Estoy practicando.

Halfway through my morning rounds today my left eye started spazzing. Thankfully, at that hour patients are only half awake, so with a little redirection of the conversation I was able to make a quick exit without anyone catching on... at least I think. In the bathroom, as I inspected the culprit I could see that my contact was cracked right down the middle. How it got that way, no idea. But, it didn't take much weighing of the options, there really was only one. Put the contact back in and finish rounds. Clock was ticking after all.  And thus I spent my day, waiting for the next spaz attack and hoping the headache waited to start until as long as possible. For the most part it was just an annoyance, the only time it was a real problem was during surgery. Attempting to put a stitch and my view going in and out of focus... rather nerve racking. But I got them in, and it still looked pretty, so no one even noticed.

Instead of staying in Bridgeport, I drove home this evening after work. I needed replacement contacts. I'll be bringing extras back with me as well.

While at home, I started rifling through some old notebooks looking for an acronym that I had written down once as a medical student. As a medical student, I always had a notebook in my pocket. Along with the stethoscope, gauze, tape, etc etc. But the notebook was for writing anything and everything down. I went through a number of them as a medical student, and for some reason I kept them all. You know... for that one time that I need to look up that one thing. Ya right, I couldn't find it. But, going through those notebooks, I amazed myself at all that I once knew. And then, it was immediately depressing to be reminded of all that I've forgotten. Those notebooks ended up in the trash. I know, about time. Half of them were in Spanish anyways. I guess I'll make up my own acronym.

Much Love.

Estoy esperando.

A picture of the two medical students who were covering the night shift with me once last week. Poor kids hit the jackpot. A busy night with plenty of action. You get the best experience on those kind of nights, but it runs you ragged if you're not used to it.  Well, even if you are used to it. They were good sports through it all. There was finally time for me to sit down at a computer and get through the paperwork for the list of consults and admissions we had acquired through the course of the night. I told them there was going to be nothing for them to do while I tried to get through the list so if they wanted to take a nap that was fine. Without hesitation they responded in the negatory, if the resident didn't sleep, then they didn't sleep.... see below. I think they had initially attempted to study...  

Much Love.

Estoy pisoteada.

I fear that the month of May will not arrive soon enough. I'm trying to remain positive, but it seems to be getting harder. 1 1/2 more months to go.

In general, as a whole, I strive not to loose who I am, what I value, and what I believe as I wade through the bog of residency.  It may sound dramatic, but surgery creates a hierarchy of power, pride and arrogance that sometimes blinds those involved to common respect and simple kindness. I am so thankful that for the majority of the time our small family does not share in that blindfoldedness.

In case you hadn't sensed what I was getting at, sometimes the ugly head of malignancy rears its head. Using malignant to describe a residency program is not necessarily isolated to surgery programs.  However, it generally seems more prevalent in surgery.                             


 My Attending put a hole in the wall. I don't understand how that is acceptable. Words were used, also not acceptable.

 

I learned in Mexico the importance of church family. They say you are who you surround yourself with. I love my co-workers, but residency itself... A Bog. It'll wear you down. So when I am able I make sure to surround myself with family. As if he knows it hurts him, during those situations, Satan likes to point out my age difference and my growing lack of common ground with the church young group. 

Rockville YG, Croghan, NY 3/19/17

I just keep ignoring him, because if I were to ever stop surrounding myself with family, well then I'd have no choice but to start putting holes in walls myself as well.

Just kidding. I'm of course being overly dramatic. But then again, perhaps it's why so many TV shows have been modeled after things like this. Holes in walls make the audience scream for more, right? Drama. Drama. Drama. Who draws the line?

Much Love.


"He that walketh with wise men shall be wise: but a companion of fools shall be destroyed." Proverbs 13:20

Estoy sentando.

A chair, maybe with a foot rest if possible. One in which I can lean back and rest my head. Close my eyes and listen.  To the wind outside the window, and the general quiet of a room or home. I think it would be nice to have such a chair one day. 

I know someone who went home to sit in his chair today. At least, that what I imagine. 

He growled at me for two weeks straight. He felt down-right crummy, and he let me know. Mad at what had happened to him. Upset that he felt like he was getting worse and not better. He always wanted to go home, and I always made a list for him. Things that needed to be checked off yet before he could go home. Well... that last check happened yesterday. So when the subject came up today, we said yes. Yes, you can go home! And he said, okay. And that was that. I went to see about the stack of paperwork his discharge had waiting for me. 

Very surprised I was then when his nurse called me shortly thereafter to let me know that our gentleman no longer wanted to go home. I paused my paperwork to go investigate. I go into his room and lean up against the wall beside the chair where he's sitting. He's purposely trying not to look at me. I ask him, "Are you scared?" After a pause, in which you can see him debating how to answer, he barks back, "well, yea I'm scared!"  We worked through his fears, and now that chair is exactly where I think he is. He had to get home to sit in his chair. He rests his head, and closes his eyes and enjoys being home again. 

Much Love.

Estoy reparando.

She had breast cancer. Confirmed diagnosis on biopsy. And, it was the tip of the iceberg. Well, tip of the iceberg or bottom of the barrel, either way you said it rang true. She once had her life together. You wouldn't be able to tell, by looking now, but she used to be important. Wore the fancy clothes, drank the expensive wine and handled herself amongst the best of the best. Tragedy, followed by heart break, topped with an abusive relationship, and that expensive wine was long gone. It was vodka now. Hard liquor with no other purpose than to forget and fade away.
Maybe she wanted help, and no longer knew how to ask. Or maybe asking for help would mean facing what her life had become, and it scared her. For whatever the reason, there always seemed to be something in the way of intervention on behalf of her diagnosis. Surgery scheduled multiple times only to need rescheduling on behalf of injury, or alcohol detox. She didn't always do it on purpose. Perhaps you can argue that the bottom of the barrel is really just that bad. Luck is run out. Perhaps it was her streak of bad luck, or maybe it was devine intervention that the night before surgery she drunkenly falls down two flights of stairs and ends up at the very hospital for her surgery as a trauma activation. The day of surgery, she is in the ICU rather than the OR, surgery cancelled. Again.

Did she do this to herself? Or has life dealt her too many blows too close together? Honestly, in the end, it doesn't matter. She still has cancer. And based on that fact, her surgeon, saw her hurting, and offered her surgery knowing full well that she would no longer be paid for it. Divine intervention putting her in the hospital receiving the help that she no longer needed to ask for and making noncompliance, no matter how subconscious, that much more difficult. She came as a trauma. She left with a mastectomy. But when she did, she was walking, she was sober, and she had a desire to get better.

"And she'll try to do better
But then she's too weak to try

But don't you know who you are?

You are more than the choices that you've made,
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes,
You are more than the problems you create
You are remade.

'Cause this is not about what you've done,
But what's been done for you.
This is not about where you've been,
But where your brokenness brings you to

This is not about what you feel,
But what He felt to forgive you,
And what He felt to make you loved."

(You Are More - Tenth Avenue North)

Much Love.

Estoy congelada.

The heat broke. In the house. Across the street.
While at St. Vinny's, commute from my apartment in NY would be approximately 75 min with regular traffic. Not worth driving when tired, so I rent a room in a house across from the hospital. Saves me two precious hours of driving time every day.

Saturday there was no hot water, but I go to work figuring I would have to deal with it later. Get home Sunday morning and the house is cold, but I'm tired so once again would have to deal with it later. I wake up Sunday and the vents are literally pouring out frigid air. I make a phone call, and eventually some one comes. By the time they leave the hot water is on, but the house is settling into a nice permanent chill. Effective functioning (both cognitive and physical) becomes increasingly difficult and I end up taking a long hot shower and putting on three sweatshirts/jackets over my pajamas, with the hoods up, and crawling under the thin covers at about 6:30pm.

As of one hour ago, there was still no heat in the house. I've had warm refuge in the meantime, but hoping that those with the mechanical skills of heating/cooling can work their magic soon.

Much love.