. Did I mention that it was my second day? I DON'T KNOW WHEN THE BABIES ARE LEAVING. Thankfully, the (very nice) fellow helped me with that.
After the meeting, I started working on a new admission. The fellow was supposed to help me, but... he disappeared. He left with a ground transport team to go pick up a sick baby at a different hospital.
Wait.
He left.
My back-up.
The person who knew the patients.
And how to manage NICU babies.
Left me alone.
The attending was still there. But... He scares me!
They did call in another fellow to help out. But she was ABSOLUTELY USELESS. She read articles. And she didn't put on her walkie-talkie. So everyone called me with the issues. Baby isn't peeing. Baby has a distended stomach. Baby's temperature is down. Baby's glucose is 35. Baby's CO2 is up to 75...
These are things that a week from now, I will know how to handle. But not on my first real day.
It was so awful.
I wasn't so successful at holding back the tears for a few hours there. I didn't know it was possible to be on the verge of tears for hours on end - and still run around writing orders and filling out paperwork. But it is.
The night fellow came in around five - so I was really only alone for three hours, but man it felt like longer.
The night fellow was a great person - very smart and on top of things and relaxed. But I am used to working with other residents - working as a team, checking in a lot with the other person. It's not quite the same with a fellow.
I did get to put in an umbilical vein catheter, which was cool. (And so easy!) But most of the night, I felt totally lost and stressed.
I finally crashed around 2 am. I couldn't stay awake any longer. I actually ended up getting over two hours of sleep. By Wednesday morning, I felt much better. Except for the diarrhea. But I won't go there.
I was doing okay getting vitals and numbers on Wednesay, feeling much more in control (it was, after all, my third day!). But then, six am came and went, and the third year resident didn't (the second year had the day off). About 6:15, I started to get worried. Around 6:20, I started panicking. What would I do if the only other resident didn't come? I paged her. No answer. I was about to call the chief resident, when the third year finally arrived. I almost burst into tears again, but this time out of relief.
Writing it all out here, it doesn't sound as bad as it all felt! I think it was all made worse by the fact that I barely got to sit down. Through the whole 30 hours, all I got to drink was one bottle of water, a Diet Pepsi and a cup of coffee. That's about ten times as much liquid as I give my baby that weighs less than two pounds. I don't weigh ten times that baby.
The whole day I felt lost and confused and just plain stupid. And there was no one there for me to complain to!
You know - it probably could have been worse. The patients were relatively stable, no one died, I did get sleep - and I even got out at noon on my post-call day. Plus, I'm off today! I just hope that I never again have a work day as bad as that! I get to do it all again on Saturday, so wish me luck.
I had my first NICU call on Tuesday.
Here is some background on the NICU set-up: The team consists of three residents - one first year (me!), a second year and a third year. There is also a NICU fellow and the attending. For some reasons the rooms aren't numbered - they're labeled with names. Animal names, to be exact. So we have the Bunny, Bear, Deer, Elephant, Lion, Koala, Giraffe and Zebra rooms. The area is actually quite huge, so we wear walkie-talkie thingies (called Vocera).
Not surprisingly, I don't know all that much about taking care of babies in general - not to mention premature babies that weigh 860 grams (for comparison's sake - a loaf of bread weighs 680 grams). So I was happy to know that all those people would be there to teach me, and guide me and basically save my butt.
Except... On Monday, my 'orientation' consisted of "Here's the Vocera. Rounds start at nine." That was pretty much it. I knew a little about the four patients I was picking up from the last intern. I knew that there were a bunch of calculations I was supposed to do - not what or how, though. I winged my way through on Monday, but amid a crisis (not related to my patients) and other hullaballoo, I really didn't get any more instruction. And then I had to leave for clinic.
So, Tuesday morning felt as new to me as Monday did. And the third year had the day off, so we had to cross-cover her patients. Meaning, I had to round on eleven babies - still not really knowing the babies or the calculations or even what room was what.
The second year resident was post call, so we rounded on her patients first so she could get out by noon. Which left me to round with the attending and fellow by myself.
I think I mentioned that the attending on service is the Head of Pediatrics? Did I mention that he's from the East Coast? And, quite stereotypically, is very smart, very picky, and very not afraid to reprimand dumb interns during their presentations. And, unfortunately, he very much didn't know that it was only my second day.
It just went on and on. Me presenting, him yelling at me, me presenting while trying to not burst into tears. And, then? In the middle of all of it? My period started. Early. So I wasn't prepared. So. Add to the yelling, and fighting back tears, the worry that I was going to bleed through my scrubs and be on display to all the nurses and parents of these tiny babies. (Thankfully, I didn't bleed through - until Wednesday morning, that is.)
Rounds didn't end until 12:55, and we had a discharge planning meeting at 1:00. So, I did get lunch! And then I got to go over the disposition of all 30+ babies on the service with the social workers. Did I mention that it was my second day? I DON'T KNOW WHEN THE BABIES ARE LEAVING. Thankfully, the (very nice) fellow helped me with that.
After the meeting, I started working on a new admission. The fellow was supposed to help me, but... he disappeared. He left with a ground transport team to go pick up a sick baby at a different hospital.
Wait.
He left.
My back-up.
The person who knew the patients.
And how to manage NICU babies.
Left me alone.
The attending was still there. But... He scares me!
They did call in another fellow to help out. But she was ABSOLUTELY USELESS. She read articles. And she didn't put on her walkie-talkie. So everyone called me with the issues. Baby isn't peeing. Baby has a distended stomach. Baby's temperature is down. Baby's glucose is 35. Baby's CO2 is up to 75...
These are things that a week from now, I will know how to handle. But not on my first real day.
It was so awful.
I wasn't so successful at holding back the tears for a few hours there. I didn't know it was possible to be on the verge of tears for hours on end - and still run around writing orders and filling out paperwork. But it is.
The night fellow came in around five - so I was really only alone for three hours, but man it felt like longer.
The night fellow was a great person - very smart and on top of things and relaxed. But I am used to working with other residents - working as a team, checking in a lot with the other person. It's not quite the same with a fellow.
I did get to put in an umbilical vein catheter, which was cool. (And so easy!) But most of the night, I felt totally lost and stressed.
I finally crashed around 2 am. I couldn't stay awake any longer. I actually ended up getting over two hours of sleep. By Wednesday morning, I felt much better. Except for the diarrhea. But I won't go there.
I was doing okay getting vitals and numbers on Wednesay, feeling much more in control (it was, after all, my third day!). But then, six am came and went, and the third year resident didn't (the second year had the day off). About 6:15, I started to get worried. Around 6:20, I started panicking. What would I do if the only other resident didn't come? I paged her. No answer. I was about to call the chief resident, when the third year finally arrived. I almost burst into tears again, but this time out of relief.
Writing it all out here, it doesn't sound as bad as it all felt! I think it was all made worse by the fact that I barely got to sit down. Through the whole 30 hours, all I got to drink was one bottle of water, a Diet Pepsi and a cup of coffee. That's about ten times as much liquid as I give my baby that weighs less than two pounds. I don't weigh ten times that baby.
The whole day I felt lost and confused and just plain stupid. And there was no one there for me to complain to!
You know - it probably could have been worse. The patients were relatively stable, no one died, I did get sleep - and I even got out at noon on my post-call day. Plus, I'm off today! I just hope that I never again have a work day as bad as that! I get to do it all again on Saturday, so wish me luck.
Aug 21, 2006
"That Was Fun!"
Eventually, I'll get around to writing about this past week (which included, for one, my ten year high school reunion!)
But first -
I started the NICU today. I won't even begin to talk about how utterly clueless I am. They're so small, you wouldn't think they'd be all that scary. But they are. Terrifying. Especially when the Peds Department Chair is the attending, and both chiefs and the program director decide to join you on rounds on your first morning when you don't know the patients or how to calculate all the crazy calculations or how to even touch an 800 gram baby without feeling like you're going to break them into ten million pieces.
But. Anyway. I had clinic this afternoon. Two of my patients were siblings, just in for their regular check-ups. I did my normal schpiel with them, and as I walked out, the older sibling said to the mother, "That was fun!"
Fun! The kid had fun! At the doctor's office! And I was the doctor!
It's nice to know that I'm not completely hopeless.
In other news. I'm on call tomorrow night. In the NICU. Alone. Me. The doctor. Taking care of thirty babies who are very, very sick. And being the doc to go to deliveries where they expect the baby to do poorly. Ha. Haha. HAHAHAHA.
Okay, so... There is a fellow on, which is SO SO SO nice to know. But not all the fellows are terribly helpful. I hope they're nice to me.
But first -
I started the NICU today. I won't even begin to talk about how utterly clueless I am. They're so small, you wouldn't think they'd be all that scary. But they are. Terrifying. Especially when the Peds Department Chair is the attending, and both chiefs and the program director decide to join you on rounds on your first morning when you don't know the patients or how to calculate all the crazy calculations or how to even touch an 800 gram baby without feeling like you're going to break them into ten million pieces.
But. Anyway. I had clinic this afternoon. Two of my patients were siblings, just in for their regular check-ups. I did my normal schpiel with them, and as I walked out, the older sibling said to the mother, "That was fun!"
Fun! The kid had fun! At the doctor's office! And I was the doctor!
It's nice to know that I'm not completely hopeless.
In other news. I'm on call tomorrow night. In the NICU. Alone. Me. The doctor. Taking care of thirty babies who are very, very sick. And being the doc to go to deliveries where they expect the baby to do poorly. Ha. Haha. HAHAHAHA.
Okay, so... There is a fellow on, which is SO SO SO nice to know. But not all the fellows are terribly helpful. I hope they're nice to me.
Aug 15, 2006
The Great Equalizer
I got to go back to the DMV today. As you may remember, I went a while ago to get my driver's license. I was on top of that because my Oregon license expired on my birthday in June. The registration part, I've been putting off - mostly because, well... I've been working. Officially, though, you have ten days - ten - to register your vehicle in California when you move here. Most states give you thirty days.
Regardless, I've exceeded that time period. And, me being me, I was honest about it. Darn you scruples!!
Anyway. Let me tell you about the registration process in the lovely state of California. Aren't you just filled with excitement?!
First, you need a car. Haha! Duh.
Then, you need to take the car to get emissions tested. Your options are: a test only site, a test and repair site, or a something-something certified site. You might think that a certified site seems appropriate. Wrong. Then, a test and repair site obviously seems like the right choice. Also wrong. You need a "Test Only" smog testing site. Duh. It costs $50 for the test, and another $10 for the certificate saying you got the test. (Why not just charge $60?? Like anyone is going to get tested just for the heck of it.)
Then, the DMV needs to verify your VIN. This part, thankfully, is free. Plus you get to watch someone fail a motorcycle driver's test and give props to a 16-year-old who just passed her behind-the-wheel test.
Then comes the Great Equalizer: the DMV waiting area. What a fantastic cross-section of Culture. Everyone has to go to the DMV at some point. Unless you're so rich that you never even bother getting a license, I guess, counting on a chauffeur to take you everywhere. I wonder, too, if Tom Cruise or Paris Hilton, etc. have to _wait_ at the DMV. Maybe there's a special "Stars Only DMV."
But I digress. Thoughts do tend to wander far and non in the DMV waiting area, though.
So, when your number is finally called, you go to the window with: the registration form, VIN verification, Smog certificate, old registration, vehicle title, driver's license and proof of registration.
I had it all! I was SO set. I even remembered my checkbook, since the California DMV only takes cash or check. (Actually, they do take debit cards now, but that is a fairly new development)
But, guess what? IT WASN'T ENOUGH. Apparently, Mother California considers pick-up trucks - ALL pick-up trucks - to be 'commercial' vehicles. Never mind that they may be driven by a girly pediatrics resident. Nope. Commercial. Meaning: I need to go to a TRUCK STOP to have my Commercial vehicle WEIGHED.
They did let me pay the $212 to register, though (including the $23 late registration penalty.)
Now I get to go get my truck weighed - who knows how much that costs. Then I get to GO BACK, wait some more, to pay for license plates and tags. Another $50-70.
Goodness.
I'm going to need to start using my truck commercially to pay for all of this!
The best part of all of this? I'm leaving town tomorrow (for my ten year high school reunion!!!!!), so I'll have to take care of the truck stop issue when I get back. While I'm in the NICU. Which is the rotation notorious for consistently exceeding the 80 hour work week regulations.
Sigh. What can you do?
Did you read this whole post? Crazy person. It's about the DMV. Let me get your opinion, then... Personalized plates or no? I can get the "Kids" plate with either a heart, star, handprint or plus sign. What would it say, though?
Regardless, I've exceeded that time period. And, me being me, I was honest about it. Darn you scruples!!
Anyway. Let me tell you about the registration process in the lovely state of California. Aren't you just filled with excitement?!
First, you need a car. Haha! Duh.
Then, you need to take the car to get emissions tested. Your options are: a test only site, a test and repair site, or a something-something certified site. You might think that a certified site seems appropriate. Wrong. Then, a test and repair site obviously seems like the right choice. Also wrong. You need a "Test Only" smog testing site. Duh. It costs $50 for the test, and another $10 for the certificate saying you got the test. (Why not just charge $60?? Like anyone is going to get tested just for the heck of it.)
Then, the DMV needs to verify your VIN. This part, thankfully, is free. Plus you get to watch someone fail a motorcycle driver's test and give props to a 16-year-old who just passed her behind-the-wheel test.
Then comes the Great Equalizer: the DMV waiting area. What a fantastic cross-section of Culture. Everyone has to go to the DMV at some point. Unless you're so rich that you never even bother getting a license, I guess, counting on a chauffeur to take you everywhere. I wonder, too, if Tom Cruise or Paris Hilton, etc. have to _wait_ at the DMV. Maybe there's a special "Stars Only DMV."
But I digress. Thoughts do tend to wander far and non in the DMV waiting area, though.
So, when your number is finally called, you go to the window with: the registration form, VIN verification, Smog certificate, old registration, vehicle title, driver's license and proof of registration.
I had it all! I was SO set. I even remembered my checkbook, since the California DMV only takes cash or check. (Actually, they do take debit cards now, but that is a fairly new development)
But, guess what? IT WASN'T ENOUGH. Apparently, Mother California considers pick-up trucks - ALL pick-up trucks - to be 'commercial' vehicles. Never mind that they may be driven by a girly pediatrics resident. Nope. Commercial. Meaning: I need to go to a TRUCK STOP to have my Commercial vehicle WEIGHED.
They did let me pay the $212 to register, though (including the $23 late registration penalty.)
Now I get to go get my truck weighed - who knows how much that costs. Then I get to GO BACK, wait some more, to pay for license plates and tags. Another $50-70.
Goodness.
I'm going to need to start using my truck commercially to pay for all of this!
The best part of all of this? I'm leaving town tomorrow (for my ten year high school reunion!!!!!), so I'll have to take care of the truck stop issue when I get back. While I'm in the NICU. Which is the rotation notorious for consistently exceeding the 80 hour work week regulations.
Sigh. What can you do?
Did you read this whole post? Crazy person. It's about the DMV. Let me get your opinion, then... Personalized plates or no? I can get the "Kids" plate with either a heart, star, handprint or plus sign. What would it say, though?
Aug 10, 2006
Gimme a Shot!
Once upon a time, I caught a little bug, which I dubbed the "Reality Television Virus" - RTVV. The main symptoms are watching - and enjoying - reality TV. Associated symptoms include getting 'attached' to the contestants, talking about the shows with other people, recording the shows and possibly re-watching them, and actually wanting to either audition for a show or to attend a post-show performance tour. Differential diagnosis includes General Television Addiction, Thinking You're Better Than Those TV Freaks and Frank Insanity. Treatment at this point is mostly supportive.
Shows that have supported my Illness (this is probably not an all-inclusive list):
Survivor
Big Brother
American Idol
Amazing Race
So You Think You Can Dance
How To Get the Guy
America's Next Top Model
Project Runway
Made
My Super Sweet 16
And now, there is a new addition to my list. Possibly the most egregious sign of RTVV's hold on me yet. Are you ready for it?? It is called Who Want's To Be A Superhero? And it, my friends, is awe-some. Inspiring of awe. It is on the Sci-Fi channel. The concept is that Stan Lee, of comic book fame (I hadn't heard of him either, but he's apparently super-famous) - has gathered together 12 superhero wannabes - including Monkey Woman, Fat Mama, Cell Phone Girl, Feedback, Major Victory, The Iron Enforcer and more! - and puts them through challenges to see who possesses the most super-hero qualities. It is so fantastically staged that I can't even begin to express the wonderful-ness of it. One of the characters is actually a spy; one gets recruited to be a super-villain - and that's just the beginning. It's reality TV at its best - some people obviously placed by the producers to fill a certain role, others in it just for the fame that being on TV will bring them with no actual passion for comic books, and a couple gung-ho-Stan-Lee-loving-actually-thing-they're-superhero people. It's the kind of group that makes you feel good about yourself as a person. And after all, isn't that the point of Reality TV - to make you, as the viewer, feel superior?
Except for a few people on a few shows - specifically this season of So You Think You Can Dance. I cannot express how in love I am with all of the finalists. They are just Good People as far as I can tell. Takes away from the Superiority Complex aspect of the show, but definitely adds in spades to the Tugging On The Heartstrings aspect.
Hmm. Methinks I should do a whole breakdown of the Reality TV Virus and It's Appeal.
Despite my love of the shows, I realize that the RTVV is Not Healthy. I'm on vacation from work right now, and I think I should use some of this time to develop an anti-RTVV vaccine. I just read an article about a new anti-Rotavirus vaccine (rotavirus causes nasty diarrhea in kids). I think it can give me some clues as to where to get started with the anti-RTVV. Specifically this sentence:
"The parent bovine rotavirus strain Wistar Calf 3 (WC3) was isolated from a calf with diarrhea in Chester County, Pennsylvania, in 1981 and was passaged 12 times in African green monkey kidney cells (79)."
Hmm. Okay, maybe not. Hopefully RTVV is a self-limited illness that will eventually run its course. In the meantime, I'll just continue to watch.
Shows that have supported my Illness (this is probably not an all-inclusive list):
Survivor
Big Brother
American Idol
Amazing Race
So You Think You Can Dance
How To Get the Guy
America's Next Top Model
Project Runway
Made
My Super Sweet 16
And now, there is a new addition to my list. Possibly the most egregious sign of RTVV's hold on me yet. Are you ready for it?? It is called Who Want's To Be A Superhero? And it, my friends, is awe-some. Inspiring of awe. It is on the Sci-Fi channel. The concept is that Stan Lee, of comic book fame (I hadn't heard of him either, but he's apparently super-famous) - has gathered together 12 superhero wannabes - including Monkey Woman, Fat Mama, Cell Phone Girl, Feedback, Major Victory, The Iron Enforcer and more! - and puts them through challenges to see who possesses the most super-hero qualities. It is so fantastically staged that I can't even begin to express the wonderful-ness of it. One of the characters is actually a spy; one gets recruited to be a super-villain - and that's just the beginning. It's reality TV at its best - some people obviously placed by the producers to fill a certain role, others in it just for the fame that being on TV will bring them with no actual passion for comic books, and a couple gung-ho-Stan-Lee-loving-actually-thing-they're-superhero people. It's the kind of group that makes you feel good about yourself as a person. And after all, isn't that the point of Reality TV - to make you, as the viewer, feel superior?
Except for a few people on a few shows - specifically this season of So You Think You Can Dance. I cannot express how in love I am with all of the finalists. They are just Good People as far as I can tell. Takes away from the Superiority Complex aspect of the show, but definitely adds in spades to the Tugging On The Heartstrings aspect.
Hmm. Methinks I should do a whole breakdown of the Reality TV Virus and It's Appeal.
Despite my love of the shows, I realize that the RTVV is Not Healthy. I'm on vacation from work right now, and I think I should use some of this time to develop an anti-RTVV vaccine. I just read an article about a new anti-Rotavirus vaccine (rotavirus causes nasty diarrhea in kids). I think it can give me some clues as to where to get started with the anti-RTVV. Specifically this sentence:
"The parent bovine rotavirus strain Wistar Calf 3 (WC3) was isolated from a calf with diarrhea in Chester County, Pennsylvania, in 1981 and was passaged 12 times in African green monkey kidney cells (79)."
Hmm. Okay, maybe not. Hopefully RTVV is a self-limited illness that will eventually run its course. In the meantime, I'll just continue to watch.
Aug 6, 2006
Clarification:
When I write orders for patients on the floor, a lot of times... well... I mess up - get a dose wrong or forget to specify that the patient with a G-tube should get their G-tube feeds in the G-tube. When I do that, I have to come back and write a 'clarification' order.
Today, I'm clarifying my blog! Though I don't think I've given any orders here. Until now: Send Me All Your Money!!!
Okay, back to topic. So. I just got a comment about my previous tirade about the new Chrysler ads. Turns out that Dr. Z is totally real! He is the bona fide CEO of Daimler Chrysler. I feel a bit bad about slamming an accent that is, in fact, a real one. Oops!
Knowing that, I guess I now _get_ the ads, in the fact that Dr. Z is making fun of himself. I still think the ads are a bit too 'inside joke' for me, though. Or that Dr. Z comes off as too much of a caricature to be believed as the CEO.
And the commercials still bug me.
Thanks for the info, though, "Interested Observer!" Gotta be someone out there keeping me honest.
Otherwise patients may start getting their G-tube feeds in their IV or something.
Today, I'm clarifying my blog! Though I don't think I've given any orders here. Until now: Send Me All Your Money!!!
Okay, back to topic. So. I just got a comment about my previous tirade about the new Chrysler ads. Turns out that Dr. Z is totally real! He is the bona fide CEO of Daimler Chrysler. I feel a bit bad about slamming an accent that is, in fact, a real one. Oops!
Knowing that, I guess I now _get_ the ads, in the fact that Dr. Z is making fun of himself. I still think the ads are a bit too 'inside joke' for me, though. Or that Dr. Z comes off as too much of a caricature to be believed as the CEO.
And the commercials still bug me.
Thanks for the info, though, "Interested Observer!" Gotta be someone out there keeping me honest.
Otherwise patients may start getting their G-tube feeds in their IV or something.
Aug 4, 2006
What Do These People Have In Common?
Annette Bening
Mira Nair
Kim Basinger
Kate Hudson
Jon Bon Jovi
Michelle Rodriguez
Hugh Jackman
Jessica Alba
Danii Minogue
Joan Collins
Any guesses?
Nope. No, again. You're totally wrong.
So what is it? According to MyHeritage's face recognition software these celebrities share certain facial characteristics with yours truly! Meaning... they look like me! What an honor for them. Especially Hugh Jackman.
Who do you look like???
(hint - someone I know looks like Meryl Streep and Naomi Watts... and Elton John.)
Mira Nair
Kim Basinger
Kate Hudson
Jon Bon Jovi
Michelle Rodriguez
Hugh Jackman
Jessica Alba
Danii Minogue
Joan Collins
Any guesses?
Nope. No, again. You're totally wrong.
So what is it? According to MyHeritage's face recognition software these celebrities share certain facial characteristics with yours truly! Meaning... they look like me! What an honor for them. Especially Hugh Jackman.
Who do you look like???
(hint - someone I know looks like Meryl Streep and Naomi Watts... and Elton John.)
Aug 1, 2006
Pay Day!!!
They pay me for this!! Seriously!
We finally got our first paychecks today. Which means that I can finally pay for the things I've been buying.
And now that I actually know how much I actually get to take home from my salary, I can actually set up a budget. And I discovered that I can actually afford to go to a movie - or even buy a whole can of soup! - withouth experiencing paroxysms of guilt or breaking out in hives. (Shopping hasn't been too pretty these past few weeks)
Ooh, except that I didn't figure in gasoline yet. Scratch that whole can of soup thing.
Today, at work (for which I get paid), I went to the audiology clinic - that's where they test hearing in kids. They've got these scary automaton bears that bang drums and blow whistles. Kind of like hairy, incredibly scary Small World characters. That's supposed to be the 'reward' when kids look in the right direction when they hear a sound.
Hmmm.
And to once more completely change the topic:
Back in about... junior high I decided that I was so far from being cool that I'd just embrace my dorkiness and go with it. For a few years, I was so far from cool that I purposely went anti-cool -- I wouldn't carry the Espirit bag that everyone else had in sixth grade, I didn't like the guy that everyone liked in seventh grade, and well... I never really had a 'fashion sense.' It was an attitude that served me well.
As a matter of fact, it is an attitude that I still heartily embrace. Minus the purposeful anti-cool part. If I happen to stumble into a 'cool' outfit, I'll continue to wear it now.
But it was this attitude of embracing my inner dork taht led me to spending the weekend attending "Lambtown" (a small-town California celebration of... lambs) and going to see a live stage version of "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers."
What I love is that, where ever I go, I manage to find other people who are totally in tune with their own inner dorks.
And now? I'm a paid dork.
We finally got our first paychecks today. Which means that I can finally pay for the things I've been buying.
And now that I actually know how much I actually get to take home from my salary, I can actually set up a budget. And I discovered that I can actually afford to go to a movie - or even buy a whole can of soup! - withouth experiencing paroxysms of guilt or breaking out in hives. (Shopping hasn't been too pretty these past few weeks)
Ooh, except that I didn't figure in gasoline yet. Scratch that whole can of soup thing.
Today, at work (for which I get paid), I went to the audiology clinic - that's where they test hearing in kids. They've got these scary automaton bears that bang drums and blow whistles. Kind of like hairy, incredibly scary Small World characters. That's supposed to be the 'reward' when kids look in the right direction when they hear a sound.
Hmmm.
And to once more completely change the topic:
Back in about... junior high I decided that I was so far from being cool that I'd just embrace my dorkiness and go with it. For a few years, I was so far from cool that I purposely went anti-cool -- I wouldn't carry the Espirit bag that everyone else had in sixth grade, I didn't like the guy that everyone liked in seventh grade, and well... I never really had a 'fashion sense.' It was an attitude that served me well.
As a matter of fact, it is an attitude that I still heartily embrace. Minus the purposeful anti-cool part. If I happen to stumble into a 'cool' outfit, I'll continue to wear it now.
But it was this attitude of embracing my inner dork taht led me to spending the weekend attending "Lambtown" (a small-town California celebration of... lambs) and going to see a live stage version of "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers."
What I love is that, where ever I go, I manage to find other people who are totally in tune with their own inner dorks.
And now? I'm a paid dork.
Jul 25, 2006
Yes, I Watch Too Much TV
A non-medical post today. Really just some rants about commercials...
First: Chrysler. This Dr. Z character? No. Bad. Bad bad bad. The commercials drive me crazy, and they're always on. I hate hate hate them. If I had been thinking of buying a new car, it would be anything but a Chrysler at this point. Dress a young guy in a bad wig/mustache and make him talk in a bad fake German accent? Who pitched that idea? And who said 'that sounds perfect!' I'd really really hate to see the ideas that they didn't use.
Second: Head-On. Apply directly to the forehead. Head-On. Apply directly to the forehead. Head-On. Apply directly to the forehead. What the??? Does it provide omniscience? Or at least mild ESP? Cause if so, I'll totally buy it.
First: Chrysler. This Dr. Z character? No. Bad. Bad bad bad. The commercials drive me crazy, and they're always on. I hate hate hate them. If I had been thinking of buying a new car, it would be anything but a Chrysler at this point. Dress a young guy in a bad wig/mustache and make him talk in a bad fake German accent? Who pitched that idea? And who said 'that sounds perfect!' I'd really really hate to see the ideas that they didn't use.
Second: Head-On. Apply directly to the forehead. Head-On. Apply directly to the forehead. Head-On. Apply directly to the forehead. What the??? Does it provide omniscience? Or at least mild ESP? Cause if so, I'll totally buy it.
Jul 24, 2006
Hi, Coconut!
Today is the ninth day in a row of 100+ degree weather. But at least the humidity came down to 20%.
You know that whole - 'sure, it's hot, but at least it is a dry heat', thing? Apparently Sacramento is what they're comparing it to. 'At least we're not in Sacramento.' Where there has been about seven hours a day of temperatures less than 90. And those are the hours when I actually let myself turn on the AC. Because I'm trying to conserve energy. Because they're threatening rolling blackouts.
For those of you unfamiliar with The California Energy Crisis: California has Too Many People and Not Enough Power. For the past several years, they've (I guess now it's "we've," since I live here) had to buy extra power from surrounding states - and Canada. Except when those states (and Canada) need power for their own people, Cali is SOL. So they just kind of have to dole out power to different areas at different times. Rolling blackouts.
I've lived in Minnesota, Oregon, Alaska and North Carolina. One thing I've learned about myself: I hate hot weather. Cold weather? Bring it on, baby. Some day, I'll retire to Siberia. Fur muffs and parkas and hot chocolate by the fire... So much better than rolling blackouts.
Anyhow. I'll stop whining now.
Okay. Here I go again -
I started my Behavior and Development rotation today. Except that it should be called... umm... well, something clever that means "really boring and sleep-inducing." This morning we listened in on conference calls with social workers, psychologists and pediatricians deciding whether certain patients still qualified for services for kids with developmental delay. Then, in the afternoon, I sat in a dark room watching through a two-way mirror while a doctor administered a couple of developmental surveys to a four-year-old.
A four-year-old, who incidentally could not identify a picture of an umbrella because he had never seen one before. (It all comes back to the weather!)
During the testing, the kid said "I cooking it!" referring to a glove in a plastic pot. But it did sound for all the world like he said, "Hi Coconut!"
That was the highlight of the day.
Okay. NOW I'm done complaining.
You know that whole - 'sure, it's hot, but at least it is a dry heat', thing? Apparently Sacramento is what they're comparing it to. 'At least we're not in Sacramento.' Where there has been about seven hours a day of temperatures less than 90. And those are the hours when I actually let myself turn on the AC. Because I'm trying to conserve energy. Because they're threatening rolling blackouts.
For those of you unfamiliar with The California Energy Crisis: California has Too Many People and Not Enough Power. For the past several years, they've (I guess now it's "we've," since I live here) had to buy extra power from surrounding states - and Canada. Except when those states (and Canada) need power for their own people, Cali is SOL. So they just kind of have to dole out power to different areas at different times. Rolling blackouts.
I've lived in Minnesota, Oregon, Alaska and North Carolina. One thing I've learned about myself: I hate hot weather. Cold weather? Bring it on, baby. Some day, I'll retire to Siberia. Fur muffs and parkas and hot chocolate by the fire... So much better than rolling blackouts.
Anyhow. I'll stop whining now.
Okay. Here I go again -
I started my Behavior and Development rotation today. Except that it should be called... umm... well, something clever that means "really boring and sleep-inducing." This morning we listened in on conference calls with social workers, psychologists and pediatricians deciding whether certain patients still qualified for services for kids with developmental delay. Then, in the afternoon, I sat in a dark room watching through a two-way mirror while a doctor administered a couple of developmental surveys to a four-year-old.
A four-year-old, who incidentally could not identify a picture of an umbrella because he had never seen one before. (It all comes back to the weather!)
During the testing, the kid said "I cooking it!" referring to a glove in a plastic pot. But it did sound for all the world like he said, "Hi Coconut!"
That was the highlight of the day.
Okay. NOW I'm done complaining.
Jul 23, 2006
How Many Pediatricians Does It Take To Change A Tire?
Four.
Man, I knew it had been a while since I posted, but I didn't realize quite how long!
Anyway - Friday was my last day on the wards! Which means that this weekend has been a real live "Golden Weekend." A rare delicacy in the medical world, a "Golden Weekend" consists of two whole days off in a row. Normal people call it a "Weekend." But, actually, since I have two weeks of Behavior and Development, followed by two weeks of vacation, I actually have five Goldens in a row!!!
In total, I worked 4 weeks on the ward - 24 days on - about 280 hours total.
How does one celebrate the end of a rotation? By going to an eighties cover band, of course! I went out on Friday night with some fellow residents - a few interns, some third years, a chief and a recent graduate, to be exact. I don't know where the second years were... Anyway, it was really HOT, but much fun. I actually even managed to stay up many hours past my bedtime.
We'd gathered at one intern's house, since she lived walking distance from the club. When we left the club - at around one am, mind you - it was still mid-80s outside. Ridiculous! SO FREAKING HOT. When we got back to our cars, it turned out another intern had sustained a flat tire. Thus the four pediatricians changing a tire. At 1 am. In 80+ degree weather.
So, after a month of residency, do I really condsider myself a doctor? I've met many patients - I've even had two afternoons of clinic where I'm the patients' doctor. As in, "Who is your doctor, random person?" Random person replies, "My doctor is Brenna."
Ah, yes. The name thing. I have yet to actually introduce myself as Dr. Last Name. I will say, "Hi, I'm Brenna Last Name, one of the residents here. I'll be taking care of you when you're in the hospital." Notice that the word 'doctor' never escapes my lips.
And when the nurses call me doctor? Well, first, I don't hear them. They'll call me several times before it enters my skull that they're talking to me (usually to remind me to sign an order!). Then I aske them to call me Brenna. Because, really? That's my name. Though I guess I do need to get in the habit of telling my patients that I am, in fact, a doctor. To instill some sort of confidence or something.
But when I'm out in public? I have a new answer to 'What do you do?' The new answer? I work with children.
Man, I knew it had been a while since I posted, but I didn't realize quite how long!
Anyway - Friday was my last day on the wards! Which means that this weekend has been a real live "Golden Weekend." A rare delicacy in the medical world, a "Golden Weekend" consists of two whole days off in a row. Normal people call it a "Weekend." But, actually, since I have two weeks of Behavior and Development, followed by two weeks of vacation, I actually have five Goldens in a row!!!
In total, I worked 4 weeks on the ward - 24 days on - about 280 hours total.
How does one celebrate the end of a rotation? By going to an eighties cover band, of course! I went out on Friday night with some fellow residents - a few interns, some third years, a chief and a recent graduate, to be exact. I don't know where the second years were... Anyway, it was really HOT, but much fun. I actually even managed to stay up many hours past my bedtime.
We'd gathered at one intern's house, since she lived walking distance from the club. When we left the club - at around one am, mind you - it was still mid-80s outside. Ridiculous! SO FREAKING HOT. When we got back to our cars, it turned out another intern had sustained a flat tire. Thus the four pediatricians changing a tire. At 1 am. In 80+ degree weather.
So, after a month of residency, do I really condsider myself a doctor? I've met many patients - I've even had two afternoons of clinic where I'm the patients' doctor. As in, "Who is your doctor, random person?" Random person replies, "My doctor is Brenna."
Ah, yes. The name thing. I have yet to actually introduce myself as Dr. Last Name. I will say, "Hi, I'm Brenna Last Name, one of the residents here. I'll be taking care of you when you're in the hospital." Notice that the word 'doctor' never escapes my lips.
And when the nurses call me doctor? Well, first, I don't hear them. They'll call me several times before it enters my skull that they're talking to me (usually to remind me to sign an order!). Then I aske them to call me Brenna. Because, really? That's my name. Though I guess I do need to get in the habit of telling my patients that I am, in fact, a doctor. To instill some sort of confidence or something.
But when I'm out in public? I have a new answer to 'What do you do?' The new answer? I work with children.
Jul 11, 2006
A Fresh Perspective
Last week, I had yet another Big Event in my Life as a Resident: the arrival of the medical student!
They came Wednesday morning - So young. So fresh. So... clueless. There are four residents and there were four med students starting, so we each have our own shadow to kind of follow us around. Unintentionally, I'm sure, the students kind of got paired up with residents of similar dispositions. "My" student happens to be a fourth year making up his third year rotation in peds. Which is nice, because it means that I don't have to follow him as much (or rather, he doesn't need to cling to my coat-tails all day).
That first day, I had NO idea what to do with him! I still barely know what I'm doing myself!
Amazingly, however (as I've noticed in the past), if you give me someone to 'teach,' I get a lot more confident in my own opinions and actions. Maybe I'm showing off... But all of a sudden, I'm writing orders, and making decisions and discussing plans with everyone without any (or as much) guidance. I'm also teaching things that I didn't even know I knew. And giving tips on how to give better presentations. Or what questions to ask to get a good birth history. It is SO SO SO weird to be the person in the long coat now.
When I was a third year, I thought interns were so amazing. And now... that's me!
I might have mentioned this before, but some of the best advice I received in medical school seems quite relevant right now. What is that advice, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. It is this: Never compare yourself with people that are ahead of you in their training. If you must compare, look backwards to were you were. Having a med student really shows me that I don't suck.
Something else that is different as a resident: my motivation. As a student, I would see patients, and I'd care about them, but there was still usually a level of dis-connect there. Something upsetting would happen, and I'd care, but I'd also care a lot about whether the patient's problem would keep me from getting home early or not. I worried about it sometimes - could I be a good doctor if I wasn't subverting my own self interests? If I cared more about my hair cut appointment than a patient's MRI results?
Now that I'm the doctor, though, it is totally different. I don't know what made the difference... I guess as a med student I always felt kind of useless. But now... I have to be reminded to eat... I look up patient labs at home. I wake up thinking about whether or not I can get a patient into inpatient rehab that day.
This afternoon, I was scheduled to take the in-service exam (a four hour test we take each year, so they can make sure we're getting smarter). I spent the morning hastily getting things together (I'm a lot busier this week than I had been), and re-admitting a patient. I checked things out to the people that were staying. But when I finished the test early? I didn't even think about going home. I went back up to the floor to make sure my patients were getting taken care of.
You could say it was because I'm a control freak. You'd probably be right. But I think it is also because I finally care about the people. Which makes things a lot more stressful. But so much more rewarding.
Have I mentioned that I love my job? And that is after putting in 38 hours already this week.
They came Wednesday morning - So young. So fresh. So... clueless. There are four residents and there were four med students starting, so we each have our own shadow to kind of follow us around. Unintentionally, I'm sure, the students kind of got paired up with residents of similar dispositions. "My" student happens to be a fourth year making up his third year rotation in peds. Which is nice, because it means that I don't have to follow him as much (or rather, he doesn't need to cling to my coat-tails all day).
That first day, I had NO idea what to do with him! I still barely know what I'm doing myself!
Amazingly, however (as I've noticed in the past), if you give me someone to 'teach,' I get a lot more confident in my own opinions and actions. Maybe I'm showing off... But all of a sudden, I'm writing orders, and making decisions and discussing plans with everyone without any (or as much) guidance. I'm also teaching things that I didn't even know I knew. And giving tips on how to give better presentations. Or what questions to ask to get a good birth history. It is SO SO SO weird to be the person in the long coat now.
When I was a third year, I thought interns were so amazing. And now... that's me!
I might have mentioned this before, but some of the best advice I received in medical school seems quite relevant right now. What is that advice, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. It is this: Never compare yourself with people that are ahead of you in their training. If you must compare, look backwards to were you were. Having a med student really shows me that I don't suck.
Something else that is different as a resident: my motivation. As a student, I would see patients, and I'd care about them, but there was still usually a level of dis-connect there. Something upsetting would happen, and I'd care, but I'd also care a lot about whether the patient's problem would keep me from getting home early or not. I worried about it sometimes - could I be a good doctor if I wasn't subverting my own self interests? If I cared more about my hair cut appointment than a patient's MRI results?
Now that I'm the doctor, though, it is totally different. I don't know what made the difference... I guess as a med student I always felt kind of useless. But now... I have to be reminded to eat... I look up patient labs at home. I wake up thinking about whether or not I can get a patient into inpatient rehab that day.
This afternoon, I was scheduled to take the in-service exam (a four hour test we take each year, so they can make sure we're getting smarter). I spent the morning hastily getting things together (I'm a lot busier this week than I had been), and re-admitting a patient. I checked things out to the people that were staying. But when I finished the test early? I didn't even think about going home. I went back up to the floor to make sure my patients were getting taken care of.
You could say it was because I'm a control freak. You'd probably be right. But I think it is also because I finally care about the people. Which makes things a lot more stressful. But so much more rewarding.
Have I mentioned that I love my job? And that is after putting in 38 hours already this week.
Jul 4, 2006
Independence Day!
This morning, I went in as always, and I pre-rounded, and we rounded, and then - then - my upper level said to me, "Do you think you can be ready for check-out at noon?"
And I said, "......Noon?"
And she said, "Well, yes. It is a holiday, so the people who aren't on call can check out when they're done."
At which point, I did a little jig. In my head, though. Gotta keep up appearances and all, you know. The long white coat buys you some respect, but people are still watching. Judging. And doctors don't dance.
Well, except for me, maybe. (Just not with any grace or rhythm)
So today felt like a total vacation day for me. A vacation day where I worked six hours...
And what did I do with my vacation you may be asking yourself? Because I know you are all so terribly fascinated by my every waking moment.
First, I went out to lunch with a fellow intern. A nice, relaxed lunch. Outside of the hospital.
Then I cam home and read a fun book and cleaned a little.
Then I studied.
Yes. Studied.
Darn PALS class on Thursday. THANK goodness for today, though. I don't know if I'd have had the time/patience/awakeness to even make a dent otherwise.
Tomorrow is another exciting Milestone day for me and my doctor-hood: we get medical students! Never mind the fact that, in terms of actual working days, it was only, ummmm.... 10 days ago that I was a student myself. Now, I hold young, impressionable students' minds in my hands. Mwahahahahaha!
I shall impart unto them the wisdom of the ages. Most importantly: when your upper level says to go home or to, say, check out at noon: you GO.
Relish the independence.
And I said, "......Noon?"
And she said, "Well, yes. It is a holiday, so the people who aren't on call can check out when they're done."
At which point, I did a little jig. In my head, though. Gotta keep up appearances and all, you know. The long white coat buys you some respect, but people are still watching. Judging. And doctors don't dance.
Well, except for me, maybe. (Just not with any grace or rhythm)
So today felt like a total vacation day for me. A vacation day where I worked six hours...
And what did I do with my vacation you may be asking yourself? Because I know you are all so terribly fascinated by my every waking moment.
First, I went out to lunch with a fellow intern. A nice, relaxed lunch. Outside of the hospital.
Then I cam home and read a fun book and cleaned a little.
Then I studied.
Yes. Studied.
Darn PALS class on Thursday. THANK goodness for today, though. I don't know if I'd have had the time/patience/awakeness to even make a dent otherwise.
Tomorrow is another exciting Milestone day for me and my doctor-hood: we get medical students! Never mind the fact that, in terms of actual working days, it was only, ummmm.... 10 days ago that I was a student myself. Now, I hold young, impressionable students' minds in my hands. Mwahahahahaha!
I shall impart unto them the wisdom of the ages. Most importantly: when your upper level says to go home or to, say, check out at noon: you GO.
Relish the independence.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)