It's Christmas morning and somewhere in the innocent depths of my mind lies a younger version of me, fighting heavy eyelids and imagining a red-velvet clad white-bearded figure soaring across the sky in a gravity defying apparatus ready to deliver what I wanted most as a child... a chemistry set. Yes, I'm a nerd. I really wanted a chemistry set. I wanted to mix chemicals and blow things up, not because I was one of those sick pyrophilic types, but because I loved science, I loved being creative and turning my imagination into something tangible.
So, some twenty odd years later after these dreams (and no I never got my chemistry set... thank you Amma and Anna), I find myself post-call in the PICU on Christmas day, rounding on 22 very sick and unfortunate children at midnight, when Santa should be feasting on my eggless oatmeal raisin cookies and soymilk (and no, I'm not a vegan). I'm amidst the craziest type of science - not only the science of keeping kids from crashing from hypotension and respiratory distress, but the science of keeping myself awake for an ungodly number of hours - no matter how many people in this world have gone through residency, and how many more people have gone through a pre-duty hours residency, and how many MORE people will go through this schedule, I still maintain that it's not human to stay awake for this long and function at 100%.
What is the secret to this science? The secret lies in my chemistry set - finding the perfect mix of chemicals, if you want to be really corny... and yes, I think I want to be. I think the secret lies in finding things that make me smile, such as a beautiful full moon that I saw this morning on my way to work. Such as the charge nurse right now, delivering a special sack of presents to each child in the PICU. The nurse this afternoon who knew I really wanted a cherry coke and bought me one. The respiratory therapist who complimented me on helping a child during a code. One of my colleagues who brought me a Starbucks hot chocolate as a treat along with a Christmas card. The attending who offered to round on my patients super early so I could go home early post call.
All of these smalll events made me smile today, and on this Christmas, I'm going to think of these small things that I'm grateful for to help me get through this day.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Escaping the Pursuit of Whinyness
There's nothing like a movie like "The Pursuit of Happyness" to make you grateful, in general, for all the things/ people in your life. This kind of movie, I feel, is especially beneficial for whiny residents who are self-grossed in their socially deprived lives. We engage in self-dialogue that kind of goes a lil like this:
"God, my life sucks. I spend all day and all night helping sick people and what do I get in return? No life and a salary barely above minimum wage. I get berated by parents for not seeing patients quickly enough and they don't understand that I am sleep deprived constantly. And no one else understands what I'm going through... not even my family. And my body is constantly tired and I'm sick of it."
Then I watch this movie, and it's based on a true story of a man who works his arse off trying to excel at an internship while selling these ridiculous bone density scanners so that his son doesn't have to catch tuberculosis from some homeless shelter in San Francisco. This man, Chris Gardner, I believe fully understands the definition of sleep-deprived, if his life was anything like the movie. After finishing the movie, I vow never to complain ever again. I doubt this will last very long, but you can commend me for at least having a good thought.
So I'm talking to a friend today, who is also a resident. I bring up the movie. Before I can mention my vow, she says to me:
"Oh that was a great movie. I know it's not the moral of the movie, but it really made me want to go out and buy a rubix cube."
I think I will change my vow. I might be able to to actually fulfill the latter.
"God, my life sucks. I spend all day and all night helping sick people and what do I get in return? No life and a salary barely above minimum wage. I get berated by parents for not seeing patients quickly enough and they don't understand that I am sleep deprived constantly. And no one else understands what I'm going through... not even my family. And my body is constantly tired and I'm sick of it."
Then I watch this movie, and it's based on a true story of a man who works his arse off trying to excel at an internship while selling these ridiculous bone density scanners so that his son doesn't have to catch tuberculosis from some homeless shelter in San Francisco. This man, Chris Gardner, I believe fully understands the definition of sleep-deprived, if his life was anything like the movie. After finishing the movie, I vow never to complain ever again. I doubt this will last very long, but you can commend me for at least having a good thought.
So I'm talking to a friend today, who is also a resident. I bring up the movie. Before I can mention my vow, she says to me:
"Oh that was a great movie. I know it's not the moral of the movie, but it really made me want to go out and buy a rubix cube."
I think I will change my vow. I might be able to to actually fulfill the latter.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Gate C-30
August 31, 2007
10 pm
I’ve been awake for almost 40 hours, and now I’m sitting in Hartsfield, waiting at gate C30 for my delayed flight that was supposed to depart at 7 pm. I am constantly suppressing my frustration at wasting 4 hours of my life waiting for my delayed flight to take off after a busy night on call, yet I find myself drawn into the lives of “normal” people (i.e. non medical people!) who also are waiting to depart.
There’s Jeff, the high school student applying to college at Hopkins, U of Chicago, Rice University, Wash U, with Hopkins and Chicago being his top two choices. I immediately judge him as a spoiled, but smart teenager, whose success is more so a product of purchased intelligence than inherent motivation and drive. He is wealthy enough to go wherever he wants for college and probably takes it for granted. I cringe at my own readiness to judge, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.
Jeff’s mom is disabled in a wheelchair – I suspect that her stick-sized lower limbs are the origin of her disability. From the mother’s raised voice and rushed words, I gather that they are about to leave the airport and cancel the trip – Jeff has too much “heavy and serious work” and the delayed flight will cause further exhaustion. His mother poses a question, it seems, to the entire gate-C30 crowd: How much will they really extract from the scheduled 1 pm tour of Rice’s campus if he’s so exhausted from the trip? How is my son expected to successfully complete his high school work load, waste time waiting for a plane to take off, and have enough energy to process a college campus tour? I certainly do not have the answers to these questions. Nor does God… perhaps.
There’s the greying middle-aged woman with the leopard print shoes and muffin-shaped earphones draped around her neck, waiting for her flight to take off to Mobile where her boyfriend – and his family! – await her for the long Labor Day weekend. Her shoes, the envy of a blond, overweight southern girl dressed in a white cotton spaghetti strap dress, only cost $36 at Macy’s. What a great buy! I can’t help but feel sorry for the leopard.
A man seated two rows away from me, dressed in an orange polo shirt and blue baseball cap takes a whiff of his inhaler. This reminds me that my future work as a pulmonologist is, to say the very least, important.
A pony-tailed girl sprints across gate C30, her rapid footsteps buffered by the aging fashion-less airport carpet, and 10 minutes later, a pseudo child-train has formed with a slightly taller Indian girl flying across the room behind her in pursuit. They have formed a transient friendship unalloyed by expectation or dead promises.
The children catch the smiling eye of a quiet dark haired Indian man dressed sloppily in a pattern-less blue polo shirt that loosely hangs above his pleated khakis. Either he remembers running in a busy public place as a child, or perhaps a child awaits him on the other end of his journey, or he is single and wonders when he can enjoy the playful nature of his own child. I saw this man catching my eye earlier in the evening, not in an act of flirtation, but in a questioning glance – he wants to know, am I from Atlanta, Houston or Mobile? What part of India? Why, at such a young age, am I desparately trying to catch some sleep on the cold blue vinyl seats of Hartsfield Airport? And what am I typing on my laptop?
I turn to my right. I see a man’s mole on his right lower chin before I actually see the man. It’s large. Next I see how the edge of his hairline on his forehead makes an almost perfect U shape, either reflecting the somewhat anal nature of his barber, or his receding hairline? I don’t know enough about receding hairlines to make any further conclusions.
Amidst all the personalities, the different destinations, the mutual frustration on this impending holiday weekend, I can hear the drone of CNN in the background. They are featuring a tribute to Princess Diana who died 10 years ago. The plasma television that awkwardly hangs from the ceiling in the middle of gate C30 manages to catch my full attention when the doctor who arrived at the crash scene to help resuscitate Princess Diana speaks about his experience. He has many pitted scars on his face that I easily spot on high-definition, and his speech is deliberate, much as the public would expect a doctor to speak.
Finally, to my left, people begin to file out from the gate. My plane has arrived! I will be home soon. My seemingly endless hours of wakefulness will finally come to an end. A very good end – I will pass out on my old bed in my old room, smothered by the coziness of home. I will awake the next morning to smells of south Indian cooking, with the whistling of the tea kettle. Perhaps I will hear the door creak open – my father will never change and it will be late in the morning – why hasn’t his daughter yet awoken? She has told him strictly and firmly not to wake her up that she has been awake for an ungodly number of hours.
I know what is to come and I ache for it from a place that I find hard to describe in words.
The Indian girl who was darting across the room has stopped and I have full view of her orange head band that contrasts with her thick, wavy pitch black hair. Her grin reveals the loss of several front teeth. As I realize that this will be my last physical exam for a week, I see the Indian man, sitting cross legged, with his long white socks exposed beneath his short pants, turn to his right and smile once again.
10 pm
I’ve been awake for almost 40 hours, and now I’m sitting in Hartsfield, waiting at gate C30 for my delayed flight that was supposed to depart at 7 pm. I am constantly suppressing my frustration at wasting 4 hours of my life waiting for my delayed flight to take off after a busy night on call, yet I find myself drawn into the lives of “normal” people (i.e. non medical people!) who also are waiting to depart.
There’s Jeff, the high school student applying to college at Hopkins, U of Chicago, Rice University, Wash U, with Hopkins and Chicago being his top two choices. I immediately judge him as a spoiled, but smart teenager, whose success is more so a product of purchased intelligence than inherent motivation and drive. He is wealthy enough to go wherever he wants for college and probably takes it for granted. I cringe at my own readiness to judge, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.
Jeff’s mom is disabled in a wheelchair – I suspect that her stick-sized lower limbs are the origin of her disability. From the mother’s raised voice and rushed words, I gather that they are about to leave the airport and cancel the trip – Jeff has too much “heavy and serious work” and the delayed flight will cause further exhaustion. His mother poses a question, it seems, to the entire gate-C30 crowd: How much will they really extract from the scheduled 1 pm tour of Rice’s campus if he’s so exhausted from the trip? How is my son expected to successfully complete his high school work load, waste time waiting for a plane to take off, and have enough energy to process a college campus tour? I certainly do not have the answers to these questions. Nor does God… perhaps.
There’s the greying middle-aged woman with the leopard print shoes and muffin-shaped earphones draped around her neck, waiting for her flight to take off to Mobile where her boyfriend – and his family! – await her for the long Labor Day weekend. Her shoes, the envy of a blond, overweight southern girl dressed in a white cotton spaghetti strap dress, only cost $36 at Macy’s. What a great buy! I can’t help but feel sorry for the leopard.
A man seated two rows away from me, dressed in an orange polo shirt and blue baseball cap takes a whiff of his inhaler. This reminds me that my future work as a pulmonologist is, to say the very least, important.
A pony-tailed girl sprints across gate C30, her rapid footsteps buffered by the aging fashion-less airport carpet, and 10 minutes later, a pseudo child-train has formed with a slightly taller Indian girl flying across the room behind her in pursuit. They have formed a transient friendship unalloyed by expectation or dead promises.
The children catch the smiling eye of a quiet dark haired Indian man dressed sloppily in a pattern-less blue polo shirt that loosely hangs above his pleated khakis. Either he remembers running in a busy public place as a child, or perhaps a child awaits him on the other end of his journey, or he is single and wonders when he can enjoy the playful nature of his own child. I saw this man catching my eye earlier in the evening, not in an act of flirtation, but in a questioning glance – he wants to know, am I from Atlanta, Houston or Mobile? What part of India? Why, at such a young age, am I desparately trying to catch some sleep on the cold blue vinyl seats of Hartsfield Airport? And what am I typing on my laptop?
I turn to my right. I see a man’s mole on his right lower chin before I actually see the man. It’s large. Next I see how the edge of his hairline on his forehead makes an almost perfect U shape, either reflecting the somewhat anal nature of his barber, or his receding hairline? I don’t know enough about receding hairlines to make any further conclusions.
Amidst all the personalities, the different destinations, the mutual frustration on this impending holiday weekend, I can hear the drone of CNN in the background. They are featuring a tribute to Princess Diana who died 10 years ago. The plasma television that awkwardly hangs from the ceiling in the middle of gate C30 manages to catch my full attention when the doctor who arrived at the crash scene to help resuscitate Princess Diana speaks about his experience. He has many pitted scars on his face that I easily spot on high-definition, and his speech is deliberate, much as the public would expect a doctor to speak.
Finally, to my left, people begin to file out from the gate. My plane has arrived! I will be home soon. My seemingly endless hours of wakefulness will finally come to an end. A very good end – I will pass out on my old bed in my old room, smothered by the coziness of home. I will awake the next morning to smells of south Indian cooking, with the whistling of the tea kettle. Perhaps I will hear the door creak open – my father will never change and it will be late in the morning – why hasn’t his daughter yet awoken? She has told him strictly and firmly not to wake her up that she has been awake for an ungodly number of hours.
I know what is to come and I ache for it from a place that I find hard to describe in words.
The Indian girl who was darting across the room has stopped and I have full view of her orange head band that contrasts with her thick, wavy pitch black hair. Her grin reveals the loss of several front teeth. As I realize that this will be my last physical exam for a week, I see the Indian man, sitting cross legged, with his long white socks exposed beneath his short pants, turn to his right and smile once again.
Yikes!
I haven't posted in nearly 2 months! I recently had a meeting with a faculty member to whom I boasted my right brained abilities. I felt guilty doing so since I haven't been so right-brained in so long. Maybe this has been the result of my crazy as *&^% 2nd year of residency, which is turning out to be harder than internship!
Anyhoo, I was in the airport at Atlanta this weekend tired and post-call, and I had this feeling I hadn't had in a long time... the feeling of words darting across my mind. It was fantastic!
Luckily I had my laptop with me and I was able to capture what words were coming my way (it's almost like they choose you) and what would have been fleeting thoughts became black and white. But of course, all writing has shades of gray...
Anyhoo, I was in the airport at Atlanta this weekend tired and post-call, and I had this feeling I hadn't had in a long time... the feeling of words darting across my mind. It was fantastic!
Luckily I had my laptop with me and I was able to capture what words were coming my way (it's almost like they choose you) and what would have been fleeting thoughts became black and white. But of course, all writing has shades of gray...
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Fireworks
11 more hours till my first PICU call is over. I wonder what can happen in that time. Well, I think it's better I not imagine and just turn on my pure on-call zombie mode and just go with the flow and hope I don't make a mistake.
Hey! After 12 noon, I only have 13 more PICU calls ever in my life (6 left this month). Ok, that was a bad thought.
Hmmm... any good thoughts for this evening? Yes.
I'm glad that time passes by and I've moved on from being an intern. I'm glad that the nurses brought this yummy cake to celebrate July 4th. I'm glad that I could at least hear the fireworks while on call. I'm worried that I actually wanted to watch a Hillary Duff movie with one of my patients. I'm worried that I'm spending too much time on this post and not checking on the kids. Ok, bye!
Hey! After 12 noon, I only have 13 more PICU calls ever in my life (6 left this month). Ok, that was a bad thought.
Hmmm... any good thoughts for this evening? Yes.
I'm glad that time passes by and I've moved on from being an intern. I'm glad that the nurses brought this yummy cake to celebrate July 4th. I'm glad that I could at least hear the fireworks while on call. I'm worried that I actually wanted to watch a Hillary Duff movie with one of my patients. I'm worried that I'm spending too much time on this post and not checking on the kids. Ok, bye!
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
Frantic Fissures
It's 2 AM in the hospital, and I realize that I am only 4.5 weeks away from finishing my intern year. One 365-day block of my precious 20-something years, given to a pediatric residency. It's a sacrifice, an austerity that continues to induce "oooh" and "awww" and "my poor baby" filled conversations with my parents. My eyelids are heavy from my picnic-less Memorial holiday, and my clogged feet drag from the admissions that I know lie in the 5.5 hours I have left.
So many thoughts plague run along my cerebral fissures: Have I really learned anything? Will the new interns school me with their knowledge and questions? Do I have the stamina for a rigorous ICU filled second year of residency? How ingenious am I to have Top Spice delivered for dinner today?
I can only act and refrain from too much thought (albeit thought during an hospital admsision warrants some merit).
I must blog on call.
I must get to the theatre and watch Shrek 3.
I must devour dosas Bhima-style tonight at All-You-Can-Eat dosa night.
I think I'm slightly delirious.
Happy Birthday Dr. Wolf. Did you know that the Sears Tower was built the year he was born???
And the pager goes OFF!
So many thoughts plague run along my cerebral fissures: Have I really learned anything? Will the new interns school me with their knowledge and questions? Do I have the stamina for a rigorous ICU filled second year of residency? How ingenious am I to have Top Spice delivered for dinner today?
I can only act and refrain from too much thought (albeit thought during an hospital admsision warrants some merit).
I must brush my teeth to rid my enamel of the thai spices that cling to my incisors.
I must get to the theatre and watch Shrek 3.
I must devour dosas Bhima-style tonight at All-You-Can-Eat dosa night.
I think I'm slightly delirious.
Happy Birthday Dr. Wolf. Did you know that the Sears Tower was built the year he was born???
And the pager goes OFF!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Fervor for Fiesta
Among other things on my return visit home to H-town, I went grocery shopping with my parents at Fiesta. I love Fiesta. It's definitely an experience that is unique to living in Houston (and Dallas I think?), and I definitely miss having it in Atlanta. At the location near the medical center, which I would frequently visit as a med student, they sell soft serve outside to the left of the entrace and to the right of the entrance you can buy luggage of all colors and sizes from this makeshift luggage market (that kind of reminds of me of India ). As you enter the main entrance, you're greeted by the "fine" jewelery/ watch/repair/ cell phone service area. I think I remember someone in our med school class trying to get their watch repaired there once. Not sure if they were successful.
The right side of the grocery store is where the money is at! They have a fresh selection of fruit and vegetables that will make you salivate.
During this particular trip to Fiesta at a different location, I noticed something that made me giggle. There's specifically a "mexican foods" isle at the local Fiesta foodmarket. I wonder what they think the rest of the isles should be categorized as?
Anyhoo, we walked away with a cart full of fresh oranges, papayas, pineapple, strawberries, grapes, asparagus, tomatoes... and more! LOVE IT! And I love being home.
The right side of the grocery store is where the money is at! They have a fresh selection of fruit and vegetables that will make you salivate.
During this particular trip to Fiesta at a different location, I noticed something that made me giggle. There's specifically a "mexican foods" isle at the local Fiesta foodmarket. I wonder what they think the rest of the isles should be categorized as?
Anyhoo, we walked away with a cart full of fresh oranges, papayas, pineapple, strawberries, grapes, asparagus, tomatoes... and more! LOVE IT! And I love being home.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Super User, Super Hero
It was a super hero kind of day for me as the super hero theme of this week continues. I have signed up to be a Super User - our medical record is going electronic on May 15th, and the hospital has recruited physicians to receive extra training to help ease the transition from paper to electronic. Today was my first Super User class.
Now, to be honest with you, I didn't really feel like I was being treated as you might think a Super User ought to be treated. There's a scene in Spiderman 3 where Spiderman gets a parade with balloons, floats and a marching band. As I walked into the drab, grey computer training room yesterday evening, I wasn't expecting any confetti to collect in my hair, but for a four hour class, I was a wee bit disappointed in the Doritos they offered us as refreshments.
The subpar treatment continued when I decided to be a good friend and catch up with Ahila on the phone. I was explaining to her why I couldn't talk to her on the phone earlier since I was in class.
"Yeah, so our medical record is going electronic and I signed up to be an of expert in the online system - a Super User."
Laughter on the other line ensues.
"Ahila? Why are you laughing?!"
"Super User? Doesn't that strike you as being even a mildly amusing term?"
"Uhhhhh... maybe..."
So even my best friend apparently doesn't appreciate my Super Powers. Sigh. As I recall, even Spiderman felt underappreciated in the first two movies. So when Super User-3 comes out, and an alien symbiote enhances my Super User powers with an eventual man vs. self type of conflict, leading to the eventual conquer of the EpicWeb electronic medical record, I'll have the last laugh.
Now, to be honest with you, I didn't really feel like I was being treated as you might think a Super User ought to be treated. There's a scene in Spiderman 3 where Spiderman gets a parade with balloons, floats and a marching band. As I walked into the drab, grey computer training room yesterday evening, I wasn't expecting any confetti to collect in my hair, but for a four hour class, I was a wee bit disappointed in the Doritos they offered us as refreshments.
The subpar treatment continued when I decided to be a good friend and catch up with Ahila on the phone. I was explaining to her why I couldn't talk to her on the phone earlier since I was in class.
"Yeah, so our medical record is going electronic and I signed up to be an of expert in the online system - a Super User."
Laughter on the other line ensues.
"Ahila? Why are you laughing?!"
"Super User? Doesn't that strike you as being even a mildly amusing term?"
"Uhhhhh... maybe..."
So even my best friend apparently doesn't appreciate my Super Powers. Sigh. As I recall, even Spiderman felt underappreciated in the first two movies. So when Super User-3 comes out, and an alien symbiote enhances my Super User powers with an eventual man vs. self type of conflict, leading to the eventual conquer of the EpicWeb electronic medical record, I'll have the last laugh.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Spoken like a super-hero
Sometimes when I leave a movie theatre, I feel as though I'm assume the persona of the protagonist. If it's The Bourne Identidy I've finished viewing, I find my eyes jerking from side to side and I notice subtle movements in a crowd. If it's Legally Blonde, I find myself "bending and snapping" even just to pick up a dime I dropped on the pavement. If it's Shrek, it's a mix between being slightly cross and maybe a little gassy (yes, men, we females DO pass gas) and feeling proud of the many layers of my onion-like personality... and I don't even like onions.
It was no different after leaving Spiderman 3 yesterday afternoon. My feet, I felt were adhesive to the theatre carpet. My reflexes were sharper- I didn't even really bump into that many people on my way out. I felt more of a springyness in my knees.
Unfortunately, these heightened sensory afferent and efferent firings were not true for Brad Figler. You see, Brad lost his wallet after the show.
Luckily, he realized this before we got out the front door. He said, "I don't know where my wallet is. I don't know where the parking ticket is." Yasmin and I, however, remained calm, only for the sake of the distressed citizen. We turned around, fought exiting Spiderman traffic, and began the search for the wallet in the dark. Brad then got on all fours in the dark, with his caudal end sticking up in the air, searching for his elusive brown wallet.
This reminded me of earlier in the night, when he deliberately dropped some change on the floor for me to bend over pick up. Funny how karma works sometimes.
Brad searched and searched, and I offered my cell phone for lighting purposes. Brad caught on, and used his phone for lighting as well (luckily, he wasn't so slow as to not catch on). For awhile, he checked around the wrong seat. Yasmin directed him to the correct seat.
We couldn't find the wallet.
That's when the real Spiderman of the night came to our rescue.
But he wasn't a nerdy looking mathematician. Nor was he dressed in a tight blue and red uniform able to shoot webs from the heel of his hand. He was the nameless Regal Cinema Guy, yielding his powerful flashlight in hand with the power to illuminate even the most darkest of corners in the theatre to aid the innocent, helpless, not to mention absent-minded moviegoer (Brad Figler) return home safely with driver's lisence and credit card tucked away in his caudal end.
"Y'all missing something?" he said, as he swooped down from the side of the theatre, noticing Figler's rear end in the sky. For with a great, powerful flashlight, comes great responsibility.
It was amazing. With one swift flash of light erupting from Cinema Guy's powerful weapon, the wallet was found, snuggled in between the folded Regal chair. Oh, how Dr. Figler rejoiced! How his heart raced and swelled with gratitude for Cinema Guy's superhero-like presence! Yasmin, Brad and I couldn't thank Cinema Guy enough for his unbelievable kindess. In response, Cinema Guy said, "Sounds 'bout right. Sounds 'bout right. Sounds 'bout right." Ahhhh... the words of a true superhero.
It was no different after leaving Spiderman 3 yesterday afternoon. My feet, I felt were adhesive to the theatre carpet. My reflexes were sharper- I didn't even really bump into that many people on my way out. I felt more of a springyness in my knees.
Unfortunately, these heightened sensory afferent and efferent firings were not true for Brad Figler. You see, Brad lost his wallet after the show.
Luckily, he realized this before we got out the front door. He said, "I don't know where my wallet is. I don't know where the parking ticket is." Yasmin and I, however, remained calm, only for the sake of the distressed citizen. We turned around, fought exiting Spiderman traffic, and began the search for the wallet in the dark. Brad then got on all fours in the dark, with his caudal end sticking up in the air, searching for his elusive brown wallet.
This reminded me of earlier in the night, when he deliberately dropped some change on the floor for me to bend over pick up. Funny how karma works sometimes.
Brad searched and searched, and I offered my cell phone for lighting purposes. Brad caught on, and used his phone for lighting as well (luckily, he wasn't so slow as to not catch on). For awhile, he checked around the wrong seat. Yasmin directed him to the correct seat.
We couldn't find the wallet.
That's when the real Spiderman of the night came to our rescue.
But he wasn't a nerdy looking mathematician. Nor was he dressed in a tight blue and red uniform able to shoot webs from the heel of his hand. He was the nameless Regal Cinema Guy, yielding his powerful flashlight in hand with the power to illuminate even the most darkest of corners in the theatre to aid the innocent, helpless, not to mention absent-minded moviegoer (Brad Figler) return home safely with driver's lisence and credit card tucked away in his caudal end.
"Y'all missing something?" he said, as he swooped down from the side of the theatre, noticing Figler's rear end in the sky. For with a great, powerful flashlight, comes great responsibility.
It was amazing. With one swift flash of light erupting from Cinema Guy's powerful weapon, the wallet was found, snuggled in between the folded Regal chair. Oh, how Dr. Figler rejoiced! How his heart raced and swelled with gratitude for Cinema Guy's superhero-like presence! Yasmin, Brad and I couldn't thank Cinema Guy enough for his unbelievable kindess. In response, Cinema Guy said, "Sounds 'bout right. Sounds 'bout right. Sounds 'bout right." Ahhhh... the words of a true superhero.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Cold soup
He sits beside me with legs crossed. He screams, attempting to will the Thrashers to victory even though they're down by two. His freshly cut hair hovers above his head, which he delicately caresses - he's had surgery on his nose recently. Sometimes I forget this, like when I was throwing him the stuffed football and almost hit his face.
But what interests me most is not the newly fixed nose, that allows 21% oxygen to surge up his newly unclogged nostrils and fill his lungs with what most of us know as life. It's what sits BELOW the nares... it's the rough patch of hair that perks forward. It's Sameer's moustache.
And, folks, it's not just any moustache. Like some people name their pets, like some people name their cars, like some people name their toes, Sameer has chosen to name his moustache (Ok, so people don't really name their toes... but whatever!). And what has he named it? Rover, you say? Spot? Alex? Yosef? Jon-Benet? No. It's named Gazpacho. I reference it as "it," but in all honesty, I'm unaware of what gender has been attached to this name, but it sounds masculine...?
To Sameer's defense, and I quote: "I did it before Sanjaya."
But what interests me most is not the newly fixed nose, that allows 21% oxygen to surge up his newly unclogged nostrils and fill his lungs with what most of us know as life. It's what sits BELOW the nares... it's the rough patch of hair that perks forward. It's Sameer's moustache.
And, folks, it's not just any moustache. Like some people name their pets, like some people name their cars, like some people name their toes, Sameer has chosen to name his moustache (Ok, so people don't really name their toes... but whatever!). And what has he named it? Rover, you say? Spot? Alex? Yosef? Jon-Benet? No. It's named Gazpacho. I reference it as "it," but in all honesty, I'm unaware of what gender has been attached to this name, but it sounds masculine...?
To Sameer's defense, and I quote: "I did it before Sanjaya."
Thursday, April 05, 2007
To raise an eyebrow
The art of eyebrow threading attracts women of all backgrounds. Why? Because it's a quick fix,and everyone likes a quick fix. It's the fast food equivalent in the beauty world: you walk into a salon, you hand over six crinkled dollar bills to the salon, and fifteen minutes later, you are gazing at your own eyes in the mirror of your car visor, amazed that your facial features are that much sharper than before.
Simply astonishing!
Today, I graced Ruby's in Decatur with my post-work day presence. Why is it notable that I was there after work? Because your after work period is the optimal time for the Quick Fix known as eyebrow threading. You've worked a long day. You want to feel pretty (sorry boys, I'm sure I'm definitely losing you here... well, most of you anyway...).
I saw so many different kinds of people. I saw an African American girl with gold Nike shoes and a chain belt. I saw an elderly Indian women complete with her walking cane and thick pastel rimmed glasses. And of course, I saw young college-aged girls who arrived to Ruby's together, breaking the monotony of silence with their Omigod!'s and Whatever!'s. There were young professionals in their perfectly pressed slacks, the crease on the front only slightly flattened.
And there was me, a pediatric intern, hoping for a quick fix to make my eyebrows arch just a little higher when I ponder the diffential diagnosis of a complicated patient.
Simply astonishing!
Today, I graced Ruby's in Decatur with my post-work day presence. Why is it notable that I was there after work? Because your after work period is the optimal time for the Quick Fix known as eyebrow threading. You've worked a long day. You want to feel pretty (sorry boys, I'm sure I'm definitely losing you here... well, most of you anyway...).
I saw so many different kinds of people. I saw an African American girl with gold Nike shoes and a chain belt. I saw an elderly Indian women complete with her walking cane and thick pastel rimmed glasses. And of course, I saw young college-aged girls who arrived to Ruby's together, breaking the monotony of silence with their Omigod!'s and Whatever!'s. There were young professionals in their perfectly pressed slacks, the crease on the front only slightly flattened.
And there was me, a pediatric intern, hoping for a quick fix to make my eyebrows arch just a little higher when I ponder the diffential diagnosis of a complicated patient.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Tire tracks
It's as if God has sprinkled green-colored chalk dust all over Atlanta. But it's not chalk, it's pollen. This morning, I was driving to work and realized that my tires were leaving tracks in the pollen that has gathered on the parking lot pavement. I arrived at work and happened to pass by the newspaper that was resting at the nursing station. March madness, it said, has arrived in the form of allergies. There was a picture of a man standing outside with a face mask on. The article explained that a high pollen count would be greater than 250. The measured pollen count yesterday was 5,023! When I first moved to Texas from CT, I was introduced to the concept of seasonal allergies, but this take things to a whole new level.
But it's not ALL ridiculous. Accompanying this obnoxiously high pollen count are are the flowering trees that have greeted us with Spring! There's all the dogwood trees that do not escape a single street. There's other flowering trees too... I don't know all the names. It's a beautiful sight! It makes me not miss the Texas wildflowers too much. I think the Indigo Girls definitely called it when they wrote the song "Southland in the Springtime."
I guess we'll see if all the visitors for the Final Four see the beauty of Atlanta in the Springtime... that is if they're not hacking up a lung from all the pollen in the air. Bring your flonase with you Ahila!!
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Flashes of Friends
I'm on vacation! WOOO HOO!! I spent the first part of my vacation back home with my folks, which was wonderful. Eating my mom's cooking is the equivalent of heaven on Earth for me. I also got to spend time with old friends last Tuesday night at Cafe Brasil. We only spent a few hours together, but I got to relive my friends' subtle (and not so subtle!) quirks that make me miss them.
Frieda, me and Hana
Me and Tibor at Briargreen with the Texas Medical Center off in the distance.
Chirag, with his ever pervasive inappropriate comments that still manage to shock us. Ahila, with her blunt way of characterizing people followed with a beaming smile of shy guilt. Frieda, with her hilarious dry humor and wit... and fashion sense! Erica... she's cute and corny and photogenic! Hana, with her spunky attitude... and new sophisticated earrings :) Bunmi, with her jaw-dropping sense of style and wise, gentle spirit. Ashwini, still a social butterfly, bringing 3 of her fellow 4th years along with her. Liz, my song-bird turned brilliant med-pedi friend... her dorkiness rules! Kate, with her sweet English vegan demeanor. Laura... one day we WILL get Libi to acknowledge our 2nd violin bad-assness :) Dornechia... she appears as collected and calm as ever with the perfect touch of spice. Gonzo... he still makes me chuckle and smile as much he ever did. I ended the night stopping by at Tibor's. He was my neighbor for 4 years so I got to do a drive by of my old place. We had some tea together and it definitely felt like I had never left in so many ways. Here are some pics from the night.
Me and Ahila
I like this one of Gonzo
Liz, Dornechia and Ahila (I think Liz is talking about her 16 hour days at the VA)
Reunion of the oh-sixers! Ahila, Bunmi, Erica, Dornechia, me and G-lo. You can see a couple examples of a middle school art exhibit on display at Cafe Brasil. Some of the pieces were extremely clever... making not so subtle jabs at the marketing industry and pop culture.
Frieda, me and Hana
Me, Ahila and Bunmi.
Me and Tibor at Briargreen with the Texas Medical Center off in the distance.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Emergency Masala
I've been in the ER this past month and I've realized that I'm not made to be an ER physician. It drives me nuts... all the kids that come in with such minor complaints... I don't understand! It's ironic because it's in my ER month that I'm getting better at diagnosing ear infections. That's not an emergency.
There have been some good things about ER though. I get to do a lot of procedures. I'm getting a heck of a lot better at blood draws and IV's. And then there are lacs. I haven't done laceration repairs since my Surgical ER rotation where we would frequently sew up adults without any supervision. Those skills definitely came in handy during this rotation.
Two nights go, I felt my dislike of the ER come to a climax with one particular patient. These African American parents (I only mention the race because it becomes relevant later) brought their child to the ER for vomiting and diarrhea (we've been seeing so much acute gastroenteritis!) and the kid was truly dehydrated. I was bolusing the child with IV fluids and reassessing him over several hours. Finally at 3 am, I was pretty tired, and this is when they decide to bring in the twin brother who was at home with the aunt. The twin brother is, unlike the first twin, doing great, although he's had a few episodes of vomiting. I was trying to get this second story out of the parents and it was like pulling teeth. They just didn't want to cooperate with my questions, and I was getting very frustrated.
Finally at one point during the interview, the father decides to change the subject altogether. "Do you have any pakoras around here?" I couldnt believe my ears.
"What did you say?"
"Do you have any pakoras for us?" Ok, so I get VERY irritated at this question. I can't really describe in words exactly why this question irritated me. Maybe it's because he was making assumptions about my race by making a really dumb joke. Maybe it's because I felt that his question was too tongue and cheeky. Maybe it's because I just wanted to get the dumb exam over with so I could move on and not speak to him for another second. Maybe I was hungry and mad that I didn't have any pakoras.
"No, we don't have any pakoras here."
"I could use some pakoras right now, man."
And then from out of nowhere, this comes out of me: "How do you know I'm Indian? I could be Hispanic."
"Well, I just know. I'm pretty good at guessing." There he was, the quintessential expert on race, right before my very eyes.
Later I was talking with a friend, who suggested that I should have said, "No we don't have any pakoras. But do you have any fried chicken for me?"
But then maybe I would have gotten fired. Or beat up. Or both.
There have been some good things about ER though. I get to do a lot of procedures. I'm getting a heck of a lot better at blood draws and IV's. And then there are lacs. I haven't done laceration repairs since my Surgical ER rotation where we would frequently sew up adults without any supervision. Those skills definitely came in handy during this rotation.
Two nights go, I felt my dislike of the ER come to a climax with one particular patient. These African American parents (I only mention the race because it becomes relevant later) brought their child to the ER for vomiting and diarrhea (we've been seeing so much acute gastroenteritis!) and the kid was truly dehydrated. I was bolusing the child with IV fluids and reassessing him over several hours. Finally at 3 am, I was pretty tired, and this is when they decide to bring in the twin brother who was at home with the aunt. The twin brother is, unlike the first twin, doing great, although he's had a few episodes of vomiting. I was trying to get this second story out of the parents and it was like pulling teeth. They just didn't want to cooperate with my questions, and I was getting very frustrated.
Finally at one point during the interview, the father decides to change the subject altogether. "Do you have any pakoras around here?" I couldnt believe my ears.
"What did you say?"
"Do you have any pakoras for us?" Ok, so I get VERY irritated at this question. I can't really describe in words exactly why this question irritated me. Maybe it's because he was making assumptions about my race by making a really dumb joke. Maybe it's because I felt that his question was too tongue and cheeky. Maybe it's because I just wanted to get the dumb exam over with so I could move on and not speak to him for another second. Maybe I was hungry and mad that I didn't have any pakoras.
"No, we don't have any pakoras here."
"I could use some pakoras right now, man."
And then from out of nowhere, this comes out of me: "How do you know I'm Indian? I could be Hispanic."
"Well, I just know. I'm pretty good at guessing." There he was, the quintessential expert on race, right before my very eyes.
Later I was talking with a friend, who suggested that I should have said, "No we don't have any pakoras. But do you have any fried chicken for me?"
But then maybe I would have gotten fired. Or beat up. Or both.
Monday, February 19, 2007
The Family Toole
I'm working in the ER these days. I've gotten to see some interesting cases. For example, yesterday evening, I palpated my first "olive" in an 8 week old who presented with vomiting and constipation.
I also had the opportunity to sow up a pretty impressive laceration of a 2 year old's left middle finger. The kid's bone was exposed and the finger nail was hanging by a thread. It was fun!
Last night, I was on with Brian McAlvin. When it got a little bit quiet early in the evening, we decided to make up an admission to call up to Jon, who was the admitting resident as a joke. We came up with something pretty good... it was decided that I would be the one to tell Jon about the admission because it would be more believable coming from me. Here's how it went:
"Hey Jon, I have an admission to tell you about. This is a 16 year old male with cerebral palsy and mental retardation secondary to congenital rubella who presents with increased oxygen requirement and fever.
Respiratory-wise, he is trach and vent dependent and is on a baseline of 21% O2 through his humidfied trach collar, and right now, he's requiring 40% of oxygen. We got a chest xray that is concerning for aspiration pneumonia given bilateral insterstitial infiltrates. The film also shows an enlarged heart.
In terms of his cardiovascular status, he is status-post AV canal repair as a baby and is on lasix and aldactone for what mom says is depressed left ventricular function. We asked about an echocardiogram. She says there was one done some years ago, but she wasn't sure what the ejection fraction was.
He is also G-tube dependent and is status-post fundoplication and has issues with severe constipation requiring daily Miralax. We spoke with GI and they recommend a clean out, but we haven't yet placed a nasogastric tube. He takes Nutren formula 1.0 strength through his G-Tube. The patient came is looking pretty dehyrated with dry mouth and lips and cool extremities and tachycardic. We gave him 2 boluses of normal saline at 20 cc/kg and held his lasix.
Of note is that he is 3 weeks status-post testicular torsion that resulted in an orchiectomy of his left testicle. The mother thinks that after this surgery is when he really when he started to get sick with difficulty breathing and high fever.
Laboratory results have revealed a leukocytosis of 29,000 with 79% neutrophils, hemoglobin of 11.9, hematocrit of 33, and what looks like a reactive thrombocytosis of 506."
Jon interrupts periodically with "uh oh," "ok." Finally at the end, he asks me a few questions. The most important being, "Do you guys think he's ok to come to the floor or does he need to go to the step-down unit?"
"Yeah, we were talking about that and he's actually pretty stable on 40% O2, but he desats to the 70's if we go below 40% oxygen."
"Has he eaten anything by mouth?"
"Well, mom gave him some food by mouth because she thought he was hungry and didn't want to see her child go hungry, but he has a history of aspiration. He's supposed to feel only through his G-tube. The family is Spanish speaking only and I'm not sure they really understand that he can't eat by mouth."
"Have you gotten a blood gas yet?"
"No, we haven't." This was a dumb answer actually, because any moron would have gotten a blood gas on this patient if he was real. I should have made something up.
"Alright. Well, I'm going to come down and look at this kid because I'm really suspicious that this kid would be ok on the floor. He sounds like step-down material to me," says Jon.
"Ok." I wanted to tell him the best part, that the patient's name was "Ima Toole."
Jon came down and started talking to the ER attending, who totally went along with the story. We told Jon that the patient was in room one, but that he couldn't go in because they were placing a Foley catheder. Jon came up to me and asked, "Are you guys making this up?"
I said no, with a straight face, I think...
Brian eventually told Jon that we made the whole thing up. Jon claims that he knew we made up the patient, and said that the fact that the family was Spanish speaking tipped him off. "Less is more," was his advice for us. We'll keep that in mind for next time :)
I also had the opportunity to sow up a pretty impressive laceration of a 2 year old's left middle finger. The kid's bone was exposed and the finger nail was hanging by a thread. It was fun!
Last night, I was on with Brian McAlvin. When it got a little bit quiet early in the evening, we decided to make up an admission to call up to Jon, who was the admitting resident as a joke. We came up with something pretty good... it was decided that I would be the one to tell Jon about the admission because it would be more believable coming from me. Here's how it went:
"Hey Jon, I have an admission to tell you about. This is a 16 year old male with cerebral palsy and mental retardation secondary to congenital rubella who presents with increased oxygen requirement and fever.
Respiratory-wise, he is trach and vent dependent and is on a baseline of 21% O2 through his humidfied trach collar, and right now, he's requiring 40% of oxygen. We got a chest xray that is concerning for aspiration pneumonia given bilateral insterstitial infiltrates. The film also shows an enlarged heart.
In terms of his cardiovascular status, he is status-post AV canal repair as a baby and is on lasix and aldactone for what mom says is depressed left ventricular function. We asked about an echocardiogram. She says there was one done some years ago, but she wasn't sure what the ejection fraction was.
He is also G-tube dependent and is status-post fundoplication and has issues with severe constipation requiring daily Miralax. We spoke with GI and they recommend a clean out, but we haven't yet placed a nasogastric tube. He takes Nutren formula 1.0 strength through his G-Tube. The patient came is looking pretty dehyrated with dry mouth and lips and cool extremities and tachycardic. We gave him 2 boluses of normal saline at 20 cc/kg and held his lasix.
Of note is that he is 3 weeks status-post testicular torsion that resulted in an orchiectomy of his left testicle. The mother thinks that after this surgery is when he really when he started to get sick with difficulty breathing and high fever.
Laboratory results have revealed a leukocytosis of 29,000 with 79% neutrophils, hemoglobin of 11.9, hematocrit of 33, and what looks like a reactive thrombocytosis of 506."
Jon interrupts periodically with "uh oh," "ok." Finally at the end, he asks me a few questions. The most important being, "Do you guys think he's ok to come to the floor or does he need to go to the step-down unit?"
"Yeah, we were talking about that and he's actually pretty stable on 40% O2, but he desats to the 70's if we go below 40% oxygen."
"Has he eaten anything by mouth?"
"Well, mom gave him some food by mouth because she thought he was hungry and didn't want to see her child go hungry, but he has a history of aspiration. He's supposed to feel only through his G-tube. The family is Spanish speaking only and I'm not sure they really understand that he can't eat by mouth."
"Have you gotten a blood gas yet?"
"No, we haven't." This was a dumb answer actually, because any moron would have gotten a blood gas on this patient if he was real. I should have made something up.
"Alright. Well, I'm going to come down and look at this kid because I'm really suspicious that this kid would be ok on the floor. He sounds like step-down material to me," says Jon.
"Ok." I wanted to tell him the best part, that the patient's name was "Ima Toole."
Jon came down and started talking to the ER attending, who totally went along with the story. We told Jon that the patient was in room one, but that he couldn't go in because they were placing a Foley catheder. Jon came up to me and asked, "Are you guys making this up?"
I said no, with a straight face, I think...
Brian eventually told Jon that we made the whole thing up. Jon claims that he knew we made up the patient, and said that the fact that the family was Spanish speaking tipped him off. "Less is more," was his advice for us. We'll keep that in mind for next time :)
Monday, February 12, 2007
The worst call on a night of call
It's 3 AM and I'm trying to fight sleep and finish my orders on a new admission. I can't seem to stay awake. My upper level is telling me what orders to write (I have no clue because this kid has a crazy genetic disorder that I would have NO idea how to manage if it was not for Genetics's input) and I'm basically trying to copy what he's saying word for word. But I just CAN'T. I have to recopy multiple meds because my eyelids are so heavy.
Later I get a call from both pharmacy and the floor nurses asking about my orders. I clarify my orders. Next I get a call from the charge nurse who wants me to come up to the floor to rewrite the orders because they're illegible. I refuse, saying that I've already clarified the orders multiple times to pharmacy and to the nurse covering the patient.
At 6 am, my upper level calls me. "Hey, whippersnapper. The nurses can't read your orders."
"I'll go rewrite them."
I go up to the floor and rewrite the orders. I glance at what I wrote before and realize how illegible they are. Not only that but it looks like I was smoking crack and writing the orders. On the admission orders, I clearly wrote and crossed off: "Follow up with primary care physician in 3-4 days," something that you usually write on discharge orders. Oops.
It's the second grade and we've just finished the first of what will be many penmanship contests. I don't expect to win, but I know that my handwriting is very neat and needless to say, very legible. It's a skill that I've inherited from my mother who has flawless handwriting.
A week later, the winner is announced. It's me! I'm excited as Mrs. Johnson tells me to receive my prize. I walk to the front of the room where Mrs. Johnson smiles at me from underneath her oversized reading glasses. She hands me a roll of glossy paper tied iwith red ribbon. I take my prize and I can feel the paper squeak underneathmy fingers. I unroll the paper and reveal to the rest of the class a poster of a puppy.
A fake puppy?! That's what I win for having the most amazing handwriting in the 2nd grade? Two months later, Micheal Leony wins a set of paints. I'm quite jealous.
Since I've started residency, I've gotten multiple compliments on how legible my writing is from both clerks and upper level residents. See what sleep deprivation does to you?!!
Later I get a call from both pharmacy and the floor nurses asking about my orders. I clarify my orders. Next I get a call from the charge nurse who wants me to come up to the floor to rewrite the orders because they're illegible. I refuse, saying that I've already clarified the orders multiple times to pharmacy and to the nurse covering the patient.
At 6 am, my upper level calls me. "Hey, whippersnapper. The nurses can't read your orders."
"I'll go rewrite them."
I go up to the floor and rewrite the orders. I glance at what I wrote before and realize how illegible they are. Not only that but it looks like I was smoking crack and writing the orders. On the admission orders, I clearly wrote and crossed off: "Follow up with primary care physician in 3-4 days," something that you usually write on discharge orders. Oops.
It's the second grade and we've just finished the first of what will be many penmanship contests. I don't expect to win, but I know that my handwriting is very neat and needless to say, very legible. It's a skill that I've inherited from my mother who has flawless handwriting.
A week later, the winner is announced. It's me! I'm excited as Mrs. Johnson tells me to receive my prize. I walk to the front of the room where Mrs. Johnson smiles at me from underneath her oversized reading glasses. She hands me a roll of glossy paper tied iwith red ribbon. I take my prize and I can feel the paper squeak underneathmy fingers. I unroll the paper and reveal to the rest of the class a poster of a puppy.
A fake puppy?! That's what I win for having the most amazing handwriting in the 2nd grade? Two months later, Micheal Leony wins a set of paints. I'm quite jealous.
Since I've started residency, I've gotten multiple compliments on how legible my writing is from both clerks and upper level residents. See what sleep deprivation does to you?!!
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
And now to formally introduce an old friend....
... namely, the DOSA! Motivated by a comment on my previous post, I would like to take this opportunity to briefly introduce the dosa to all my blog readers. This is an important moment in the history of this blog, because to know the dosa is, essentially, to know me. To know the dosa means that you know my people. To know the dosa means that you understand LIFE as speak of it. To know the dosa means that your stomach will thank you for the rest of your life.
Shall we begin? Gonzo I hope you are taking notes.
The dosa is a vital aspect of South Indian cuisine. It's made from blending rice and lentils with water, and then you leave it to ferment overnight (my mother also adds some soybeans, which helps make it more nutritious with some added protein). The next morning you have this beautiful creamy light dough, which you then pour over a hot pan in the same way you would make a pancake. The effect is a crepe-like pancake, but much lighter and thinner than an American pancake. You serve it with spicy potatoes, or spicy lentil soup, or any kind of chutney you want. I prefer my dosas with sambar (the spicy lentil soup). You can eat dosa for breakfast, but also for lunch and dinner. It's works as any kind of meal!
There are many ways to eat a dosa... but that's another discussion.
Other important points...! The best places to get one in Houston in my opinion are at Madras Pavillion near 59 and Kirby and my personal favorite... Balaji Bhavan at 59 and Hillcroft. God bless Balaji Bhavan and their $4.00 dinner dosas. I do miss that place!
The best place in Atlanta to get a dosa is at Madras Saravana Bhavan on Lawrencille Hwy. I recommend the Mysore Masala Dosa! Sooooo GOOOD!
Ok, now you a lil more about the dosa, and you can say you know a lil more about me.
Shall we begin? Gonzo I hope you are taking notes.
The dosa is a vital aspect of South Indian cuisine. It's made from blending rice and lentils with water, and then you leave it to ferment overnight (my mother also adds some soybeans, which helps make it more nutritious with some added protein). The next morning you have this beautiful creamy light dough, which you then pour over a hot pan in the same way you would make a pancake. The effect is a crepe-like pancake, but much lighter and thinner than an American pancake. You serve it with spicy potatoes, or spicy lentil soup, or any kind of chutney you want. I prefer my dosas with sambar (the spicy lentil soup). You can eat dosa for breakfast, but also for lunch and dinner. It's works as any kind of meal!
There are many ways to eat a dosa... but that's another discussion.
Other important points...! The best places to get one in Houston in my opinion are at Madras Pavillion near 59 and Kirby and my personal favorite... Balaji Bhavan at 59 and Hillcroft. God bless Balaji Bhavan and their $4.00 dinner dosas. I do miss that place!
The best place in Atlanta to get a dosa is at Madras Saravana Bhavan on Lawrencille Hwy. I recommend the Mysore Masala Dosa! Sooooo GOOOD!
Ok, now you a lil more about the dosa, and you can say you know a lil more about me.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
A dosa for me, and a dosa for you, I like to eat dosa in a big brown shoe
I'd like to make a plug for one of the greatest ideas ever known to man OR womankind!!!
Are you sitting down?
You sure you're ready??
Here it is: UNLIMITED DOSA NIGHT at Chowpati's!!!
Get this: For just under ten dollars, you get to eat unlimited dosas of all kinds! There's dosas with cheese! Dosas with pav bhaji! Spinach Dosas! Paper Roast Dosas! Vegetable Dosa! And more!!!
I swear someone didn't pay me to write this post! It's just that I just came from having dinner there on UNLIMITED DOSA NIGHT and my myenteric plexus nerves are conducting like they never have before!
Of note, I just had dinner with Melanie and Rima. Rima and I originally made the plans. I invited Melanie to come along. Here's how the coversation went, which is kinda funny if you konw Melanie, a super nice co-intern of mine who's also a preacher's wife, who's also from Minnesota and has the super cute accent to match (it's the kind of accent that give you warm fuzzies).
"Hey Mel! Wanna come celebrate UNLIMITED DOSA NIGHT with me and Rima?"
"Oohhhh! That sounds sooooo yummy!"
"Yeah it's me and Rima... I love for you to come!"
"Ooohhhhh! But I don't want to be the third white wheel!"
I eventually convinced her to come so we could make a complete "Oreo cookie" and I think her Auerbach synapses were going a little wild by the end too.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Why I love working in a children's hospital
It's cuz you get to do stupid stuff like this:
In the middle of rounds today, I heard the screeching sounds of a toy monkey. I look to my left and see one of the Cystic Fibrosis kids playing with my co-intern. They have this slingshot toy monkey that screeches with a high pitched sound when catapulted into the air. I can't miss this golden opportunity.
I leave my team (including my attending!) for about half a minute and yell to my co-intern, "Hey Drossner! Over here!" The patient and my colleague turn to me, and my co-intern prepares to sling the monkey towards me. I crouch, ready to catch the flying monkey. Drossner prepares his shot. The monkey goes FLYING through the halls of the hospital at 10:30 in the morning and spares no set of cerumen free ears from his ridiculously high frequency yell. He flies at me too fast, and I wasn't able to catch him.
It doesn't matter.
I prepare to slingshot him back at Drossner and the patient. I pull back on the long sleeves of my white coat. I leave my stethoscope at the nurses counter. I have to do this right. I stick my fingers in the the monkey's fingers and stretch back at the monkey's legs.
I let go... SHVOOM!
He flies through the air, screaming yet one more time. Drossner catches him, and then places the monkey playfully on the patient's head full of blond hair. I step away from the open hallway and rejoin my attending and prepare to present the next patient.
Light Bulb
You know you need to sign up for cable during the college basketball season when you find yourself screaming at the computer screen every 30 seconds that the espn.com live scoreboard refreshes during the final mintues of the UConn-Syracuse game. That's a two game winning streak, baby! Maybe we'll make someone's bracket this week.
The Borrelia Blues
I'm a junior in high school. It's only the dawn of winter in East Lyme, CT although it feels as though January's chill has settled upon the concrete surface of the tennis courts at Connecticut College, where the tournament for our high school's conference is taking place. I'm wearing my tennis skirt only out of courtesy for the sake of a team uniform, with bulky wind pants swishing beneath the skirt's white pleats. I see my parter bouncing her tennis ball as she heads towards the baseline, and I take my place closer to the net. We are facing match point. We know we shouldn't be. We're inherently better than the opponents that are standing across from us with their knees bent, ready to pounce upon whatever Liz 'serves' their way. But we're here, and there's probably no way of getting out. Or is there?
A surge of confidence overwhelms me as I raise my racket to head level. Yes, we're facing match point, but haven't so many done this before and raced onto victory? The 20 degree weather that seems to stiffen my muscles more with each passing moment all of a sudden becomes something I can ignore. I turn my head over my left shoulder, seeing Liz prepare for her serve. She's got a great serve, one that I've depended on for the whole season. There haven't been many matches we lost the whole season.
"Cummon Lizzie Belle," I say, using my nickname for her, "we can do this!" She pauses and looks up at me from her position just beyond the baseline.
This isn't a moment of life or death, or anywhere even CLOSE to that. Yet, I will never forget the look on her face. It's one of defeat. Her eyes are blank, her shoulders slump. She couldn't even get the ball over the court if she wanted to with posture like that.
"Yeah, ok" she says out of courtesy, not even attempting to force a smile.
I can't remember if she double faulted that point, or if the other team won the match by the way of a winner. We might have also made an error. I just remember that we lost that next point. And I wanted to win it. But, I was helpless as the player at net.
For some reason, I'm thinking about that moment so many years ago as I write this entry. It's because of how my day went. My morning was awful. Not because it had to be, but because of my attitude. I had 10 complicated patients to see and write notes on before 7:30 conference. I hadn't seen them since Saturday when I was post-call. I was scrambling around trying to keep everything straight and before I know it, it's 7:30 and I still have 3 patients to see, whom I somehow see in the next 15 minutes.
Around 7:45, I walked toward the conference room ANGRY. How come I have to be so late to conference, when I feel it's my protected time to learn about a topic? Why can't I be more efficient? Why is our system the way it is? Why can I NEVER find charts in the morning when I really need them to be where they're supposed to me so I can do my job? Why do the nurses give me such a hard time when I take away their charts from their oh so special signout during shift change?
I angrily turn the knob on the door entering into the conference, where I'm surpised to find only a few residents sitting around talking. There is no presenter. There is no lecture.
"No need to sign in," says the chief,"there isn't a lecture today."
I do hear what she says, but decide that it doesn't matter whether there is or isn't a lecture. I sign my name on the sign in sheet. Dammit, someone is going to read this dumb sheet that indicates that I made the effort to come to this dumb non-existent lecture. With a scowl on my face, I sit down in a chair and try to take some deep yoga-like breaths to calm my sympathetic nervous system down. It's of no use... the damn catecholamines have already been released. I almost let the tears roll in front of my collegues, something that my upper level would tease me about later, "Hey whippersnapper, if you feel like your eyes are about to squirt, lemme know and I'll write some of your notes."
Now that I think about it, it was so dumb to let myself get all worked up that way. The rest of the day was great. Even though my upper level wasn't around, I felt like I managed the team well. Morning rounds was really efficient. I knew everything my attending wanted to know. We discharged 3 patients. We saw almost everyone except for one patient. I was even able to tell my attending about a disease one of our patients had since he wasn't able to read up on it during the weekend. For once, I had read about it. We didn't break for lunch until 1:30 and I was very tired and hungry, but I felt good. The rest of the day was no exception. By the time evening signout rolled around, I was quirky and cooky and back to my old self, having fun with medicine.
What does this have to do with that tennis match so many years ago? It really is ALL about attitude in how your approach your day. You can go for it - you can give just a little bit more effort, or you can resign yourself to a losing score even before the last point has been played. I wonder how that match may have ended if I had been serving that day, or if the ball somehow happened to come my way near the net. I had the right attitude, the one required to get the win. Maybe a bit too much of a sports cliche here, but I kinda liked how my day ended :) See, that's a smile!
A surge of confidence overwhelms me as I raise my racket to head level. Yes, we're facing match point, but haven't so many done this before and raced onto victory? The 20 degree weather that seems to stiffen my muscles more with each passing moment all of a sudden becomes something I can ignore. I turn my head over my left shoulder, seeing Liz prepare for her serve. She's got a great serve, one that I've depended on for the whole season. There haven't been many matches we lost the whole season.
"Cummon Lizzie Belle," I say, using my nickname for her, "we can do this!" She pauses and looks up at me from her position just beyond the baseline.
This isn't a moment of life or death, or anywhere even CLOSE to that. Yet, I will never forget the look on her face. It's one of defeat. Her eyes are blank, her shoulders slump. She couldn't even get the ball over the court if she wanted to with posture like that.
"Yeah, ok" she says out of courtesy, not even attempting to force a smile.
I can't remember if she double faulted that point, or if the other team won the match by the way of a winner. We might have also made an error. I just remember that we lost that next point. And I wanted to win it. But, I was helpless as the player at net.
For some reason, I'm thinking about that moment so many years ago as I write this entry. It's because of how my day went. My morning was awful. Not because it had to be, but because of my attitude. I had 10 complicated patients to see and write notes on before 7:30 conference. I hadn't seen them since Saturday when I was post-call. I was scrambling around trying to keep everything straight and before I know it, it's 7:30 and I still have 3 patients to see, whom I somehow see in the next 15 minutes.
Around 7:45, I walked toward the conference room ANGRY. How come I have to be so late to conference, when I feel it's my protected time to learn about a topic? Why can't I be more efficient? Why is our system the way it is? Why can I NEVER find charts in the morning when I really need them to be where they're supposed to me so I can do my job? Why do the nurses give me such a hard time when I take away their charts from their oh so special signout during shift change?
I angrily turn the knob on the door entering into the conference, where I'm surpised to find only a few residents sitting around talking. There is no presenter. There is no lecture.
"No need to sign in," says the chief,"there isn't a lecture today."
I do hear what she says, but decide that it doesn't matter whether there is or isn't a lecture. I sign my name on the sign in sheet. Dammit, someone is going to read this dumb sheet that indicates that I made the effort to come to this dumb non-existent lecture. With a scowl on my face, I sit down in a chair and try to take some deep yoga-like breaths to calm my sympathetic nervous system down. It's of no use... the damn catecholamines have already been released. I almost let the tears roll in front of my collegues, something that my upper level would tease me about later, "Hey whippersnapper, if you feel like your eyes are about to squirt, lemme know and I'll write some of your notes."
Now that I think about it, it was so dumb to let myself get all worked up that way. The rest of the day was great. Even though my upper level wasn't around, I felt like I managed the team well. Morning rounds was really efficient. I knew everything my attending wanted to know. We discharged 3 patients. We saw almost everyone except for one patient. I was even able to tell my attending about a disease one of our patients had since he wasn't able to read up on it during the weekend. For once, I had read about it. We didn't break for lunch until 1:30 and I was very tired and hungry, but I felt good. The rest of the day was no exception. By the time evening signout rolled around, I was quirky and cooky and back to my old self, having fun with medicine.
What does this have to do with that tennis match so many years ago? It really is ALL about attitude in how your approach your day. You can go for it - you can give just a little bit more effort, or you can resign yourself to a losing score even before the last point has been played. I wonder how that match may have ended if I had been serving that day, or if the ball somehow happened to come my way near the net. I had the right attitude, the one required to get the win. Maybe a bit too much of a sports cliche here, but I kinda liked how my day ended :) See, that's a smile!
Sunday, February 04, 2007
More than halfway
It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm checking my schedule online. After this week, there are only 5 more rotations before I become a second year resident. I remember checking my schedule online at the very beginning of intern year, wondering how time would pass, wondering what I would be feeling as I moved closer to the end of the first year.
And now I'm here, over halfway through, feeling mixed emotions.
I know I have gained confidence in my abilities. I can carry a heavy patient load. I can assess as to whether a child needs immediate care or not. I know I can handle working nights. I know I can use what little time off I do have to take care of myself. I know I can make time for the important things in my life such as friends, family, music and the spiritual side of me.
Even though all of this is true, there are many many moments of self-doubt and even envy. There are so many times that I wish I was smarter. I wish I had thought of things sooner that my upper level or attending brings up on rounds. I wish I had more time to read when I have time off. There are even times I doubt my choice of profession. And I envy others with things that I don't have, like those who have that special someone in their lives who will never leave them and stick with them even during these tough times. Those who have different professions that allow them to have weekends off (I CANNOT for the life of me imagine a life with weekends off!).
Sometimes I wonder how it is that at this more-than-halfway-through mark, that I'm not more competent that I am. Have I really learned anything at all in 7 months?
It does get lonely. Those are the feelings that I hate and dread the most. Those nights on call, when the hospital is more quiet than it is during the day, and you get the call by the nurse and it's a lonely walk up to the 5th floor to assess the child. It's during those times that I wish I had someone to call and talk to.
But I can't stop, and I don't want to stop. I love my job. I love medicine. I love the challenges and the patients and the families. I love the weird presentations and the intellectual quest to figure things out. I love the times when I get to steal chocolate ice cream from 5 East the night I'm on call. I also love working with my collegues who challenge me to do better every day. I love seeing my patients get better and go home. I love making the diagnosis!
I can't stop, and I don't want to stop. Residency hasn't beaten it out of me yet and hopefully never will. There's too much more that I want to learn. And I've got a bit more that I want to show off to the world of medicine.
And now I'm here, over halfway through, feeling mixed emotions.
I know I have gained confidence in my abilities. I can carry a heavy patient load. I can assess as to whether a child needs immediate care or not. I know I can handle working nights. I know I can use what little time off I do have to take care of myself. I know I can make time for the important things in my life such as friends, family, music and the spiritual side of me.
Even though all of this is true, there are many many moments of self-doubt and even envy. There are so many times that I wish I was smarter. I wish I had thought of things sooner that my upper level or attending brings up on rounds. I wish I had more time to read when I have time off. There are even times I doubt my choice of profession. And I envy others with things that I don't have, like those who have that special someone in their lives who will never leave them and stick with them even during these tough times. Those who have different professions that allow them to have weekends off (I CANNOT for the life of me imagine a life with weekends off!).
Sometimes I wonder how it is that at this more-than-halfway-through mark, that I'm not more competent that I am. Have I really learned anything at all in 7 months?
It does get lonely. Those are the feelings that I hate and dread the most. Those nights on call, when the hospital is more quiet than it is during the day, and you get the call by the nurse and it's a lonely walk up to the 5th floor to assess the child. It's during those times that I wish I had someone to call and talk to.
But I can't stop, and I don't want to stop. I love my job. I love medicine. I love the challenges and the patients and the families. I love the weird presentations and the intellectual quest to figure things out. I love the times when I get to steal chocolate ice cream from 5 East the night I'm on call. I also love working with my collegues who challenge me to do better every day. I love seeing my patients get better and go home. I love making the diagnosis!
I can't stop, and I don't want to stop. Residency hasn't beaten it out of me yet and hopefully never will. There's too much more that I want to learn. And I've got a bit more that I want to show off to the world of medicine.
Friday, January 26, 2007
The Unintentional Utterance
I just called a parent to tell them the results of a test we did while their child was in the hospital. I got the answering maching, and remembering that the mother said it was ok to leave the result on the machine, I left a message indicating the result. What I did wrong was end the message with, "See you soon!" Hmm... not my best moment of internship, for sure!
On another note, one that is unrelated to the title of this post....
My co-intern, David Drossner would like to be mentioned on my blog so here goes: "David Drossner."
Well, I guess can tell you a bit about him. He's got ridiculously curly hair that would be as difficult to uncurl, I imagine, as a dog's tail. He never wears his white coat. He's from Florida. He's married (sorry to those of you who are turned on by the prominent alliteration). He can be found reading the NY times at Highland Bakery on post-call days. He feels that the hospital librarian is the best looking librarian he has ever met. He often answers to nicknames such as "Drossy" and "D-Ross." I hope I am not too revealing in these details about you, David. I expect a comment from you.
On another note, one that is unrelated to the title of this post....
My co-intern, David Drossner would like to be mentioned on my blog so here goes: "David Drossner."
Well, I guess can tell you a bit about him. He's got ridiculously curly hair that would be as difficult to uncurl, I imagine, as a dog's tail. He never wears his white coat. He's from Florida. He's married (sorry to those of you who are turned on by the prominent alliteration). He can be found reading the NY times at Highland Bakery on post-call days. He feels that the hospital librarian is the best looking librarian he has ever met. He often answers to nicknames such as "Drossy" and "D-Ross." I hope I am not too revealing in these details about you, David. I expect a comment from you.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Top 11 moments of 2006
Here they are, in chronological order:
1. Spending Jan 1. 2006 with Yasmin. YYYUMMY!
2. My brother's wedding in San Diego, CA on March 13, 2006 (specifically gettin' DOWN on the dance floor at the reception)
3. My whole India trip in April was fantastic, but the greatest moment of that trip I would have to say was buying a 100 rupees worth of vegetables at night and feeding the hungry stray cows on the side of the street with my own bare hands in the small holy town of Vrindavan. And then examining the vegetable-wala's foot after a cow stepped on his toe.
4. Backstage before graduation in May. I'll never forget how we all applauded each other before and during when we walked across the stage. We sure went through something very special with each other! I miss you guys! Oh, and I was so proud of Gonzo when he delivered an awesome speech, the best one of the night for sure. I also remembering jumping up and down with my diploma when I reached the end of the stage and gesturing to my family in the audience.
5. Getting ready with Yasmin and Ahila at Ahila's apartment before Nausheen's wedding. I was helping Y and A put on their sarees. Boy would that have sucked for them if I hadn't been there. he he. Boy did we look HOT! Oh and to go along with this, putting on the skit with Atul, Bunmi, Yasmin, Erica and Ahila was soooo much fun! We were pretty damn funny, if I do say so myself. I should find that skit and put it up on my blog.
6. Reconnecting with my friend Maggie in Connecticut when I interviewed at Yale. There is nothing more special than catching up with an old friend and discovering that you still love each other a lot.
7. Meeting my fellow interns on the first day of Orientation in July. I was so relieved to discover that everyone was so nice! Specifically, it was great meeting Anjali who lives so close to me now... we clicked right away and she is a very special friend to me. I also have to add that meeting Joyee is a top 10 2006 moment. I met her through a mutual friend and she really made me feel so much better about handling internship.
8. Surviving my first day of call = my first day of internship.
9. Intern retreat 2006! Sooo much fun!!!
10. Ice-skating in Olympic Centennial Park 2006. I didn't fall once!
11. Four days off for Christmas 2006, during which I spent time with my mom, dad and my brother, who I hadn't seen in 7 months. We had good food, good fun and a lot of laughs together.
1. Spending Jan 1. 2006 with Yasmin. YYYUMMY!
2. My brother's wedding in San Diego, CA on March 13, 2006 (specifically gettin' DOWN on the dance floor at the reception)
3. My whole India trip in April was fantastic, but the greatest moment of that trip I would have to say was buying a 100 rupees worth of vegetables at night and feeding the hungry stray cows on the side of the street with my own bare hands in the small holy town of Vrindavan. And then examining the vegetable-wala's foot after a cow stepped on his toe.
4. Backstage before graduation in May. I'll never forget how we all applauded each other before and during when we walked across the stage. We sure went through something very special with each other! I miss you guys! Oh, and I was so proud of Gonzo when he delivered an awesome speech, the best one of the night for sure. I also remembering jumping up and down with my diploma when I reached the end of the stage and gesturing to my family in the audience.
5. Getting ready with Yasmin and Ahila at Ahila's apartment before Nausheen's wedding. I was helping Y and A put on their sarees. Boy would that have sucked for them if I hadn't been there. he he. Boy did we look HOT! Oh and to go along with this, putting on the skit with Atul, Bunmi, Yasmin, Erica and Ahila was soooo much fun! We were pretty damn funny, if I do say so myself. I should find that skit and put it up on my blog.
6. Reconnecting with my friend Maggie in Connecticut when I interviewed at Yale. There is nothing more special than catching up with an old friend and discovering that you still love each other a lot.
7. Meeting my fellow interns on the first day of Orientation in July. I was so relieved to discover that everyone was so nice! Specifically, it was great meeting Anjali who lives so close to me now... we clicked right away and she is a very special friend to me. I also have to add that meeting Joyee is a top 10 2006 moment. I met her through a mutual friend and she really made me feel so much better about handling internship.
8. Surviving my first day of call = my first day of internship.
9. Intern retreat 2006! Sooo much fun!!!
10. Ice-skating in Olympic Centennial Park 2006. I didn't fall once!
11. Four days off for Christmas 2006, during which I spent time with my mom, dad and my brother, who I hadn't seen in 7 months. We had good food, good fun and a lot of laughs together.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)