It’s nearly 2 o’clock in the morn and I’m trying to get tired enough to go to bed and resume a somewhat normal schedule after 4 straight night shifts in the ER. Tomorrow (or technically later today), I work at 3 pm and stay until midnight. I didn’t do anything too exciting this weekend. Mostly that was because of work.
There is still a lot of drama with my current female situation. It has been occupying a lot of my thoughts over the past week. It’s sort of a touchy situation, basically me trying to separately but conjointly date two women for a temporary period to see who I’d be better off investing more time with (and unfortunately cutting the other one loose). It’s a little more complicated than just that, but that’s basically the gist. I’m currently being very honest and open with everyone involved, for which I’m glad. I’ve gotten into trouble in the past by being less forthright (not lying, but rather just not being direct or open). Sadly, someone’s feelings are eventually going to get hurt regardless, and friendships will likely be affected as well. And we all work in the same building, making things likely to be even more awkward and unpleasant. But oh well, we’re all adults right? (*AWKWARD CHUCKLE*)
Other random thoughts:
-I’ve watched no more than 2 minutes (total) of NCAA basketball this year. This is mildly depressing. Between my work schedule and me not having cable (or even an antenna for CBS), my entire tournament experience has basically been espn.com score updates and me holding my sorry bracket and frequently crossing off teams. My final four: Gonzaga (ouch), Duke, Pitt, and NC State. Um, not good. Oh well, hopefully this year the tournament hasn’t been that exciting and I’m not missing anything.
-There was a patient in the ER the other night who was brought in drunk and had caused two accidents while drunk driving. Sadly, he caused his first accident earlier in the night (a big one, like a 5 car pile up). Then the guy drove off (making it a hit and run) and caused another accident about 20 minutes later, this time severely fucking himself up in the process. When they rolled him in, his legs and face were all mangled and something wasn’t right with his abdomen either. Worse, the guy was having a Vietnam flashback the entire time screaming for his buddy “Alex”. “Did Alex get out OK?” “WE HAVE TO GO BACK FOR ALEX!!” The whole thing was fairly disturbing on multiple levels. Maybe drunk driving isn’t such a good idea after all…(maybe stupid government wars based on shoddy foundations aren’t a good idea, either)
-The very real Vietnam flashback above proved to be a precursor to my own BATTLEFIELD Vietnam flashback. I’ve been playing too much of this game lately (Eryn!). It’s a lot of fun, sneaking around jungles and killing people. (It’s so different than work!) I’m in love with helicopters and have now logged several hours worth of online “helo” time. I can’t wait to play again with the boys and have some 2-man hot helicopter action. Not a big fan of the jets, but love those copters. Furthermore, the best and worst feature of the whole game is the accompanying 60’s soundtrack. If I’m flying a copter, you better believe I’m rocking out to “Hush” or “War”. What’s worse, though, is that you hear each song like 50 times and if you’re a human jukebox you may or may not end up singing “I Fought the Law” or something similar into some intern’s face all night in the Emergency Department. And that kind of thing is funny to only one person involved.
-Some of you may have noticed that “Catch 22” has been by Current Read for about, oh, the entire length of this blog’s existence. Believe it or not, I’m still slowly slogging through it, albeit it at a Iwan Thomas like pace. Work has severely limited my reading time (certainly back on the dreaded wards month, anyway). It’s a good book, that Catch 22. A little slow going, but very unique. I love the guy’s odd writing style. Most of the book’s themes revolve around anti-bureaucracy and anti-military sort of stuff, which of course I can get into. There are some absolutely brilliant pieces buried within the 500 odd page text, but there’s a lot of plodding as well. I’m often amazed at how pertinent the philosophical topics are despite the fact the book was written in the 1950’s. Good stuff. Hopefully I’ll finish soon and move on to something else. Anyone have suggestions? Make your pitch now…
Till next time….
“I left my baby in the….HOT SUN…I fought the law, and the law won….I fought the law, and the ….law won….”
There is still a lot of drama with my current female situation. It has been occupying a lot of my thoughts over the past week. It’s sort of a touchy situation, basically me trying to separately but conjointly date two women for a temporary period to see who I’d be better off investing more time with (and unfortunately cutting the other one loose). It’s a little more complicated than just that, but that’s basically the gist. I’m currently being very honest and open with everyone involved, for which I’m glad. I’ve gotten into trouble in the past by being less forthright (not lying, but rather just not being direct or open). Sadly, someone’s feelings are eventually going to get hurt regardless, and friendships will likely be affected as well. And we all work in the same building, making things likely to be even more awkward and unpleasant. But oh well, we’re all adults right? (*AWKWARD CHUCKLE*)
Other random thoughts:
-I’ve watched no more than 2 minutes (total) of NCAA basketball this year. This is mildly depressing. Between my work schedule and me not having cable (or even an antenna for CBS), my entire tournament experience has basically been espn.com score updates and me holding my sorry bracket and frequently crossing off teams. My final four: Gonzaga (ouch), Duke, Pitt, and NC State. Um, not good. Oh well, hopefully this year the tournament hasn’t been that exciting and I’m not missing anything.
-There was a patient in the ER the other night who was brought in drunk and had caused two accidents while drunk driving. Sadly, he caused his first accident earlier in the night (a big one, like a 5 car pile up). Then the guy drove off (making it a hit and run) and caused another accident about 20 minutes later, this time severely fucking himself up in the process. When they rolled him in, his legs and face were all mangled and something wasn’t right with his abdomen either. Worse, the guy was having a Vietnam flashback the entire time screaming for his buddy “Alex”. “Did Alex get out OK?” “WE HAVE TO GO BACK FOR ALEX!!” The whole thing was fairly disturbing on multiple levels. Maybe drunk driving isn’t such a good idea after all…(maybe stupid government wars based on shoddy foundations aren’t a good idea, either)
-The very real Vietnam flashback above proved to be a precursor to my own BATTLEFIELD Vietnam flashback. I’ve been playing too much of this game lately (Eryn!). It’s a lot of fun, sneaking around jungles and killing people. (It’s so different than work!) I’m in love with helicopters and have now logged several hours worth of online “helo” time. I can’t wait to play again with the boys and have some 2-man hot helicopter action. Not a big fan of the jets, but love those copters. Furthermore, the best and worst feature of the whole game is the accompanying 60’s soundtrack. If I’m flying a copter, you better believe I’m rocking out to “Hush” or “War”. What’s worse, though, is that you hear each song like 50 times and if you’re a human jukebox you may or may not end up singing “I Fought the Law” or something similar into some intern’s face all night in the Emergency Department. And that kind of thing is funny to only one person involved.
-Some of you may have noticed that “Catch 22” has been by Current Read for about, oh, the entire length of this blog’s existence. Believe it or not, I’m still slowly slogging through it, albeit it at a Iwan Thomas like pace. Work has severely limited my reading time (certainly back on the dreaded wards month, anyway). It’s a good book, that Catch 22. A little slow going, but very unique. I love the guy’s odd writing style. Most of the book’s themes revolve around anti-bureaucracy and anti-military sort of stuff, which of course I can get into. There are some absolutely brilliant pieces buried within the 500 odd page text, but there’s a lot of plodding as well. I’m often amazed at how pertinent the philosophical topics are despite the fact the book was written in the 1950’s. Good stuff. Hopefully I’ll finish soon and move on to something else. Anyone have suggestions? Make your pitch now…
Till next time….
“I left my baby in the….HOT SUN…I fought the law, and the law won….I fought the law, and the ….law won….”
Its weird waking up at 4 pm after sleeping 7 hours after getting home from work at dawn. I’m groggy. Need caffeine. Now it’s about 7:15 pm – in 4 hours I’ll be working. What to do till then? I need to work out. No basketball tonight for various reasons. I’m lethargic and hungry but I really, really need to get up and go exercise rather than philosophize about it. I hate when I don’t exercise enough. I feel so guilty. I also just feel crappy.
In medical circles, it’s pretty well known that exercise is basically the best medicine we have against routine and common diseases like hypertension and diabetes. Fact. If many people in this country had exercised more over the years they wouldn’t be diabetic now. Fact. If many people exercised more their blood pressure would be in better control. Fact. If people could do 30 minutes of exercise of some form every day the country would be infinitely healthier. Fact. Exercise is good. Movement is good. The animal experience is a good thing. A body at rest tends to stay at rest. I need to get off my ass and break a sweat. There’s few things I hate worse than that “blah” feeling of not having worked out in over a week.
On Tuesday night I continued my exploration of Seattle’s fine restaurants. Gwen and I ate here that night. It was a good dinner with another good (and not cheap) bottle of red wine. Afterwards, there was drama. I told Gwen about the previous night and well, then there was drama. I’m not going into it, here. Things are OK, though, at least temporarily.
Wednesday morning I met with some “financial guy” who my friend George referred to me. This guy is an ex-military man who works for some investment group (“First Command”) that specializes in helping people in the military (God, do I really fit into that category??! AHH!) manage their money. I was shown into an office and this slick-Rick salesman type guy busted out his power point presentation on IRA’s, savings, investment, mutual funds, and all that other shit. I couldn’t have been less interested that morning. I kept analyzing his delivery rather than what he was saying. I know he was salivating at the prospect of hooking a young physician with high earning potential. It really bothered me, for some reason. He kept saying that everything he was doing was really for me. For me! Wow, such a benevolent investment group. Yeah, that sounds about right.
He kept asking me such stupid rhetorical questions like, “Isn’t it about time you thought about your financial future?” I wanted to shake him. “Do you have life insurance?” “You don’t? Well, don’t you love your mom and dad?”
Gee, asshole, you’re right. I do love my mom and dad. I guess I need to give you money to prove it. I wanted to reply, “Isn’t it about time I came over this desk and punched you in the face for being a jackass?”
The guy was all about asking some basic question and then looking at me intently for signs of interest, comprehension, and whatever else. His hair was exquisitely combed. There was a picture of him shaking hands with Colin Powell in his office. He kept making “insider” military references to relate to me as if I was George Patton. He nodded a lot like we were sharing some private joke.
The sad thing is that his “presentation” made good financial sense. Good Financial Sense (Tm) is something I just don’t have. I hate the idea of tying my money away in investments, savings, and other assorted junk, even if it will make me more money later. It makes me feel so mired to some larger system or enterprise controlled by lots of white men in suits who probably make money at the expense of people who could use it a hell of a lot more. It feels completely binding. I much prefer the simplicity of I work, I get paid, I buy things. No 35-year mutual fund investment with x interest and y overhead. That shit drives me nuts. I suppose I’ll look into it further, though, much as I hate that Power point guy and his sizing me up. I’m terrible with money. I have bad credit debt. I don’t pay bills on time. I outspend my means. I suppose I should jump at the chance for a personalized finance plan. I’m supposed to fill out some packet regarding my finances and then meet with him again. To be continued, I guess.
There, now I’ve guilted and angered myself enough to go exercise. I’m off to the gym.
In medical circles, it’s pretty well known that exercise is basically the best medicine we have against routine and common diseases like hypertension and diabetes. Fact. If many people in this country had exercised more over the years they wouldn’t be diabetic now. Fact. If many people exercised more their blood pressure would be in better control. Fact. If people could do 30 minutes of exercise of some form every day the country would be infinitely healthier. Fact. Exercise is good. Movement is good. The animal experience is a good thing. A body at rest tends to stay at rest. I need to get off my ass and break a sweat. There’s few things I hate worse than that “blah” feeling of not having worked out in over a week.
On Tuesday night I continued my exploration of Seattle’s fine restaurants. Gwen and I ate here that night. It was a good dinner with another good (and not cheap) bottle of red wine. Afterwards, there was drama. I told Gwen about the previous night and well, then there was drama. I’m not going into it, here. Things are OK, though, at least temporarily.
Wednesday morning I met with some “financial guy” who my friend George referred to me. This guy is an ex-military man who works for some investment group (“First Command”) that specializes in helping people in the military (God, do I really fit into that category??! AHH!) manage their money. I was shown into an office and this slick-Rick salesman type guy busted out his power point presentation on IRA’s, savings, investment, mutual funds, and all that other shit. I couldn’t have been less interested that morning. I kept analyzing his delivery rather than what he was saying. I know he was salivating at the prospect of hooking a young physician with high earning potential. It really bothered me, for some reason. He kept saying that everything he was doing was really for me. For me! Wow, such a benevolent investment group. Yeah, that sounds about right.
He kept asking me such stupid rhetorical questions like, “Isn’t it about time you thought about your financial future?” I wanted to shake him. “Do you have life insurance?” “You don’t? Well, don’t you love your mom and dad?”
Gee, asshole, you’re right. I do love my mom and dad. I guess I need to give you money to prove it. I wanted to reply, “Isn’t it about time I came over this desk and punched you in the face for being a jackass?”
The guy was all about asking some basic question and then looking at me intently for signs of interest, comprehension, and whatever else. His hair was exquisitely combed. There was a picture of him shaking hands with Colin Powell in his office. He kept making “insider” military references to relate to me as if I was George Patton. He nodded a lot like we were sharing some private joke.
The sad thing is that his “presentation” made good financial sense. Good Financial Sense (Tm) is something I just don’t have. I hate the idea of tying my money away in investments, savings, and other assorted junk, even if it will make me more money later. It makes me feel so mired to some larger system or enterprise controlled by lots of white men in suits who probably make money at the expense of people who could use it a hell of a lot more. It feels completely binding. I much prefer the simplicity of I work, I get paid, I buy things. No 35-year mutual fund investment with x interest and y overhead. That shit drives me nuts. I suppose I’ll look into it further, though, much as I hate that Power point guy and his sizing me up. I’m terrible with money. I have bad credit debt. I don’t pay bills on time. I outspend my means. I suppose I should jump at the chance for a personalized finance plan. I’m supposed to fill out some packet regarding my finances and then meet with him again. To be continued, I guess.
There, now I’ve guilted and angered myself enough to go exercise. I’m off to the gym.
Dear Blog,
Not too much to talk about today. In an effort to de-formalize this blog, I’m going to attempt to do some more informal, bloggin-from-the-hip kind of shiznit this week. Plus it’ll help me churn more posts out and faster if I don’t spend too much time trying to perfect my grammar (damn MS Word with your green underlines everywhere! WHY!?) Anyhoo, day off today. I don't work again until 11 pm tomorrow night. I work Wed, Thurs, Fri, and Sat nights this week, 11 pm to 8 am. Lame. And there goes the old body clock again.
Last weekend was fairly tame – I spent too much time at work doing evening shifts (Friday and Saturday). Sunday I was off and cleaned my bathroom. That’s right, cleaned my damn bathroom. The weather is starting to get nice again even though there was ice on my car as recently as Friday. I can see Mount Rainier from my apartment again now – always a welcome sight. (I’ll post pictures if ever get a chance to sit down and set up my digital camera on this new computer - pictures from the retreat are still in the works as well). I went running outside for the first time in months on Sunday as well. It rocked. (Except for the running part, because I hate running, or jogging, or doing anything monotonous and painful for 15 minutes or longer). But it was nice to be outside. I even went down to a little middle school dirt track and ran a few laps on it. Made me feel like an old track guy again. Good memories with that…
Last night I ate dinner here, up in Seattle. I hadn’t been to the city in weeks, but was itching to go. [modified] On Sunday, Gwen and I went and saw “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” Awesome movie – (See my thoughts on Mick Flicks). It got me thinking a lot, too, always a plus.
Anyway, Seattle is doing this “25 for 25” thing for the month of March in which 25 restaurants (nice, high priced type restaurants) put out 3-course dinners with various menu choices for 25 bucks, total. Last night I ate salmon, which alone was a 24-dollar entree. But with the deal, I got an appetizer and dessert as well and the whole thing was 25 bucks. (Sadly, that didn’t pay for the bottle of wine, or my date's dinner). Discostup needs to cut back on his spending a little. The burdens of adulthood are becoming costly. Oh well, if I eventually get deployed to Iraq I get all my salary completely tax-free while I’m there. I may get shot while participating in an unjust military campaign based on fictitious and lame premises, but at least it would help my credit debt.
Till next time.
Not too much to talk about today. In an effort to de-formalize this blog, I’m going to attempt to do some more informal, bloggin-from-the-hip kind of shiznit this week. Plus it’ll help me churn more posts out and faster if I don’t spend too much time trying to perfect my grammar (damn MS Word with your green underlines everywhere! WHY!?) Anyhoo, day off today. I don't work again until 11 pm tomorrow night. I work Wed, Thurs, Fri, and Sat nights this week, 11 pm to 8 am. Lame. And there goes the old body clock again.
Last weekend was fairly tame – I spent too much time at work doing evening shifts (Friday and Saturday). Sunday I was off and cleaned my bathroom. That’s right, cleaned my damn bathroom. The weather is starting to get nice again even though there was ice on my car as recently as Friday. I can see Mount Rainier from my apartment again now – always a welcome sight. (I’ll post pictures if ever get a chance to sit down and set up my digital camera on this new computer - pictures from the retreat are still in the works as well). I went running outside for the first time in months on Sunday as well. It rocked. (Except for the running part, because I hate running, or jogging, or doing anything monotonous and painful for 15 minutes or longer). But it was nice to be outside. I even went down to a little middle school dirt track and ran a few laps on it. Made me feel like an old track guy again. Good memories with that…
Last night I ate dinner here, up in Seattle. I hadn’t been to the city in weeks, but was itching to go. [modified] On Sunday, Gwen and I went and saw “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” Awesome movie – (See my thoughts on Mick Flicks). It got me thinking a lot, too, always a plus.
Anyway, Seattle is doing this “25 for 25” thing for the month of March in which 25 restaurants (nice, high priced type restaurants) put out 3-course dinners with various menu choices for 25 bucks, total. Last night I ate salmon, which alone was a 24-dollar entree. But with the deal, I got an appetizer and dessert as well and the whole thing was 25 bucks. (Sadly, that didn’t pay for the bottle of wine, or my date's dinner). Discostup needs to cut back on his spending a little. The burdens of adulthood are becoming costly. Oh well, if I eventually get deployed to Iraq I get all my salary completely tax-free while I’m there. I may get shot while participating in an unjust military campaign based on fictitious and lame premises, but at least it would help my credit debt.
Till next time.
I’m in an eternal struggle with clutter in my apartment. Its not that my pad is dirty (I stay up on my dishes, bathroom and sheets), it’s just that it tends to stay cluttered. I wish I was a neat freak (like most people in my profession), but I’m just not. There are piles of mail and boxes and junk and newspapers and books and medical journals and clean, unfolded laundry strewn about in random places on any given day. At some point every two weeks or so, I’ll flip a switch and go on a cleaning frenzy for a few hours and for about a day my apartment will be clutter free (or more likely all but one room will be clutter free and that last room (usually the computer room) will have lots and lots of crap). But over the next day or so, the clutter returns to all parts of the house, and the cycle begins anew. The sheer persistence of this problem is beginning to wear on me.
In the same vane, I’m always losing my eternal struggle to get up on time. It seems that I’m uniformly late to my first task of the day; I think this happens because it seems that each night before bed I pause and say to myself, “HEY! Tomorrow is the day. The day that I break my lifelong cycle of slow rising and ensure I get up, out of bed, a mere 5 minutes after my alarm goes off. I’ll be in the shower shortly thereafter, I’ll make a lunch – hell I’ll get to work with TIME TO SPARE!” This happens every damn night – I’m not kidding. But, inevitably, the alarm goes off, I slap snooze about 50 times, get up late, take too long to shower, never pack a lunch, end up buying coffee at the drive through, scream at some grandma on the road for not going 65 in a school zone like I want, and then get to work late. Does anyone else have this problem?
Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day. I met up with George and his girlfriend and Gwen and Michele for drinks and food at some place called Katie Downs on the Tacoma waterfront. It was fun but I was tired. The highlight was some ancient dude in a kilt intermittently playing the bagpipes. He could barely walk and when he played his face got all red and he looked extremely fatigued and we all thought he looked as if he was about to have a heart attack or stroke at any time. George and I kept looking at the guy warily and then looking at each other and arguing our case to be the guy NOT to have to due the upcoming CPR. “Dude, that shit is ALL YOU.”
Speaking of George, his girlfriend Marty is in town. She lives in Denver and they have been dating for about a year now. (She was in Cabo with us for about half the trip back in the fall). She’s staying out here for 2 weeks so that they can do a “trial of life” sort of thing to see if their long distance relationship is a go or not because soon they will have to make some serious decisions. Talk about a high stress relationship trial. They’ve only ever dated as a long distance couple and George, being in the Army, has limited relationship options basically to include a choice between ‘Marty follows George’ or ‘nothing’, which kind of sucks for both of them. So they’re having at it these 2 weeks trying to see what the official deal may be. Glad I’m not in that situation, but good luck to ‘em. Yikes.
In the same vane, I’m always losing my eternal struggle to get up on time. It seems that I’m uniformly late to my first task of the day; I think this happens because it seems that each night before bed I pause and say to myself, “HEY! Tomorrow is the day. The day that I break my lifelong cycle of slow rising and ensure I get up, out of bed, a mere 5 minutes after my alarm goes off. I’ll be in the shower shortly thereafter, I’ll make a lunch – hell I’ll get to work with TIME TO SPARE!” This happens every damn night – I’m not kidding. But, inevitably, the alarm goes off, I slap snooze about 50 times, get up late, take too long to shower, never pack a lunch, end up buying coffee at the drive through, scream at some grandma on the road for not going 65 in a school zone like I want, and then get to work late. Does anyone else have this problem?
Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day. I met up with George and his girlfriend and Gwen and Michele for drinks and food at some place called Katie Downs on the Tacoma waterfront. It was fun but I was tired. The highlight was some ancient dude in a kilt intermittently playing the bagpipes. He could barely walk and when he played his face got all red and he looked extremely fatigued and we all thought he looked as if he was about to have a heart attack or stroke at any time. George and I kept looking at the guy warily and then looking at each other and arguing our case to be the guy NOT to have to due the upcoming CPR. “Dude, that shit is ALL YOU.”
Speaking of George, his girlfriend Marty is in town. She lives in Denver and they have been dating for about a year now. (She was in Cabo with us for about half the trip back in the fall). She’s staying out here for 2 weeks so that they can do a “trial of life” sort of thing to see if their long distance relationship is a go or not because soon they will have to make some serious decisions. Talk about a high stress relationship trial. They’ve only ever dated as a long distance couple and George, being in the Army, has limited relationship options basically to include a choice between ‘Marty follows George’ or ‘nothing’, which kind of sucks for both of them. So they’re having at it these 2 weeks trying to see what the official deal may be. Glad I’m not in that situation, but good luck to ‘em. Yikes.
The Retreat
This Sunday was the Department of Medicine’s annual retreat. Once each year, all the internal medicine residents, the program director, and a few assorted staff docs get together, take a bus ride out to Crystal Mountain Ski Resort, discuss issues related to the program, have a nice dinner, get unbelievably bombed, stay overnight and then ski/snowboard the next day. Then we come home.
The retreat is a blast for many reasons. One of which is that it’s the only time all year when every internal medicine resident can hang out together; every other day of the year entails at least a few people being on call somewhere for all parts of the day or night. (For the retreat, other departments, or other staff docs not going on the retreat take the workload for about 30 hours). Another reason it’s so fun is basically because it’s a bunch of stressed and overworked residents getting a chance to let off steam together. The “work hard, play hard” rule is in full effect. And everybody brings their A-game to the retreat.
Last year’s retreat was a really fun time. I expected this year to be even more fun because I was more in the mood to go nuts. Last year, for many reasons I’ve often discussed, was a difficult and depressing year. I managed to have a pretty good time when the retreat rolled around, if only because it’s an event that is so loaded with positive energy. This year, I was determined to bust out hyper-happy drunk Mick. (As an aside, I’ll mention that things are going pretty well right now, I’m content with my job, with my life, and it’s the first time I’ve felt like this in a long time. This will deserve its own post in the near future, but is worth bearing in mind now without getting into things too much). Sadly, I think that a lot of my co-workers have never experienced full exposure to the non-depressed me. Last year, for all its faults, did certainly have some good times, but though my resident colleagues had seen some flashes of the Mick that my good friends know and love, they hadn’t really seen the “total package”. This year, with things feeling good, and with me having just finished a grueling ward month a week prior, I was determined to go pretty big at the retreat. And that’s just what happened.
Its hard to describe the massive outpouring of energy and mania that accompanies a bunch of overworked people when the are told something along the lines of “Just this once, go as crazy as you want, because you’ve earned it.” There is a sense of guiltless, over-the-top partying associated with the retreat that harkens back to my med school days after heinous test blocks. It’s like a collective Vegas trip (but to a ski resort) for the entire residency. It certainly is a cool feeling.
So off we went. We met up at 14:00 on a big greyhound bus in the hospital parking lot. The drive is about 1.5 hours on said bus, and we use that time, with our program director, to argue and tackle administrative issues within the residency. This is also the time where we begin drinking heavily. Seated next to good buddy George, I came armed to the teeth with a cooler full of beer and my stainless steel flask (a gift for being in E-hurt’s wedding party) filled with pure Ketel One Vodka. So on the ride up, there was a lot of happy yelling, some thoughtful discussion (and voting on various residency issues), and a lot of drinking. And guaranteed every year there is a person who has trouble walking off the bus. (This year’s winner was my friend Jeff).
Upon arrival, we quickly went to our rooms. At that point about half the people went swimming and the other half kept drinking (I was in the latter category). I was pretty buzzed by then, and very happy and was certainly getting more hyper by the minute. Another resident, named Olsen (last name) and I decided that we would annoyingly yell “GNAP!” every 4 minutes (like someone with Tourette’s syndrome on speed) in a long overdue tribute to the famous purple fly episode of the Smurfs. And, not unlike the purple fly virus itself, this mannerism soon caught with most if not all other residents.
It was at this time, shortly after check in, where we busted out the infamous “Shot-ski”. The shot-ski is an old ski with 4 shot glass sized holes drilled and evenly spaced along the ski. It’s proper use entails 4 people standing shoulder to shoulder, each with a full shot glass before them (inserted into that glass’s respective hole), taking a big shot all together, putting the ski back down, and yelling “SHOT-SKI!” It didn’t take long for this activity to get events quickly out of control. By this time, I had finished 2 beers on the bus as well as my flask full of pure vodka. I think I did about 3 or 4 shot-skis in between drinking another can of beer (for down time). This is about when I stopped counting the number of drinks I had. This is also about the time when I officially qualified as drunk. But I was having an awesome time.
Following that madness, it was time to trot over to dinner at the main lodge and restaurant. Some drug reps from Pfizer (makers of Viagra!) sponsored our dinner. Not that I remember much of it. The whole dinner was probably the peak of my alcohol “burst” for the night, because it occurred about 45 minutes after I took down all those shots. A couple of the interns (called lovingly the “pledge class” by our chief resident) had fallen out by this point. (James and Julie in particular, were both too drunk to go on). Its sort of fun and embarrassing looking back, as my memory is quite spotty over the dinner events. There was a joke telling contest, and I remember getting up and telling this horrible joke, but forgetting about half of it, and basically bombing big time. Apparently about 5 other residents did the exact same thing, though. [modified] There was a lot of “I love you man” type stuff flowing out by the end of dinner and conveniently, of course, the nearby bar kept pumping out drinks.
After dinner, the whole gaggle (there are about 28 residents plus the assorted staff with us) cruised over to the “Snorting Elk”, a local bar at Crystal. The bartender was a tad surly and less than pleased to see about 30 drunks rolling his way at about 8:30 pm on a Sunday night. But we certainly helped his business out with vast amounts of continued drinking. There was an arm wrestling contest between two third year residents that was hilarious beyond words. Several of the married people continued to get increasingly inappropriate (no one’s spouse was there). Mostly this only happened in a verbal capacity (thankfully). One of the third year residents (a married male) asked the program director is she had tasted her own breast milk during her pregnancy and then added that he thought his own wife’s tasted “sweet”. There was way too much talk about vaginal hair trimming habits and other assorted mischief.
One intern got kicked out of the bar three times. He responded the last time by pressing his hams up to the window. This was followed by about 4 other residents, who simply happened to be outside, doing likewise. There are some good pictures of this somewhere.
By the end of the night, I remember (hazily) having one arm around my program director, one arm around a female intern and my friend George was across from us just laughing like a hyena. It was a very warm and friendly environment. As for me, I was clearly in rare form. Anyone who’s experienced hyper-happy drunk Mick will know what I’m talking about. I was laughing a ton and having a great time.
After the bar closed (and the surly bar tender said “good riddance”), we all slogged back to the cabins and one room quickly became the nightcap room. There was a lot singing (some by me). At some point, an intern got up on the table (a 4-foot high dining room table), declared he was into martial arts, and tried to front flip off the table. He landed squarely on his back on the rock hard, carpet covered cement. It was possibly the funniest thing I’ve ever seen (the guy was actually OK, though it looked like he had crushed his spine – I seriously don’t know how he’s not dead). Anyway, at the sight, sound, and vibration of this event, I lost my shit completely. What ensued was about 20 minutes of me simultaneously laughing and hyperventilating (some who read this will have seen me do this, as well). Then, someone threw beer and it was game over. My few vague memories after that include me with Jeff in a headlock and then I was wrestling my friend Rod (aka “Rowdy Roddy”) out in the snow. After that I vaguely remember getting to my room and passing out.
All in all, it was a great night. There are a lot more details buried in the night, but I’ll save them.
Then Monday morning came and with it a world class hangover. Somehow, I got out of bed. One of my roommates had thrown up in our bathroom garbage can the night before – NOT a good smell when waking up with an axe buried in your head. We all got cleaned up though and got checked out by 10 am. Then came the monumental decision to go snowboarding or not. The snow was crap (it hadn’t snowed in 2 weeks), but I was determined to try out my new boots.
After a big egg breakfast, and with my head still spinning, I decided to try and get out on the board. Not a great idea, as I fell on more stupid edge catches than I had the previous 2 years combined. Plus I was dizzy and lightheaded all day. (Imagine skiing or boarding after a bad Vegas hangover). Still, it was nice to get some fresh air and exercise (despite the pain). I called it a day after about 10-15 runs (the mountain was empty) and the rest of the afternoon consisted of us reconstructing the night’s events and laughing hysterically. Sadly, several of the drunkest people had to be on call Monday night and they basically spent the whole day sleeping. (I shudder at the thought of being on call Monday night).
Finally, we boarded the bus home again at about 16:00 Monday afternoon. After a quick goodbye, we all headed out for much needed rest. It had been a really fun time, despite the horrific hangovers possessed by many. My goal had been my A-game to the retreat. And I had pulled it off – mission accomplished. (Along with just about everyone else – I think about 8-10 residents actually threw up – I was surprisingly NOT one of them).
All in all, the whole ordeal was a blast (minus the hangover). It was a much needed break from work and those sorts of things help bring people together. At some point in the night I had my arm around my two previous ward interns and we were singing something – this is a far cry (and a welcome one) from those heinously stressful days we spent in the ER going nuts. Today at work there was even more story recanting and more laughter. Good stuff. (I should have some pictures from the event up soon).
I don’t drink like that too often any more (this is a good thing). But I think its fun, once in a long while, at the appropriate time, to go off the hook and get bombed with friends. It’s certainly not healthy physically, and it’s certainly harder to fit in these days than say - in college, but there really is something to it that is indescribably fun.
“To alcohol. The cause…and solution to….all of life’s problems.”
This Sunday was the Department of Medicine’s annual retreat. Once each year, all the internal medicine residents, the program director, and a few assorted staff docs get together, take a bus ride out to Crystal Mountain Ski Resort, discuss issues related to the program, have a nice dinner, get unbelievably bombed, stay overnight and then ski/snowboard the next day. Then we come home.
The retreat is a blast for many reasons. One of which is that it’s the only time all year when every internal medicine resident can hang out together; every other day of the year entails at least a few people being on call somewhere for all parts of the day or night. (For the retreat, other departments, or other staff docs not going on the retreat take the workload for about 30 hours). Another reason it’s so fun is basically because it’s a bunch of stressed and overworked residents getting a chance to let off steam together. The “work hard, play hard” rule is in full effect. And everybody brings their A-game to the retreat.
Last year’s retreat was a really fun time. I expected this year to be even more fun because I was more in the mood to go nuts. Last year, for many reasons I’ve often discussed, was a difficult and depressing year. I managed to have a pretty good time when the retreat rolled around, if only because it’s an event that is so loaded with positive energy. This year, I was determined to bust out hyper-happy drunk Mick. (As an aside, I’ll mention that things are going pretty well right now, I’m content with my job, with my life, and it’s the first time I’ve felt like this in a long time. This will deserve its own post in the near future, but is worth bearing in mind now without getting into things too much). Sadly, I think that a lot of my co-workers have never experienced full exposure to the non-depressed me. Last year, for all its faults, did certainly have some good times, but though my resident colleagues had seen some flashes of the Mick that my good friends know and love, they hadn’t really seen the “total package”. This year, with things feeling good, and with me having just finished a grueling ward month a week prior, I was determined to go pretty big at the retreat. And that’s just what happened.
Its hard to describe the massive outpouring of energy and mania that accompanies a bunch of overworked people when the are told something along the lines of “Just this once, go as crazy as you want, because you’ve earned it.” There is a sense of guiltless, over-the-top partying associated with the retreat that harkens back to my med school days after heinous test blocks. It’s like a collective Vegas trip (but to a ski resort) for the entire residency. It certainly is a cool feeling.
So off we went. We met up at 14:00 on a big greyhound bus in the hospital parking lot. The drive is about 1.5 hours on said bus, and we use that time, with our program director, to argue and tackle administrative issues within the residency. This is also the time where we begin drinking heavily. Seated next to good buddy George, I came armed to the teeth with a cooler full of beer and my stainless steel flask (a gift for being in E-hurt’s wedding party) filled with pure Ketel One Vodka. So on the ride up, there was a lot of happy yelling, some thoughtful discussion (and voting on various residency issues), and a lot of drinking. And guaranteed every year there is a person who has trouble walking off the bus. (This year’s winner was my friend Jeff).
Upon arrival, we quickly went to our rooms. At that point about half the people went swimming and the other half kept drinking (I was in the latter category). I was pretty buzzed by then, and very happy and was certainly getting more hyper by the minute. Another resident, named Olsen (last name) and I decided that we would annoyingly yell “GNAP!” every 4 minutes (like someone with Tourette’s syndrome on speed) in a long overdue tribute to the famous purple fly episode of the Smurfs. And, not unlike the purple fly virus itself, this mannerism soon caught with most if not all other residents.
It was at this time, shortly after check in, where we busted out the infamous “Shot-ski”. The shot-ski is an old ski with 4 shot glass sized holes drilled and evenly spaced along the ski. It’s proper use entails 4 people standing shoulder to shoulder, each with a full shot glass before them (inserted into that glass’s respective hole), taking a big shot all together, putting the ski back down, and yelling “SHOT-SKI!” It didn’t take long for this activity to get events quickly out of control. By this time, I had finished 2 beers on the bus as well as my flask full of pure vodka. I think I did about 3 or 4 shot-skis in between drinking another can of beer (for down time). This is about when I stopped counting the number of drinks I had. This is also about the time when I officially qualified as drunk. But I was having an awesome time.
Following that madness, it was time to trot over to dinner at the main lodge and restaurant. Some drug reps from Pfizer (makers of Viagra!) sponsored our dinner. Not that I remember much of it. The whole dinner was probably the peak of my alcohol “burst” for the night, because it occurred about 45 minutes after I took down all those shots. A couple of the interns (called lovingly the “pledge class” by our chief resident) had fallen out by this point. (James and Julie in particular, were both too drunk to go on). Its sort of fun and embarrassing looking back, as my memory is quite spotty over the dinner events. There was a joke telling contest, and I remember getting up and telling this horrible joke, but forgetting about half of it, and basically bombing big time. Apparently about 5 other residents did the exact same thing, though. [modified] There was a lot of “I love you man” type stuff flowing out by the end of dinner and conveniently, of course, the nearby bar kept pumping out drinks.
After dinner, the whole gaggle (there are about 28 residents plus the assorted staff with us) cruised over to the “Snorting Elk”, a local bar at Crystal. The bartender was a tad surly and less than pleased to see about 30 drunks rolling his way at about 8:30 pm on a Sunday night. But we certainly helped his business out with vast amounts of continued drinking. There was an arm wrestling contest between two third year residents that was hilarious beyond words. Several of the married people continued to get increasingly inappropriate (no one’s spouse was there). Mostly this only happened in a verbal capacity (thankfully). One of the third year residents (a married male) asked the program director is she had tasted her own breast milk during her pregnancy and then added that he thought his own wife’s tasted “sweet”. There was way too much talk about vaginal hair trimming habits and other assorted mischief.
One intern got kicked out of the bar three times. He responded the last time by pressing his hams up to the window. This was followed by about 4 other residents, who simply happened to be outside, doing likewise. There are some good pictures of this somewhere.
By the end of the night, I remember (hazily) having one arm around my program director, one arm around a female intern and my friend George was across from us just laughing like a hyena. It was a very warm and friendly environment. As for me, I was clearly in rare form. Anyone who’s experienced hyper-happy drunk Mick will know what I’m talking about. I was laughing a ton and having a great time.
After the bar closed (and the surly bar tender said “good riddance”), we all slogged back to the cabins and one room quickly became the nightcap room. There was a lot singing (some by me). At some point, an intern got up on the table (a 4-foot high dining room table), declared he was into martial arts, and tried to front flip off the table. He landed squarely on his back on the rock hard, carpet covered cement. It was possibly the funniest thing I’ve ever seen (the guy was actually OK, though it looked like he had crushed his spine – I seriously don’t know how he’s not dead). Anyway, at the sight, sound, and vibration of this event, I lost my shit completely. What ensued was about 20 minutes of me simultaneously laughing and hyperventilating (some who read this will have seen me do this, as well). Then, someone threw beer and it was game over. My few vague memories after that include me with Jeff in a headlock and then I was wrestling my friend Rod (aka “Rowdy Roddy”) out in the snow. After that I vaguely remember getting to my room and passing out.
All in all, it was a great night. There are a lot more details buried in the night, but I’ll save them.
Then Monday morning came and with it a world class hangover. Somehow, I got out of bed. One of my roommates had thrown up in our bathroom garbage can the night before – NOT a good smell when waking up with an axe buried in your head. We all got cleaned up though and got checked out by 10 am. Then came the monumental decision to go snowboarding or not. The snow was crap (it hadn’t snowed in 2 weeks), but I was determined to try out my new boots.
After a big egg breakfast, and with my head still spinning, I decided to try and get out on the board. Not a great idea, as I fell on more stupid edge catches than I had the previous 2 years combined. Plus I was dizzy and lightheaded all day. (Imagine skiing or boarding after a bad Vegas hangover). Still, it was nice to get some fresh air and exercise (despite the pain). I called it a day after about 10-15 runs (the mountain was empty) and the rest of the afternoon consisted of us reconstructing the night’s events and laughing hysterically. Sadly, several of the drunkest people had to be on call Monday night and they basically spent the whole day sleeping. (I shudder at the thought of being on call Monday night).
Finally, we boarded the bus home again at about 16:00 Monday afternoon. After a quick goodbye, we all headed out for much needed rest. It had been a really fun time, despite the horrific hangovers possessed by many. My goal had been my A-game to the retreat. And I had pulled it off – mission accomplished. (Along with just about everyone else – I think about 8-10 residents actually threw up – I was surprisingly NOT one of them).
All in all, the whole ordeal was a blast (minus the hangover). It was a much needed break from work and those sorts of things help bring people together. At some point in the night I had my arm around my two previous ward interns and we were singing something – this is a far cry (and a welcome one) from those heinously stressful days we spent in the ER going nuts. Today at work there was even more story recanting and more laughter. Good stuff. (I should have some pictures from the event up soon).
I don’t drink like that too often any more (this is a good thing). But I think its fun, once in a long while, at the appropriate time, to go off the hook and get bombed with friends. It’s certainly not healthy physically, and it’s certainly harder to fit in these days than say - in college, but there really is something to it that is indescribably fun.
“To alcohol. The cause…and solution to….all of life’s problems.”
The ER and the Night Shift
Its Thursday, about 5 pm or so, and I just woke up. I’ve done 2 shifts in the ED (“ED” is Emergency Department, not Erectile Dysfunction, and is used interchangeably with “ER”). My body feels odd.
So far the ER is not too bad. The first shift was pretty busy (an afternoon shift from 3 pm to midnight), and we kept moving. Last night, though, I worked from 11 pm to 8 am this morning and it was pretty dead most of the night, which is fine with me. I spent about 2 hours trying to do a spinal tap on an absolutely humongous woman – the staff doctor finally got the tap using about a 7-inch needle. (That’s not a typo). This poor woman, who needed a spinal tap (or lumbar puncture) to rule out meningitis, was not in a happy place as we continually tried to find her spinal column, jabbing away incessantly with the ridiculously oversized needle. We did our best to numb everything up but in the end she was just a big fat lady and it was a difficult tap. Most spinal taps are relatively straightforward affairs (I had never not succeeded in getting the tap until last night). They are sometimes painful, but not as often as one would think with the proper amount of local anesthesia. I usually have pretty good success stabbing the old spinal column and getting that odd, crystal clear fluid to come draining out into the vials that we send off for numerous studies. (For a fun game at home, try finding your iliac crests – these are the tops of your pelvis on either side of your lower back – follow that line into the middle where your spine is. That’s about where we aim, in general, for the spinal tap.)
The ER is interesting in that I see all different types of patients with all different problems rather than simply internal medicine-only type stuff. My first patient on my first shift was a 6 year old kid who been brought to the ED by his mom after his teacher at school found the following letter at his desk: (Using “Kevin” as the boy’s name (that’s made up to protect patient confidentiality, of course), the letter read “Kevin is stupid, Kevin is a dork…Kevin should kill himself with a knife or gun…”) The whole thing was incredibly cryptic. Half the words were misspelled (i.e “stoopid”), and some of the “b’s” and “d’s” were flipped around – the whole letter looked like a movie prop. Anyway, I’m certainly no child psychologist, and didn’t really know what to do about it, so the ER staff docs and I called in the psychiatrists and an appointment was made for the following morning.
It was odd, though, as the kid himself seemed the most normal little 6-year-old kid you could think of. He was playing with his toys. I asked him who his favorite super-heroes were and he said “Dragon-ball Z and then the Hulk”. (Not to worry, I quickly corrected him…). The whole thing was surreal. In all honesty, it was probably nothing (the boy’s mother said he hated disappointing his teacher, and she had corrected his “handwriting” earlier in the day), but with society today and all, the kid ends up in the emergency room at a hospital. Let the social commentary begin…
So I’m headed back to the ER tonight and then I’m back on day shifts starting Saturday. That will certainly wreak havoc with the old body clock. For now, I just woke up, had some “breakfast”, and am off for the weekly hoops game, which will be weird as a “morning” event.
This weekend, on Sunday, is our “Department of Internal Medicine Residents’ Retreat” up at Crystal Mountain. More on that debacle as is arrives. Right now I gotta move, STAT!
Its Thursday, about 5 pm or so, and I just woke up. I’ve done 2 shifts in the ED (“ED” is Emergency Department, not Erectile Dysfunction, and is used interchangeably with “ER”). My body feels odd.
So far the ER is not too bad. The first shift was pretty busy (an afternoon shift from 3 pm to midnight), and we kept moving. Last night, though, I worked from 11 pm to 8 am this morning and it was pretty dead most of the night, which is fine with me. I spent about 2 hours trying to do a spinal tap on an absolutely humongous woman – the staff doctor finally got the tap using about a 7-inch needle. (That’s not a typo). This poor woman, who needed a spinal tap (or lumbar puncture) to rule out meningitis, was not in a happy place as we continually tried to find her spinal column, jabbing away incessantly with the ridiculously oversized needle. We did our best to numb everything up but in the end she was just a big fat lady and it was a difficult tap. Most spinal taps are relatively straightforward affairs (I had never not succeeded in getting the tap until last night). They are sometimes painful, but not as often as one would think with the proper amount of local anesthesia. I usually have pretty good success stabbing the old spinal column and getting that odd, crystal clear fluid to come draining out into the vials that we send off for numerous studies. (For a fun game at home, try finding your iliac crests – these are the tops of your pelvis on either side of your lower back – follow that line into the middle where your spine is. That’s about where we aim, in general, for the spinal tap.)
The ER is interesting in that I see all different types of patients with all different problems rather than simply internal medicine-only type stuff. My first patient on my first shift was a 6 year old kid who been brought to the ED by his mom after his teacher at school found the following letter at his desk: (Using “Kevin” as the boy’s name (that’s made up to protect patient confidentiality, of course), the letter read “Kevin is stupid, Kevin is a dork…Kevin should kill himself with a knife or gun…”) The whole thing was incredibly cryptic. Half the words were misspelled (i.e “stoopid”), and some of the “b’s” and “d’s” were flipped around – the whole letter looked like a movie prop. Anyway, I’m certainly no child psychologist, and didn’t really know what to do about it, so the ER staff docs and I called in the psychiatrists and an appointment was made for the following morning.
It was odd, though, as the kid himself seemed the most normal little 6-year-old kid you could think of. He was playing with his toys. I asked him who his favorite super-heroes were and he said “Dragon-ball Z and then the Hulk”. (Not to worry, I quickly corrected him…). The whole thing was surreal. In all honesty, it was probably nothing (the boy’s mother said he hated disappointing his teacher, and she had corrected his “handwriting” earlier in the day), but with society today and all, the kid ends up in the emergency room at a hospital. Let the social commentary begin…
So I’m headed back to the ER tonight and then I’m back on day shifts starting Saturday. That will certainly wreak havoc with the old body clock. For now, I just woke up, had some “breakfast”, and am off for the weekly hoops game, which will be weird as a “morning” event.
This weekend, on Sunday, is our “Department of Internal Medicine Residents’ Retreat” up at Crystal Mountain. More on that debacle as is arrives. Right now I gotta move, STAT!
A New Dawn
The wards are officially over. “Mega Call” has come and gone. I arrived at work at about 6:30 am on Friday morning, took the pager at 7 am, and didn’t stop working until about 12:45 pm Saturday afternoon. Save a small 10-minute nap at a desk (while typing up a history and physical) at about 4:30 am, I was awake for a continuous 33 hours. I worked 30 of those hours. I think we ended up admitting about 12 or 13 patients to the team. I never quite know how I make it through the 4-5:30 am time frame when all my body wants to do is lie down and sleep. The desire is overwhelming, and even the 45th diet lime coke or cup of coffee isn’t enough to fight the natural urge of sleep. I seriously think I could sleep on a moving roller coaster at that point. But, once again, the 6 or 7 am burst of cortisol (your natural steroid!) arrives and even the most fatigued can wake up just a little bit and keep moving.
The staff doc (Dr. Cooper) arrived at 8 am on Saturday or so and the entire team began the day’s work. My intern on call was also beat down, but she had gotten at least a little sleep while doing the dreaded “cross cover” the night before. We shucked and jived for about four hours, my multiple tasks made easier by the thought that they were my final tasks for an entire month of wards and that after I walked out of the hospital that day I would be free of the wards for several months. Around noon, as I was finishing up, Dr. Cooper and I had a nice exchange and he was all fired up at my performance over the month; this was awesome for me to hear from a man who gives praise grudgingly at best. We shook hands and I calmly walked back to my desk, changed out of my tired scrubs, hi-fived some of the other residents, and walked out of the hospital. Huzzah!
On the way home, I immediately got on the phone to not fall asleep while driving (that’s right – I used the cell phone in the car to PREVENT an accident). After a couple of calls I went down the ole’ Harvester in Tacoma and nearly fell asleep in my omelet. After that, I drove home, took a shower, and calmly crawled into bed. It was about 3:30 pm on Saturday at that point. With the warm, post shower feeling and the fresh sheets – I was in a happy place. My last thought before I fell asleep (which happened instantly) was the happy sense of accomplishment (30 hours of work) and the justified reward (sweet slumber).
At about 7:15 pm Saturday night I was awakened by a distant pounding which turned out to be my friend George knocking loudly on my door. He was calling my cell phone at the same time. We had made plans to go out into Seattle on Saturday night. He had a friend in town and I was done with the wards, so we had all the reason to go have ourselves a big night up in the city. Sadly, the call for sleep was too great. I went to the door. George took one look at me in my boxers with my hair all over the place and four layers of glazed sleep on my face and said, “You’re not coming, are you?” I shook my head. He said to call him if I woke up. (I found out later he had called my phone about 5 times before coming to the door. I had heard none of it.)
I guess I’m a little bummed that I didn’t rally and go out into the city. From the cell phone message trail I listened to this morning (and after talking to George), it sounded like they had a fun night up there. And, what’s worse, is George found a way (through two of the girls he was hanging out with) to meet one of the beautiful waitresses we often see up at one of our favorite bars in the city. (Kell’s). And what a waste given that he is a taken man.
George’s message train on my cell phone was hilarious. Here's the gist from what I recall:
Message 1: (before dinner) – Hey Stup, it’s George. Who’s ready for a big night in the city?” **Laughs** OK dude, call me when you get up.
Message 2: Hey stup, thought you’d be up by now…Should be at dinner around 8:00 or so…
Message 3: Come on Stup, wake up! We have reservations!
Message 4: I’m outside you’re door and you’re still asleep! What the hell?!
***Here passes the door encounter***
Message 5: Stup, dinner was a blast. We’re headed over to Kell’s. These two ladies here **background cat calls** want to see you out tonight. Give us a ring!
Message 6: STUP! Where are you?! Its 10:30, you can’t still be sleeping! We’re about to get some Irish Car bombs – come on!
Message 7: Dude…you are missing the phucki….the fuchking besch night ever! I’m here…with these girls **very loud cat calls**, drinking…and fucking irish car bombs…and you’re fucking sleeping….giants suck! DUDE, we’ll be here for awhile – give me a call! Get up here!
Message 8: (this one was hard to comprehend)…you promished a big night in the city…fucknig fun night we’re having …and you’re in fucking bed…all I’m saying is that you went out like a bitch…and I’m drinking for both of us…you just finisched the wars, er wards, the FUCKING WARDS!! And you’re in bed…Now I know..you were on call and I know…but still. We had irish car bombs…and I met that waitresch..the waitresshhh…fuckin a. **CLICK**
Message 9: I’ve got someone here…who wants to say hi….say hi to Stup. **DIFFERENT VOICE, FEMALE** (Hi Stup)….**GEORGE AGAIN** See?? This is Christine, that’s right, the waitress you always wanted to meet….she’s here enow and….you’re missing it…fuckin a… **CLICK**
As for me, I stayed asleep the entire night. I woke up at 1 am, 4:30 am, and 6 am, respectively. However, it wasn’t until 9 am this morning that I finally crawled out of bed. So, after being awake for 33 hours, I followed it up with a 18 hour in-bed stint. Apparently I was tired.
After I woke, the first thing I did was listen to all the cell phone messages. I howled with laughter. With a big smile, I called George.
G: **Whisper** Hel..Hello?
M: GEORGE! What’s up buddy?!
G: Dude, not so loud…
Hilarious. Anyway, a poor hung over George told me briefly about the night and then we hung up. I’m sort of bummed I missed it – it definitely sounded like a good time and like something I could have used after a long month of wards. But there will be other nights.
So after speaking with George, I haven’t done too much today. Made some breakfast, made some coffee (I still have my habit), and did some reading, some lounging, some cleaning, and some online surfing.
On a lark, I spent some time surfing the scientology web site. It was a bizarre, odd, hilarious, and disturbing experience all at once. There was some weird and funny shit in there. This piece, from the “L. Ron Hubbard Biography” section, was particularly funny:
[Although most men might have been satisfied with such an accomplishment, L. Ron Hubbard did not stop at Dianetics. Yes, he had solved the riddle of the human mind, but there still remained unsolved questions regarding the nature of the human being himself, outstanding puzzles concerning that long-sought-after “something” we call life.]
What a guy! Apparently, after solving the “riddle” of the human mind, good old “L-Ron” kept going (I think he even tried tackling the mighty Sunday New York Times Crossword! And regarding that last sentence of the block, the musician Prince tackled similar topics in his song, “Delirious”). And this part was also funny (from the web site FAQ):
[Is man a spirit?
Yes. A short exercise can quickly answer this for anyone: If you have someone close their eyes and get a picture of a cat, they will get a mental image picture of a cat. But who exactly is looking at that picture in the mind? The answer, of course, is the human spirit itself. In Scientology we call the spirit a thetan, from the Greek letter theta, meaning thought or life or the spirit.]
Wow. And that answers that. Case closed, I guess. Take that neuroscientists! Anyway, for anyone looking for more hilarity at the expense of religious/cult/John Travolta stuff, all you need do is click here. (If you have sound, enjoy the uplifting instrumental that greets you). I contemplated taking the personality test (its free!) but it looks long and not too fun. (Though I would like to find my “toxic areas”, as the web site puts it.) Notably, I saw nothing on the web site linking the religion with “Battlefield Earth”. Shocking.
And with that, I’ll take my leave, fair blog reader. I’m sitting here, looking at my run down body and I’m thinking its time to hit the gym and enjoy the day. Tomorrow I have clinic in the afternoon. Tonight, I have a date with Eryn (and maybe Adman) to play some online games (time to get back in shape, indeed).
The wards are over. A new dawn is here. Huzzah!
The wards are officially over. “Mega Call” has come and gone. I arrived at work at about 6:30 am on Friday morning, took the pager at 7 am, and didn’t stop working until about 12:45 pm Saturday afternoon. Save a small 10-minute nap at a desk (while typing up a history and physical) at about 4:30 am, I was awake for a continuous 33 hours. I worked 30 of those hours. I think we ended up admitting about 12 or 13 patients to the team. I never quite know how I make it through the 4-5:30 am time frame when all my body wants to do is lie down and sleep. The desire is overwhelming, and even the 45th diet lime coke or cup of coffee isn’t enough to fight the natural urge of sleep. I seriously think I could sleep on a moving roller coaster at that point. But, once again, the 6 or 7 am burst of cortisol (your natural steroid!) arrives and even the most fatigued can wake up just a little bit and keep moving.
The staff doc (Dr. Cooper) arrived at 8 am on Saturday or so and the entire team began the day’s work. My intern on call was also beat down, but she had gotten at least a little sleep while doing the dreaded “cross cover” the night before. We shucked and jived for about four hours, my multiple tasks made easier by the thought that they were my final tasks for an entire month of wards and that after I walked out of the hospital that day I would be free of the wards for several months. Around noon, as I was finishing up, Dr. Cooper and I had a nice exchange and he was all fired up at my performance over the month; this was awesome for me to hear from a man who gives praise grudgingly at best. We shook hands and I calmly walked back to my desk, changed out of my tired scrubs, hi-fived some of the other residents, and walked out of the hospital. Huzzah!
On the way home, I immediately got on the phone to not fall asleep while driving (that’s right – I used the cell phone in the car to PREVENT an accident). After a couple of calls I went down the ole’ Harvester in Tacoma and nearly fell asleep in my omelet. After that, I drove home, took a shower, and calmly crawled into bed. It was about 3:30 pm on Saturday at that point. With the warm, post shower feeling and the fresh sheets – I was in a happy place. My last thought before I fell asleep (which happened instantly) was the happy sense of accomplishment (30 hours of work) and the justified reward (sweet slumber).
At about 7:15 pm Saturday night I was awakened by a distant pounding which turned out to be my friend George knocking loudly on my door. He was calling my cell phone at the same time. We had made plans to go out into Seattle on Saturday night. He had a friend in town and I was done with the wards, so we had all the reason to go have ourselves a big night up in the city. Sadly, the call for sleep was too great. I went to the door. George took one look at me in my boxers with my hair all over the place and four layers of glazed sleep on my face and said, “You’re not coming, are you?” I shook my head. He said to call him if I woke up. (I found out later he had called my phone about 5 times before coming to the door. I had heard none of it.)
I guess I’m a little bummed that I didn’t rally and go out into the city. From the cell phone message trail I listened to this morning (and after talking to George), it sounded like they had a fun night up there. And, what’s worse, is George found a way (through two of the girls he was hanging out with) to meet one of the beautiful waitresses we often see up at one of our favorite bars in the city. (Kell’s). And what a waste given that he is a taken man.
George’s message train on my cell phone was hilarious. Here's the gist from what I recall:
Message 1: (before dinner) – Hey Stup, it’s George. Who’s ready for a big night in the city?” **Laughs** OK dude, call me when you get up.
Message 2: Hey stup, thought you’d be up by now…Should be at dinner around 8:00 or so…
Message 3: Come on Stup, wake up! We have reservations!
Message 4: I’m outside you’re door and you’re still asleep! What the hell?!
***Here passes the door encounter***
Message 5: Stup, dinner was a blast. We’re headed over to Kell’s. These two ladies here **background cat calls** want to see you out tonight. Give us a ring!
Message 6: STUP! Where are you?! Its 10:30, you can’t still be sleeping! We’re about to get some Irish Car bombs – come on!
Message 7: Dude…you are missing the phucki….the fuchking besch night ever! I’m here…with these girls **very loud cat calls**, drinking…and fucking irish car bombs…and you’re fucking sleeping….giants suck! DUDE, we’ll be here for awhile – give me a call! Get up here!
Message 8: (this one was hard to comprehend)…you promished a big night in the city…fucknig fun night we’re having …and you’re in fucking bed…all I’m saying is that you went out like a bitch…and I’m drinking for both of us…you just finisched the wars, er wards, the FUCKING WARDS!! And you’re in bed…Now I know..you were on call and I know…but still. We had irish car bombs…and I met that waitresch..the waitresshhh…fuckin a. **CLICK**
Message 9: I’ve got someone here…who wants to say hi….say hi to Stup. **DIFFERENT VOICE, FEMALE** (Hi Stup)….**GEORGE AGAIN** See?? This is Christine, that’s right, the waitress you always wanted to meet….she’s here enow and….you’re missing it…fuckin a… **CLICK**
As for me, I stayed asleep the entire night. I woke up at 1 am, 4:30 am, and 6 am, respectively. However, it wasn’t until 9 am this morning that I finally crawled out of bed. So, after being awake for 33 hours, I followed it up with a 18 hour in-bed stint. Apparently I was tired.
After I woke, the first thing I did was listen to all the cell phone messages. I howled with laughter. With a big smile, I called George.
G: **Whisper** Hel..Hello?
M: GEORGE! What’s up buddy?!
G: Dude, not so loud…
Hilarious. Anyway, a poor hung over George told me briefly about the night and then we hung up. I’m sort of bummed I missed it – it definitely sounded like a good time and like something I could have used after a long month of wards. But there will be other nights.
So after speaking with George, I haven’t done too much today. Made some breakfast, made some coffee (I still have my habit), and did some reading, some lounging, some cleaning, and some online surfing.
On a lark, I spent some time surfing the scientology web site. It was a bizarre, odd, hilarious, and disturbing experience all at once. There was some weird and funny shit in there. This piece, from the “L. Ron Hubbard Biography” section, was particularly funny:
[Although most men might have been satisfied with such an accomplishment, L. Ron Hubbard did not stop at Dianetics. Yes, he had solved the riddle of the human mind, but there still remained unsolved questions regarding the nature of the human being himself, outstanding puzzles concerning that long-sought-after “something” we call life.]
What a guy! Apparently, after solving the “riddle” of the human mind, good old “L-Ron” kept going (I think he even tried tackling the mighty Sunday New York Times Crossword! And regarding that last sentence of the block, the musician Prince tackled similar topics in his song, “Delirious”). And this part was also funny (from the web site FAQ):
[Is man a spirit?
Yes. A short exercise can quickly answer this for anyone: If you have someone close their eyes and get a picture of a cat, they will get a mental image picture of a cat. But who exactly is looking at that picture in the mind? The answer, of course, is the human spirit itself. In Scientology we call the spirit a thetan, from the Greek letter theta, meaning thought or life or the spirit.]
Wow. And that answers that. Case closed, I guess. Take that neuroscientists! Anyway, for anyone looking for more hilarity at the expense of religious/cult/John Travolta stuff, all you need do is click here. (If you have sound, enjoy the uplifting instrumental that greets you). I contemplated taking the personality test (its free!) but it looks long and not too fun. (Though I would like to find my “toxic areas”, as the web site puts it.) Notably, I saw nothing on the web site linking the religion with “Battlefield Earth”. Shocking.
And with that, I’ll take my leave, fair blog reader. I’m sitting here, looking at my run down body and I’m thinking its time to hit the gym and enjoy the day. Tomorrow I have clinic in the afternoon. Tonight, I have a date with Eryn (and maybe Adman) to play some online games (time to get back in shape, indeed).
The wards are over. A new dawn is here. Huzzah!
The Wards – Day 25
Poised on the eve of Mega-Call. At the end of my first week of wards (Day 5), I took a mega-call and it was heinous. Now, it’s all that stands between me and freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom from the wards. At least for awhile. See my earlier post about Mega Call, but, in a nutshell, one team gets the shaft each week (on a 3 week cycle) and you end up taking 12 hours worth of patient’s from the night float (to be checked out and handed over at 6:45 am tomorrow) and then admitting patients for another 24 hours after that. The last mega call was my worst call of the month. I’m hoping this one goes a little better. I’ve scheduled my 4th and final day off out of the 28 days of wards for this Sunday. So the nice thing is that when I walk out of the hospital bleary eyed on Saturday, I won’t have to go back until Monday and I’ll be on a different rotation. Oddly enough, my schedule was switched and so starting Monday I’ll be doing 4 weeks of ER. Ah, the irony. It will be ME paging all my friends in other services to come down and get some pain. And yes, I’ll even have to wear the damn purple scrubs.
Other than work, there hasn’t been much. I worked 79 hours the first week, 56 hours the second week (had 2 of my 4 days off that week!), 83 hours last week, and I’ll probably be at about 85 or so after the call tomorrow for this week. This week has been steady. My last day off (last Friday) seems a long way away. The worst of it is the physical aspect – I’ll definitely need to catch up on sleep. Plus, as the weeks have gone by, I’ve stopped eating well, resorting rather to quick foods and comfort foods. I’m out of shape as my only exercise has been basketball, once a week for about 1.5-2.0 hours. I’ve made it out each week, luckily. I worked out one additional time the entire month. Five workouts over one month. No snowboarding. My body is pissed.
But that should turn around next month. The ER is “shift work” and the shifts are about 9 hours apiece. I think I have about 18-20 shifts over 28 days, which makes it a very hours-light rotation. I guess the one thing about ER is that you tend to work at any crazy hours on any day so the schedule will constantly shift. But only 9 hours. I can do 9 hours standing on my head at this point.
But now it’s bedtime. I’ve already said too much. I’ve stayed up far too late. For Mega Call is a harsh mistress…
Poised on the eve of Mega-Call. At the end of my first week of wards (Day 5), I took a mega-call and it was heinous. Now, it’s all that stands between me and freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom from the wards. At least for awhile. See my earlier post about Mega Call, but, in a nutshell, one team gets the shaft each week (on a 3 week cycle) and you end up taking 12 hours worth of patient’s from the night float (to be checked out and handed over at 6:45 am tomorrow) and then admitting patients for another 24 hours after that. The last mega call was my worst call of the month. I’m hoping this one goes a little better. I’ve scheduled my 4th and final day off out of the 28 days of wards for this Sunday. So the nice thing is that when I walk out of the hospital bleary eyed on Saturday, I won’t have to go back until Monday and I’ll be on a different rotation. Oddly enough, my schedule was switched and so starting Monday I’ll be doing 4 weeks of ER. Ah, the irony. It will be ME paging all my friends in other services to come down and get some pain. And yes, I’ll even have to wear the damn purple scrubs.
Other than work, there hasn’t been much. I worked 79 hours the first week, 56 hours the second week (had 2 of my 4 days off that week!), 83 hours last week, and I’ll probably be at about 85 or so after the call tomorrow for this week. This week has been steady. My last day off (last Friday) seems a long way away. The worst of it is the physical aspect – I’ll definitely need to catch up on sleep. Plus, as the weeks have gone by, I’ve stopped eating well, resorting rather to quick foods and comfort foods. I’m out of shape as my only exercise has been basketball, once a week for about 1.5-2.0 hours. I’ve made it out each week, luckily. I worked out one additional time the entire month. Five workouts over one month. No snowboarding. My body is pissed.
But that should turn around next month. The ER is “shift work” and the shifts are about 9 hours apiece. I think I have about 18-20 shifts over 28 days, which makes it a very hours-light rotation. I guess the one thing about ER is that you tend to work at any crazy hours on any day so the schedule will constantly shift. But only 9 hours. I can do 9 hours standing on my head at this point.
But now it’s bedtime. I’ve already said too much. I’ve stayed up far too late. For Mega Call is a harsh mistress…
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