bumski

At an interview for residency last week I was embarrassed and slightly ashamed of an answer I had to a question I was asked. What would I be if I couldn't be a doctor...or a writer? That's when the two simple words formed in the swirl of my biggest dreams and gushed onto my too quick lips.
Ski bum.
I was mortified that the words had flown from my mouth. Where was the super impressive overachieving anxiety ridden older child that typically roars her head at these types of encounters with adults and their questions pregnant with proud assumptions. She had stepped out of the room and I had slipped. Let the real me out. Biggest dream, to become a ski bum. But I guess that's the point of the interview, to get to know the person. So I got to know myself. And I realized then that I'm not a let down. I'm me.

big fried heart attacks

Cushing, Oklahoma is a small community where the biggest attractions are the Buckhorn Bar, purple sunsets, and the platter sized chicken fried steak at the local Steer Inn restaurant. The thought of leaving the Big Apple to complete my Rural Family Medicine rotation in this tiny town was not exactly appealing to me on initial inspection. My family has deep roots in the community, however, and for that reason I chose to complete my rotation at the Cushing Regional Hospital. During my four weeks spent in the town I cared for ICU patients, completed well-child evaluations, performed circumcisions, and provided obstetric care. I learned more about the practice of medicine during that month than during any other clinical elective in medical school. However, more than the methods of medical treatment, I learned about community. I learned that to me medicine means more than treating disease. It means treating people. This is accomplished by getting to know patients and their families. I learned there is truth in the saying “It takes a town to raise a child” and, similarly, I realized it requires a community with a big heart to care for and provide support to patients. I quickly understood that the citizens of Cushing have these big hearts. Even if they are deep fried and served with gravy.

Wax

This afternoon I worked in an Otology clinic, aka an afternoon of cleaning out wax from the ears of the geriatric population. To some this would seem like a nightmare. Old people smell funky and they are constantly wearing garments that double as table cloths. They tell these unnecessarily long stories about animals that they supposedly own, although they can't accurately recall the last time they saw the pet. The hairs they grow from their ear canals are an appropriate length for wig donation. But even through the thick stench of mothballs (what are those made of anyway?) I can't get enough of old people earwax. I removed thick orange cerumen from the floppy ears of Herbert and Helen Sunshine. Both over 85 and both with big ears and in grave need of hearing aids. We spent 30 minutes together in which I learned all about their cats Mario and Luigi and how Helen makes Herbert sleep with Luigi on the couch because of his bad snoring habit. I was so happy listening to them loudly argue in that "i love you so much i hate you" kinda way. I really was happy there. And I began to understand the importance of owning up to your biggest passions and being honest with yourself and others about the things you enjoy and desire. So hear I go. I love old people. And I love ear wax.

I love NYC.

i've been a new yorker for one week and I'm already exhausted. but it's a good exhausted. like when you've just finished the tour de france and you can't quite decide if you have legs down there anymore and you are certain you deserve five quarts of mint chocolate chip. Only my only exercise is riding the subway at 4:45am every morning. But I love it. The residents and attendings at Montefiore Hospital are amazing teachers and surgeons. And they have been completely understanding about my getting lost in the labyrinth of 30 operating rooms. Highlight of the week was watching a robot perform a pharyngectomy on a patient with cancer. I've now decided I'm not going to practice medicine, instead I will purchase one of these robots and live my dreams off of his income. It will be a fulfilling relationship for both of us. The only down side to the Bronx rotation is that I don't think the east coast has gotten word of the 80 hour work week yet, as they are pushing 130 on a regular basis. So needless to say this weekend was long overdue, causing Valerie and I to live up every second of it. Friday was margaritas, quesadillas and lots of guacamole. Saturday was a morning of homemade eggs benedict, shopping for cardigans, and devouring cupcakes with with friends in Central Park. We started our evening at a wine tasting party at MOMA, an invite only event to welcome back The Starry Night to NYC. Our friend Robbie asked us to the party and we gladly welcomed Starry back with tasty complimentary wine and pretending to have something intelligent to say about VanGogh. Sunday was spent sleeping off the complimentary wine and ordering take out for every single meal. I love NYC.

Manhattan. Day One.

I arrived in NYC today for a month long rotation at Montefiore Hospital in the Bronx. My sister has graciously offered one half of her full size bed to me for the duration of the month and I could not be more excited to begin this adventure.
I began my first day in Manhattan by getting royally screwed by the "car service" man at LaGuardia. Turns out mom was right about it being a bad idea to get into a dark tinted SUV with a stranger. $55 and 30 minutes later I arrived at 128 W 73rd St...Val's apartment where she single handedly hauled my 70lb rolling bag to the 3rd story apartment front door. She has developed some amazing forearms during her time as a New Yorker.
We were starving and immediately headed to brunch at Alice's Tea Room where Val and I each had our own tiny tea pot full to the top with a lavender earl gray aroma and salmon eggs benedict with buttermilk scones and apple and asparagus sautee. Delish. After we stuffed ourselves we decided we couldn't leave without a cookie, and devoured two inch think peanut butter and oatmeal treats on our way back to 128. As we approached the apartment we noticed the yellow tape of a crime scene and NYCPD protecting soggy piles of money scattered across 73rd street. Immediately we realized this had been a bank robbery...and we were 10 minutes too late for the action. I was definitely nowhere near Kansas anymore.
The rest of our afternoon was spent walking Zampa down to the Hudson and Val doing her best to orient me along the daunting west shore of Manhattan. We also bought a 30 DAY METRO CARD!!! I can't believe I get to be a new yorker for a month! On the way home from the 1-2-3 stop at 72nd Valerie attempted to orient me to the subway system with sentences that to my ears sounded something like..."take the A to the B uptown, cross the 1-2-3 to the M, oh but then you'll have to transfer at the 2-4-5 and absolutely no body wants to transfer at the 2-4-5. So take the D to the 2 and exit downtown then turn left to uptown and over the bridge to the 7. But...whatever you do..don't take the 2-4-5 Blue train. That would ruin everything." I nodded and decided I'd likely be spending 5-6 hours memorizing the manhattan mapquest tonight.
Our evening was likely the most new york night possible. We put on our dresses and had wine at 128 then took one of the above mentioned trains to a Turkish restaurant in the upper east side. Zucchini pancakes are my new fetish. The Turkish have something good going on there. After our fill of pancakes and Turkish wine we walked to 55th to pick up our will call tickets for Susan Marshall Dance Company's modern dance exhibit. Turns out no one at 55th as ever heard of Susan Marshall as the correct address for Susan is somewhere around 19th St. So down town we went. All I can say about Susan is that she makes teacups and feathers look like the sexiest items you've ever seen. I think you may just have to see the show to understand. No worries about getting tickets. You're likely to be one of twenty people at the show.
After we had our fill of feathers we walked uptown to Oak Bar to meet Mary and Katie (Val's cute roomies) and a couple of other NYC girls. This is a place that even the term swanky insults. Val and I maneuvered our way through the tape to the door guard who managed to calculate our material worth with one look and ask us suspiciously if we were on the guest list. Valerie looked him right back and said, "ha. No." And he let us in.
Due to the absurdity of the next few hours of my life, I'm not entirely sure that they occurred. However I will recount the events as I believe they happened. Val and I were busy putting the moves on a non-English speaking, cardigan clad male when suddenly Hilary Duff pushed through the crowd with her mom, pop, body guard and BFF/Boyfriend stealer, Nicole Richie. For 2 hours we danced around Hilary's table and learned original Ace of Base choreaography from the cardigan guy. And at the end of the evening we sang happy birthday to Miss Duff as bartenders paraded around her booth with sparklers and thick slices of pink cake. I have attached a pic of Val, Katie and I at the Oak. I will add more pics soon.
So it's 4am and we're back at 128 and i'm sitting here amazed at the inaugerel events of my first 24hrs as a new yorker. But even more amazing is the location of the blister I have developed between my 3rd and 4th toes of my left foot. I'm afraid it may be the first of many. This is gonna be amazing.

at grandmas

I remember ChiChi
The way she shuffled out of the back bedroom in her satin nightgown, boobs hanging to her knees and she'd always need to scratch her belly and blow out lots of air with this high pitched wooing sound. Her eyes were squinty but then there's that smile like she loves us even though we dragged out all the blankets and all the doll houses, books, board games, movies and barbies. And Wonnie's on her way down the hall with our order of Dr. Pepper with the huge crescent ice cubes and that stew pot of popcorn. All the butter and salt soaked in on the very best pieces.

And after our bath we would sleep with ChiChi in her king bed with the mauve round pillows. we would all squeeze in and right before bed time Wonnie brought apples with the skin peeled all cut up like little moons and we would eat them and it didn't matter that we'd already brushed our teeth. mom would have made us brush again, but not here in the big bed next to ChiChi, who smelled like thick hydrangeas even at bedtime.

Charlotte

I found a homeless kitty.
there was leftover chocolate cake in the fridge.
she liked it so I let her in.
now i feed her canned liver and leave out water.
She is a horrible tawny brown and I feel sorry for her tail.
there's a poof right at the base and then it abrupty thins.
I am embarassed for her.
She makes me sneeze.
But she has good eyes and these long hairs coming out her ears.
And I think she's teaching me how to love.
Her sandpaper tongue licks my cheek and I think I'm falling in love.