Work is... uh, work

So that's why I haven't posted.

But in other news, I've had the most wicked case of gastro (i.e. stomach flu) recently.

So that's the other reason I haven't posted. 'Cause I like my MacBook Pro and dropping it in the toilet prolly wouldn't be good for it. Nope.

And in other news, I actually went out and saw some of the in-laws the other day.

That's not a reason I haven't posted, but it is news. Work with me, people!

Ow!

Why do I get such vicious headaches these days? Is it 'cause I'm over 30?

Youch.

Anyone got morphine?

Perils of pediatrics

Being a pediatrician is great. I love the kiddos, especially the healthy ones. Squealing and giggling and falling off of things - life is just good for (most) kids.

But then there's the fact that I get exposed to every damn infection every damn kid in Houston gets. Which means, right now, I have the gastro. Also known as gastroenteritis, also known as AGE, also known as a stomach bug.

So I'm stuck on the couch getting up every 5-15 minutes to "evacuate" and feeling sorry for myself.

At least Kids in the Hall in on the telly. Life could definitely be worse.

My gut

My gut is a thing of beauty and wonder. And, oh boy, is it on a rampage.

You see, I made beans from scratch the other night. Oh, beans beans good for your heart, the more you eat them... Now, the problem with beans from scratch is that occationally one or two black beauties don't quite get cooked all the way done.

And you know what that means!

Farts waiting to happen. And not just any fart - wicked cumin-soaked black bean farts.

Totally toxic.

But wait, there's more!

Last night we partied hardy at the white elephant party with a mini-keg of Spaten. So, so good that beer. Light, hoppy yet slightly sweet with none of the sharpness that so plagues Heinicken. But lo, that Spaten produces a uniquely foul brand of barley farts.

And if you don't know what barley farts are, count your blessings. But man, they are rank.

Now imagine beany goodness farts mixed with Spaten barley farts.

Yes, we have stunk ourselves out of our own house... and out of the house where we slept after the party. (Sorry Andy!)

So yeah, we'll keep the fans on around here a little longer. And avoid the beany leftovers in the fridge.

Nausea

I'm convinced that the gut has a 'second brain'. Oodles and oodles of neurons live in and around the gut for the sole purpose to ensuring that our sustenance gets where it is supposed to go. However, they also cause trouble. People can get 'abdominal migraines.'

I get nausea. Whenever something bad happens, or I get super worried about something my stomach goes crazy. Those of you who know me, know that I can knock down small buildings when I belch, but this is worse. I don't get belchy, I just get queasy.

I've been nauseous for two weeks now, and I'm not having fun. So everyone think soothing thoughts toward my belly.

The husband will thank you!

Heck of a weekend

So I didn't get to N'awlins.

Circumstances beyond my control, but let's not talk about that. Let's talk about how Chipotle is trying to kill me.

This is an old story, but it is just too damn good not to write about. One day I go to work in the large children's hospital ER. I plan to work my 12 hours and then get the hell out and go home. That day I was assigned to the 'Mega-Bay', which is not a 20 story android costal inlet but the area in the ER where patients who are sick and hurt, but not really that sick or hurt, go to be seen and treated. (Note: if the child is really sick, hurt or actively trying to die s/he goes to a different Bay where things move much more quickly. But ya gotta really be trying to die.) About halfway through, my stomach demands attention and sustenance, so I obligingly take myself over to Chipotle and get a barbacoa burrito. Back in the ER, I'm done with lunch and sitting in 'Mega-Bay' doing the ever-present and freaking endless paperwork. Suddenly, I feel flushed, light headed and sweaty. More scarily, my collar feels tight and I can't quite breathe right.

Ack! So my fellow resident takes me up to that other Bay I was talking about (you know, the one with the really sick kids?) and suddenly I'm a patient. I got an IV. I got Epi (epinephrine) three times. I got steroids. I got 2 liters of IV fluids. I had an anaphylactic reaction to freaking Chipotle. I also got better... eventually.

The incident has made me famous in the ER. Which is both good and bad. Now I get more teasing, smiles and winks, but the staff knows me. So when I want something, it happens a little faster than before.

And heck, even just a little fame is fun. I can say, "Oh yeah, I'm the anaphylactic resident," and people immediately know who I am, how far along in my training I've gotten and what NOT to feed me.

It's good to be the King.