Saturday, July 30, 2005


So I'm far enough along in my residency that I actually have weekends - you know, two days off in a row.

Now, unless you are a medical resident, you don't know why this is a big deal. And even then, perhaps not. Everyone has about four days off per month. But it isn't straightforward. Some residency programs structure the schedule such that the slave - oh, sorry - I mean resident, gets a fabled Golden Weekend once a month. Notice the capital letters. The Golden Weekend is a proper noun because consecutive days off are more precious than gold. Get it? However, the joy of two consecutive days off is weighed against the pain of the occational extended string of days. And those strings are oh so freaking painful. My program frowns upon such excess torture. My program simply gives one day off per week. Which sounds okay, right?

Until you work six days a week, 80 hours a week for a year. Then you get to your second year (Yahoo! Internship is over!) and do it for six out of twelve months.

And now I've reached the haven of my final year of residency. And I have my weekends back.


But damn, I'm having fun with this. I went dancing last night. And I'm going to go to a movie tonight. I even got stuff done today!

I keep on waiting to wake up.

Nobody pinch me - I'll use my one day off next week to find you and kick your sorry ass.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Days off

Okay, any interns stop reading, the following is going to piss you off.

Residency is hard - time consuming, frustrating, sleep-depriving. But you get used to it. Working 80 hours becomes routine and days off are treated like precious gems. After all, you only get one a week.

Then, suddenly, late in residency rotations appear that are, well, different. Five day weeks. Multiple days off. 30 - 40 hours of actual work a week. And ya know what? It gets old. I'd rather be working a little more and goofing off a little less.

Sure, I could do stuff around the house. There's plenty to do - painting, unpacking, bug-spraying, cleaning... Not to mention catching up on the latest pediatric literature. The list doesn't end.


There it is then: I'd rather work than actually do anything listed in the above paragraph. Who knew that I'd grow up and like my job?

Monday, July 25, 2005

Simple Rules for Baseball Viewing - First in a Series

As a dedicated baseball fan, I go to a reasonable number of games. I don't have season tickets, but that is mostly a function of fundage, not desire. I've noticed a deplorable lack of sense at all of the games I've been to this season. Folks just don't seem to know the basics of watching a baseball game without pissing people (okay, me) off.

So the following is my attempt to codify viewing etiquette. The list won't be complete and further installments will appear in time. The rules will apply to in-stadium baseball experiences only - anything in a sports bar or the comfort of your own home is not my concern.

1) Don't obstruct the view of someone above or next to you once the game has started. Really. Especially when in the good seats. For example, I was sitting about 15 rows back from home plate at Fenway when a gaggle of women started meandering through a row in front of us, then stopped, had a discussion, and stood in our view. Being Boston fans, after 30 seconds, we started yelling "Down in front." Affronted, the women replied that they were related to Kevin Millar, currently playing first. We basically didn't give a fuck, 'cause we were at a sold out game, in expensive seats, and we couldn't see.

Moral - don't get between the fans and the game. Don't stand up and then ask your buddy what he wants from the concession stand. Don't hug your friends goodbye for ten minutes while standing at your seats. Heck, don't even stand in one spot in the aisle for ten minutes - cause you're undoubtably blocking someone's line of sight.


2) Don't spill things. And if you do spill them (hey, it happens), for Christ's sake, apologize! Spending the second half of the game covered in beer blows. But it blows even more when the party at fault doesn't acknowledge his mistake.

3) Stand when someone wants out of the row - and then sit down rapidly. Get that beer seeking lush up and out so the rest of us can get back to watching the game.

4) Beware the evil cell phone. "Look, it's me! I'm on TV." Yeah, right. The rest of America doesn't give a shit, and any true baseball fans will ridicule the waste of a good seat on a total douchebag.

5) Akin to #2 - if you hit/kick/bump/molest someone, freaking apologize. For example, my husband was kicked in the head by a wanker making his way out of the row above us. Totally ruined the inning for him. Come on, people, this ain't hard!

These five rules should get you started, and if you don't count so good, just remember #1. All of our lives will be better.

PS - Go 'Stros! Go BoSox!

Sunday, July 24, 2005


Check it out.

I am 56% gay. Apparently, this means I'm well adjusted.

Go figure.


Expectations are a bitch. I'm currently a 'float' resident, which means I can get called in at any time. I've been told this... but of course as soon as I get called to work I start to bitch and moan. I don't wanna work. Especially not today.

I mean, I know that today wasn't a guarenteed day off. I know I know! But I had plans. Rock and roll, baby - isn't that more important than stoopid patient care?

(Um, yeah, I guess not.)

In other news, I'm making my first foray into furniture restoration. A minor foray. We just got a nice buffet from my mother in-law (thanks Sarah!) that, well, suffered from a little benign neglect. So I found this stuff to help. Although the packaging claims that it "eliminates white heat rings and water marks, scratches" the product doesn't quite live up to the hype. Yes, the piece looks better. No, not all of the water marks are gone.

But hey, beggars can't be choosers. And now we have a place to put the china. Cool!

Monday, July 18, 2005


How much do applications suck? I just hate the inevitable soul searching that accompanies the process. Why do I want to be a doctor, after all? And now that I'm a doctor, why do I give a flying fart about underinsured patients? I mean, it isn't like they can actually pay me! Why do I want to submit myself to more traning? Shouldn't I just go out and make more money? Heh?

Why why why! My internal monolog starts to sound like a 4 year old child. One that I want to bitch-slap.

But we all have moments like this - cover letters, applications, resumes, curriculum vitaes. And I don't think anyone likes applying for anything. Not anything work related, anyway. I do want to be a doctor, I do care about the underinsured (some of them are friends of mine!) and I do want more training.

Maybe I'll actually get it.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Top of the pile

For one brief, shining year, my compadres and I will be... third year residents. The top of the pile, the cream of the crop, the ruler of the roost. Remember when you were a freshman in high school, back when the seniors were way old and had way more experience than you? As interns we kinda felt the same way about third years. They knew things and could find things and talked about real jobs. Now suddenly I'm one of these mythical creatures and it is a bit weird.

And I certainly don't know more than I did last month as a second year. But the idea of being a senior resident is kinda cool.

Don't get me wrong - plenty of people can still shove us around. Actually, most of the hospital can boss us around. You know: nurses, parents, hospital administration, the Chief Residents, attendings, fellows. Basically anyone who isn't a first or second year resident, or a medical student. And really, having been a medical student, intern and junior resident kinda recently, it is kinda bad form to boss them around... unless they need it. Then suddenly "bossing around" becomes "teaching". Heh.

For example, acceptable 'bossing' would be something like, "Hey, don't stick that IV in his eye! Intra-ocular absorption of ampicillin sucks!" Unacceptable might sound something like, "Get me new pager batteries! And while you are at it, get my dinner, my dry cleaning and my mail order bride! Now, get a move on, wenches!"

Saturday, July 09, 2005


So I've been off in the land of vacation - or rather I had been until Tuesday. After that, my only excuse for not posting was that I was recovering from vacation.

We went to Dallas to see the Red Sox. Yes, theoretically we also had family to see and a wedding to attend, but let us be serious - the Red Sox were the main attraction.

I love the Red Sox. I loved them before they won last year's Series and I have the t-shirt to prove it. It's an old faded #34 shirt with "El Guapo" across the back. Some years ago, we had a pitcher. Ah, yes, a pitcher. A 300+ pound pitcher. Rich Garces. Hmmm... 300+ pounds of Latin lovin'. He lumbered, he threw and oh boy did he get us in some jams. Granted, he got us out of some jams too, but there was always some kind of drama.

Of course, now #34 is David "Big Papi" Ortiz. Who is also huge and occationally lumbers, but I never ever want to see the man pitch. Are we clear? Just checking.