I've been wasting time today, on my day off, since it's kind of cool, cloudy and rainy outside.
Though, if I were a smarter man, I'd have walked around in it, if only to remind me of Portland. Maybe I would have been able to fool myself into thinking that I was walking around in the Alphabet district... only steps away from my favorite sushi joint, where it's happy hour all day, every day. (i guess it's not really happy hour, just happy day, or days... without the Fonz though) or from my favorite microbrew and restaurant, The Laurelwood... where it feels like you're at an old friend's house... not just because of the service, but because it really is an old house, though the beer is much better than any friend has ever served me.
And, oh Lord... how I wish I could sit and have a burger at the Helvetia Tavern, with its thousands of hats hanging above my head.... forget to bring cash, and have to use the ATM there, sacrificing 7 dollars in fees to get a single crisp 20 dollar bill to pay for the best burger I've ever had, along with the several beers to wash it down.
From here, I'd be teasingly close to the coast, a surfboard and a post-session coffee at the best coffee shop known to this man; Waves Of Grain Bakery in Cannon Beach, OR. I could, yet again, pretend I'm the 8th Goonie... combing the beach and its caves for buried treasure. Walking along the ocean, befriending the countless dogs that happen to be running around unleashed, chasing Frisbees, tennis balls and other members of the same species.
I did none of these things, regrettably. However, I do not regret that I am here, in Milwaukee. I just miss Portland; I miss Oregon. I miss my old haunts, I miss my old friends... I miss parts of my old life.
I guess that's what pushed me to spend some time pointing and clicking on facebook, and other's 'blogs' this evening. Has it been long enough to term it nostalgia; the force that led me to this? It feels like ages ago at this point...... somehow.... ages since my last night on the lawn of the Donelson house; the last badminton match, the last study session, the last sushi night, the last night of wings... the last chat session.... the last drive away.
What I'm left remembering; what I'm left thinking, is that I made some great friends. I can't say I made 41.... though, I suppose some would claim such a virtue on facebook..... but I can say I made more than a handful. I can name them without thinking. I can tell you something personal about each of them... nothing bad.... but something that makes them uniquely them..... at least in my mind.... something that I always equate to their name, their face.... and their voice.
To be able to know this, makes me feel something that is better than good.
And this isn't something that is fleeting, superficial, or selfish. It is not to garner attention, or mere numbers. It is, simply because it is. Time and care made these friendships what they are. They were not made one night at a bar, through a friend of a friend of a friend, or on an internet site where a florid picture caught my eye; they were made in the proverbial trenches of friendship, of hardship, of obsession, of love... of devotion and tears.
This is why I laughed a sardonic laugh when I laid my eyes upon a friends' facebook profile who had 1,271 "friends." 'I dare you to name a quarter of those souls!' I thought.
but then i thought, could i name the same quarter of my 203 'friends?'
perhaps.
perhaps not.
Maybe I'd rather not know.
What I do know are the faces and stories of those who mean the most to me.... and, I bet that the person with the 1,271 acquaintances has a similar, much smaller group of people, whom she'll never forget, even when she's in the tightest grips of dementia some 70-plus years from now. She just points and clicks more than I do.... So, I decided that I should stop silently judging others, and just live.... and let live, or click.
Though, after I came to this conclusion, and was well with myself again... I began to wonder if I'm one of the quarter she'd be able to name?
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Maybe, I'd rather not know.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
details: crossing my t's and dotting my lower case j's
There are so many things that I'm enjoying at this point in my life. Most of them are simple pleasures; small victories that may go unnoticed to the casual observer, but are brightly shining stars in my eyes.
I have a new place of my own, albeit, one without a couch or a bed yet. I have a fold up lawn chair in the middle of my bare-naked looking living room. and, I sleep on a pile of surprisingly comfortable comforters, blankets and quilts that rest upon a roll-up foam camping mat. so, it doesn't quite feel like a home yet, but... it does feel like my home. and, it's nice, new and in a great area of downtown; The "Third Ward," where I have a view of the river, and a 2 minute walk to any number of coffee shops, restaurants, bars and local organic markets I could want.
I have cable... and I also have internet, which I am not stealing from a nearby neighbor... which has been the case for the past 3 or 4 years now. I don't even know what to watch and do.... I'm far too connected and far too entertained.
I'm working now, for the first time in 2 and a half years, at a place where I'm actually being paid. It's the all important C instead of the S that made that possible.
I'm really liking my job. There's such a mix of absolutely everything that medicine has to offer.... it's just wonderful. Broken bones, bleeding vaginas in pregnant mothers, gallstones, influenza, MI, liver failure, CVA, psych issues, DT's, lawnmower vs foot, stab wounds, urinary retention and of course the all important migraines and low back pain. It's keeping me on my toes, mainly because I'm running all over the place trying to keep up.
Milwaukee has pleasantly surprised me. It absolutely does have some character and some class. It's definitely more confined than Portland, meaning that these nice areas of Milwaukee are much smaller and segregated than that of Portland, which, in my mind, doesn't really have any bad areas.... well, even those that ARE "bad areas" really aren't that bad. It's just a different feel I suppose, and while I like the feel here in Milwaukee so far, I really do miss Portland.
And another thing that I found myself appreciating is the fact that I remembered the difference between Labyrinthitis and Vestibular Neuritis the other day.... which really came in handy when nailing down the diagnosis of one of my patients. It's all about the hearing loss....
anyway...... happy as a clam..... miss you all, and tired as can be after a good shift tonight... I'll be enjoying my middle of the week weekend the next two days.... goodnight.
I have a new place of my own, albeit, one without a couch or a bed yet. I have a fold up lawn chair in the middle of my bare-naked looking living room. and, I sleep on a pile of surprisingly comfortable comforters, blankets and quilts that rest upon a roll-up foam camping mat. so, it doesn't quite feel like a home yet, but... it does feel like my home. and, it's nice, new and in a great area of downtown; The "Third Ward," where I have a view of the river, and a 2 minute walk to any number of coffee shops, restaurants, bars and local organic markets I could want.
I have cable... and I also have internet, which I am not stealing from a nearby neighbor... which has been the case for the past 3 or 4 years now. I don't even know what to watch and do.... I'm far too connected and far too entertained.
I'm working now, for the first time in 2 and a half years, at a place where I'm actually being paid. It's the all important C instead of the S that made that possible.
I'm really liking my job. There's such a mix of absolutely everything that medicine has to offer.... it's just wonderful. Broken bones, bleeding vaginas in pregnant mothers, gallstones, influenza, MI, liver failure, CVA, psych issues, DT's, lawnmower vs foot, stab wounds, urinary retention and of course the all important migraines and low back pain. It's keeping me on my toes, mainly because I'm running all over the place trying to keep up.
Milwaukee has pleasantly surprised me. It absolutely does have some character and some class. It's definitely more confined than Portland, meaning that these nice areas of Milwaukee are much smaller and segregated than that of Portland, which, in my mind, doesn't really have any bad areas.... well, even those that ARE "bad areas" really aren't that bad. It's just a different feel I suppose, and while I like the feel here in Milwaukee so far, I really do miss Portland.
And another thing that I found myself appreciating is the fact that I remembered the difference between Labyrinthitis and Vestibular Neuritis the other day.... which really came in handy when nailing down the diagnosis of one of my patients. It's all about the hearing loss....
anyway...... happy as a clam..... miss you all, and tired as can be after a good shift tonight... I'll be enjoying my middle of the week weekend the next two days.... goodnight.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
The Real World: Milwaukee
I'm still alive.
I haven't forgotten how to write, type, or speak.
I just haven't been very good at doing it on this computer.
Here's a brief synopses of what's gone in the past few months, just to get you up to speed......
1. Graduated August 15th
2. Studied for the boards for 10 or so days
C. Took the boards
4. Worried about my pass/fail status on the boards for 48 hours
D. Sent myself into SVT when checking my scores on Thursday
E. Celebrated my rocking of the boards with a loud scream/shout, to which no one but myself was around to hear
6. Packed up everything that would fit into Betty and took off
7. 4 Days later, I found myself in Milwaukee at my new place.... moved in
H. Day after that, hopped a bus to Chicago O'Hare airport where i met my good friend Marit and headed to Frankfurt Germany
I. Spend 2 weeks in Germany, France, Switzerland and Austria.
8. Marveled at the beauty Europe had to offer
9. Reluctantly returned
10. Sat around and finished project A, so I could start project B, then begin project C. All of these things needed to be completed in sequential order for credentialing/licensing... NPI number, DEA #, state license.... blah blah blah.
J. DONE with all of that.
K. I start tomorrow, for real, on my own. I'm excited, and a bit nervous. But mostly excited. Plus, I need some money rolling in. (I spent too much in Europe, and I have no money for a couch, or a bed.)
Consequently, I'm sleeping on the floor.
But I'm really happy to have a floor, and a job, and now a daily purpose.
Say a prayer for me, recite a spell, wish me luck, or whatever it is that you would do to bestow wisdom, good fortune and luck upon me for tomorrow.
I haven't forgotten how to write, type, or speak.
I just haven't been very good at doing it on this computer.
Here's a brief synopses of what's gone in the past few months, just to get you up to speed......
1. Graduated August 15th
2. Studied for the boards for 10 or so days
C. Took the boards
4. Worried about my pass/fail status on the boards for 48 hours
D. Sent myself into SVT when checking my scores on Thursday
E. Celebrated my rocking of the boards with a loud scream/shout, to which no one but myself was around to hear
6. Packed up everything that would fit into Betty and took off
7. 4 Days later, I found myself in Milwaukee at my new place.... moved in
H. Day after that, hopped a bus to Chicago O'Hare airport where i met my good friend Marit and headed to Frankfurt Germany
I. Spend 2 weeks in Germany, France, Switzerland and Austria.
8. Marveled at the beauty Europe had to offer
9. Reluctantly returned
10. Sat around and finished project A, so I could start project B, then begin project C. All of these things needed to be completed in sequential order for credentialing/licensing... NPI number, DEA #, state license.... blah blah blah.
J. DONE with all of that.
K. I start tomorrow, for real, on my own. I'm excited, and a bit nervous. But mostly excited. Plus, I need some money rolling in. (I spent too much in Europe, and I have no money for a couch, or a bed.)
Consequently, I'm sleeping on the floor.
But I'm really happy to have a floor, and a job, and now a daily purpose.
Say a prayer for me, recite a spell, wish me luck, or whatever it is that you would do to bestow wisdom, good fortune and luck upon me for tomorrow.
Friday, May 8, 2009
My Kung-Fu Grip
I dremeled a guy's eyeball today.
Well, my computer is telling me by way of a red squiggly underlining, that drememled isn't a word.
So, i used a mini dremel-like tool to buzz away a rust ring on a guy's cornea. To get a good view, I got to use the slit lamp, which is like a specialized microscope; one that looks at eyeballs. During first year, it was the presenter of my most amazing memory.... quite possibly the most amazing thing I've ever seen. And, well, nerdy as it may be.... screw it... it was magical.
They cranked up the magnification so much, that the small blood vessels.... capillaries, in the whites of the volunteer's eye, looked like a red eight lane highway. Down that highway, which was projected on a tv screen in front of me, I saw a single red blood cell squeezing it's way down the capillary.
I couldn't believe it.
I know these things exist, i've seen illustrations, pictures in books from electron microscopes, and bloody wounds... but never anything like this. I don't know how to put it into words. My fellow classmates who were with me at the time, I'm sure can relate, and remember the feeling.... or maybe I'm blowing this way out of proportion... though I don't think so.
It was beautiful.
Circular, red, with a concave sort of center that made it appear as a red Certs mint. It moved with purpose, like a little soldier on a mission. It stretched the capillary as it squeezed it's way through the continually tightening tunnel. It actually contorted and squished, like a water-balloon being squeezed in your eager fist, ready to throw at your friend in the most epic of water-balloon fights.
So, needless to say I was excited when I learned that I could use the slit lamp today... and the burr, mini-dremel, tool.
Wait, you say I need to drill a little hole in this guy's eye? I say, YES.
Twisted? maybe. but, it wouldn't hurt him, as I'd numb his eye... and it would help him feel better. Everything goes off without a hitch, my hand stays steady, as we're dealing with millimeters between success and essentially popping this guy's eye. I didn't pop it.
It was a great day.
I came home to a sunny backyard, where I fired up the grill, and placed my 3 separate kabobs, which I had painstakingly cut, seasoned and skewered while talking to my folks on the phone. They cooked perfectly.... some slight charring on the red peppers and onions... properly roasted garlic, and juicy chicken.... Oh my sweet Jebus, they look so good. I decide to celebrate my mini-victory of a day with a beer to top off my meal.... and what's this? Spicy peanut sauce to dip my kabobs in? why yes, i will put some in a small dipping sauce type bowl....
I stack the mini bowl on the top of my 3 kabobs which lay atop a quite normal circular plate. the Sierra Nevada goes in my right hand... it is my right hand man, after all... This celebration is going upstairs, to watch the twins absolutely destroy the Mariners....
could it get any sweete.... AHO..EEEEE..WHOA!!!!!!!
"Son-of-a!" I say with a thud.
As i look at the mess i've just created, and think of the streak of not falling up the stairs that I had just snapped... I'm so bummed, disappointed and somehow amused. There's more tai peanut sauce on my pant-leg than is left in the mini serving bowl, and possibly even more on the hardwood floor... i realize my left elbow is slightly scraped, as I must have gone down hard... or at least awkwardly, in my partly unsuccessful attempt to save my food and beer from tumbling down the stairs. One kabob is completely laying on the ground in front of my face, which is nearly resting on the floor... I'm face to face with my dinner, on the floor. The first thing I think, as I'm staring at my floor dinner is, "I'm still gunna eat you."
The beer bottle is still upright in the GI-Joe Kung-Fu grip of my right hand, though it's much less full than it used to be, as it's foamed over the brim, and is still running down my hand and creating an ever growing puddle of beer on the landing, which is just one step above the more viscous, albeit less mobile, puddle of tai peanut sauce. "I'm not going to eat you."
"What happened?" I hear Rich say, from the kitchen.
"I fell up the stairs." I reply.
"Did Jacob get in your way?" He flicks back... Jacob's the cat. and, though I wish I could blame this on Jacob, I cannot. As I peeled myself from the newly appointed dinner table, I turn to look down the stairs, and that grey and white Jacob, with his little purple collar, is sitting politely at the bottom of the stairs, just staring at me.
The ONE time cat! the ONE time you don't weave your way between my legs as i walk up the stairs... the ONE TIME! How many times my coffee has nearly spilled on your pristine white coat because of your shenanigans... but this time, nothing? did you cast a spell on me? was this some sort of ju-ju???? what's UP Jacob?
"No, I wish I could blame it on him... Just a good old fashioned tripped over my own foot." I answer back, as i'm picking my dinner up off the floor.
After cleaning up my mess, and eating my dinner, without the slightest hesitation... I think about how if this is the worst thing about my day.... I'm a really lucky schlub.
That being said, I came to a few conclusions today-
Jacob's some kind of Gypsy-cat, and this was his revenge for me not ever letting him in my room.
I'll eat food off the floor, without hesitation... and i'm not ashamed of it.
I still tend to trip up the stairs, rather than down.
and
I'm a really lucky schlub, and I try not to take that for granted.... i mean, how is it that I was so careful and precise today with my patient's eye, but I can wipe out just walking up the stairs? I'll fall up the stairs every day if that's where my clumsiness decides to manifest itself.
Well, my computer is telling me by way of a red squiggly underlining, that drememled isn't a word.
So, i used a mini dremel-like tool to buzz away a rust ring on a guy's cornea. To get a good view, I got to use the slit lamp, which is like a specialized microscope; one that looks at eyeballs. During first year, it was the presenter of my most amazing memory.... quite possibly the most amazing thing I've ever seen. And, well, nerdy as it may be.... screw it... it was magical.
They cranked up the magnification so much, that the small blood vessels.... capillaries, in the whites of the volunteer's eye, looked like a red eight lane highway. Down that highway, which was projected on a tv screen in front of me, I saw a single red blood cell squeezing it's way down the capillary.
I couldn't believe it.
I know these things exist, i've seen illustrations, pictures in books from electron microscopes, and bloody wounds... but never anything like this. I don't know how to put it into words. My fellow classmates who were with me at the time, I'm sure can relate, and remember the feeling.... or maybe I'm blowing this way out of proportion... though I don't think so.
It was beautiful.
Circular, red, with a concave sort of center that made it appear as a red Certs mint. It moved with purpose, like a little soldier on a mission. It stretched the capillary as it squeezed it's way through the continually tightening tunnel. It actually contorted and squished, like a water-balloon being squeezed in your eager fist, ready to throw at your friend in the most epic of water-balloon fights.
So, needless to say I was excited when I learned that I could use the slit lamp today... and the burr, mini-dremel, tool.
Wait, you say I need to drill a little hole in this guy's eye? I say, YES.
Twisted? maybe. but, it wouldn't hurt him, as I'd numb his eye... and it would help him feel better. Everything goes off without a hitch, my hand stays steady, as we're dealing with millimeters between success and essentially popping this guy's eye. I didn't pop it.
It was a great day.
I came home to a sunny backyard, where I fired up the grill, and placed my 3 separate kabobs, which I had painstakingly cut, seasoned and skewered while talking to my folks on the phone. They cooked perfectly.... some slight charring on the red peppers and onions... properly roasted garlic, and juicy chicken.... Oh my sweet Jebus, they look so good. I decide to celebrate my mini-victory of a day with a beer to top off my meal.... and what's this? Spicy peanut sauce to dip my kabobs in? why yes, i will put some in a small dipping sauce type bowl....
I stack the mini bowl on the top of my 3 kabobs which lay atop a quite normal circular plate. the Sierra Nevada goes in my right hand... it is my right hand man, after all... This celebration is going upstairs, to watch the twins absolutely destroy the Mariners....
could it get any sweete.... AHO..EEEEE..WHOA!!!!!!!
"Son-of-a!" I say with a thud.
As i look at the mess i've just created, and think of the streak of not falling up the stairs that I had just snapped... I'm so bummed, disappointed and somehow amused. There's more tai peanut sauce on my pant-leg than is left in the mini serving bowl, and possibly even more on the hardwood floor... i realize my left elbow is slightly scraped, as I must have gone down hard... or at least awkwardly, in my partly unsuccessful attempt to save my food and beer from tumbling down the stairs. One kabob is completely laying on the ground in front of my face, which is nearly resting on the floor... I'm face to face with my dinner, on the floor. The first thing I think, as I'm staring at my floor dinner is, "I'm still gunna eat you."
The beer bottle is still upright in the GI-Joe Kung-Fu grip of my right hand, though it's much less full than it used to be, as it's foamed over the brim, and is still running down my hand and creating an ever growing puddle of beer on the landing, which is just one step above the more viscous, albeit less mobile, puddle of tai peanut sauce. "I'm not going to eat you."
"What happened?" I hear Rich say, from the kitchen.
"I fell up the stairs." I reply.
"Did Jacob get in your way?" He flicks back... Jacob's the cat. and, though I wish I could blame this on Jacob, I cannot. As I peeled myself from the newly appointed dinner table, I turn to look down the stairs, and that grey and white Jacob, with his little purple collar, is sitting politely at the bottom of the stairs, just staring at me.
The ONE time cat! the ONE time you don't weave your way between my legs as i walk up the stairs... the ONE TIME! How many times my coffee has nearly spilled on your pristine white coat because of your shenanigans... but this time, nothing? did you cast a spell on me? was this some sort of ju-ju???? what's UP Jacob?
"No, I wish I could blame it on him... Just a good old fashioned tripped over my own foot." I answer back, as i'm picking my dinner up off the floor.
After cleaning up my mess, and eating my dinner, without the slightest hesitation... I think about how if this is the worst thing about my day.... I'm a really lucky schlub.
That being said, I came to a few conclusions today-
Jacob's some kind of Gypsy-cat, and this was his revenge for me not ever letting him in my room.
I'll eat food off the floor, without hesitation... and i'm not ashamed of it.
I still tend to trip up the stairs, rather than down.
and
I'm a really lucky schlub, and I try not to take that for granted.... i mean, how is it that I was so careful and precise today with my patient's eye, but I can wipe out just walking up the stairs? I'll fall up the stairs every day if that's where my clumsiness decides to manifest itself.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
It's pronounced "mill-e-wah-que" which is Algonquin for "the good land."
I hate flying.
I'm not afraid of flying; in fact, I like the flying part. At one point in my life, i flew a single engine plane with a couple friends of mine, who were pilots. Now, when I say that i flew the plane, they let me monkey with the pedals and pull up and down on the yoke. It was fun, so were the stalls that we did, as i was weightless for a few seconds at a time.
but that's a whole other story; one of the Apostle Islands, mopeds, cliff jumping and failed relationships. it's a good'en.
unfortunately the most recent flight was on a commercial airline from Spokane to Milwaukee, via Denver...
I hate waiting at the airport. I hate lines. I hate security. I hate the people that just don't get it...
"You're really going to try to shove that bag in the overhead bin? How did they let you bring that monstrosity on the plane?!?!"
and the people who just can't seem to understand how to efficiently put a bag away and sit down. Don't worry, ma'am, about the gigantic line building behind you as you fiddle with your bags and spend unnecessary time in the aisle, doing things that you could do in your seat.
I hate how we're herded into the plane... like bums onto a glorified greyhound bus; one with unbelievably high prices....
"Can I get you something to drink?"
No, no I'm not thirsty, nor are 70% of these people, but for some reason, we take your 6 oz cup of soda, which is mostly ice.
I don't anymore... I just wish someone would slip me a roofie, so i could sleep the flight away. but, as it turns out, I'm not an attractive girl, and this is not a creepy bar... so I'm out of luck.
who gets the armrests? when you're in the middle seat, i think you should get both, and the aisle and window seat should get just the one armrest.... how do we resolve this situation? and how the hell is it possible for you to be kicking my seat so much?!?! what could you possibly be doing back there to cause such a ruckus!?!? we are on the same flight, yeah? what could you possibly need to do that would cause this? i mean, you're not physically flapping your arms to keep us in flight, are you? maybe you're building a fort? or are you telling a story of the great 1906 earthquake of San Francisco, complete with an emphatic reenactment involving my chair.... or maybe you're a little chil--- nope... nope, you're a full grown adult.
HOW are you so oblivious?
finally, make it to milwaukee, hating flying as usual.
my friend andy is waiting for me in the terminal... i'm feeling better already... good to see a familiar face, an old friend. one that i might be working with in the future. He's a PA in the ER where I'll be interviewing tomorrow.
Interview goes well, really well. Got an offer... it's a great deal all around.
I get home, and I decide to take a few days to think it over.
In the end, I decide I'd be stupid not to take it, though it's in Milwaukee WI, not exactly where I want to end up... everything else is ideal. and, milwaukee pleasantly surprised me.
I then, last night, get a call from the surgeon I worked with in CV surgery in Portland. We talk for a few minutes, which was great... I really like this guy. Which is, in part, why I asked him to be a reference for me.
"Chris, I'd be happy to be a reference for you, wherever you decide to apply, but I'd be happier if you tore up your resume, and came to work for us."
crap.
i really loved it there. it's time to make some decisions, and as my oh so favorite president once said, "I'm the decider, and I decide what's best."
Thanks W, I'm going to try and channel your wisdom and decisiveness to make the right call.
I'm not afraid of flying; in fact, I like the flying part. At one point in my life, i flew a single engine plane with a couple friends of mine, who were pilots. Now, when I say that i flew the plane, they let me monkey with the pedals and pull up and down on the yoke. It was fun, so were the stalls that we did, as i was weightless for a few seconds at a time.
but that's a whole other story; one of the Apostle Islands, mopeds, cliff jumping and failed relationships. it's a good'en.
unfortunately the most recent flight was on a commercial airline from Spokane to Milwaukee, via Denver...
I hate waiting at the airport. I hate lines. I hate security. I hate the people that just don't get it...
"You're really going to try to shove that bag in the overhead bin? How did they let you bring that monstrosity on the plane?!?!"
and the people who just can't seem to understand how to efficiently put a bag away and sit down. Don't worry, ma'am, about the gigantic line building behind you as you fiddle with your bags and spend unnecessary time in the aisle, doing things that you could do in your seat.
I hate how we're herded into the plane... like bums onto a glorified greyhound bus; one with unbelievably high prices....
"Can I get you something to drink?"
No, no I'm not thirsty, nor are 70% of these people, but for some reason, we take your 6 oz cup of soda, which is mostly ice.
I don't anymore... I just wish someone would slip me a roofie, so i could sleep the flight away. but, as it turns out, I'm not an attractive girl, and this is not a creepy bar... so I'm out of luck.
who gets the armrests? when you're in the middle seat, i think you should get both, and the aisle and window seat should get just the one armrest.... how do we resolve this situation? and how the hell is it possible for you to be kicking my seat so much?!?! what could you possibly be doing back there to cause such a ruckus!?!? we are on the same flight, yeah? what could you possibly need to do that would cause this? i mean, you're not physically flapping your arms to keep us in flight, are you? maybe you're building a fort? or are you telling a story of the great 1906 earthquake of San Francisco, complete with an emphatic reenactment involving my chair.... or maybe you're a little chil--- nope... nope, you're a full grown adult.
HOW are you so oblivious?
finally, make it to milwaukee, hating flying as usual.
my friend andy is waiting for me in the terminal... i'm feeling better already... good to see a familiar face, an old friend. one that i might be working with in the future. He's a PA in the ER where I'll be interviewing tomorrow.
Interview goes well, really well. Got an offer... it's a great deal all around.
I get home, and I decide to take a few days to think it over.
In the end, I decide I'd be stupid not to take it, though it's in Milwaukee WI, not exactly where I want to end up... everything else is ideal. and, milwaukee pleasantly surprised me.
I then, last night, get a call from the surgeon I worked with in CV surgery in Portland. We talk for a few minutes, which was great... I really like this guy. Which is, in part, why I asked him to be a reference for me.
"Chris, I'd be happy to be a reference for you, wherever you decide to apply, but I'd be happier if you tore up your resume, and came to work for us."
crap.
i really loved it there. it's time to make some decisions, and as my oh so favorite president once said, "I'm the decider, and I decide what's best."
Thanks W, I'm going to try and channel your wisdom and decisiveness to make the right call.
Friday, May 1, 2009
I haven't seen the light... like that forced upon you
Today, I met a serial killer.
I think that this is a first for me. Though, I suppose I can't be certain.
I have watched the show 'Dexter' and that guy hides it well. But, he killed baddies, baddies like the guy I met today. The premise of the show is that this man, named Dexter, who works for the police, as a forensic photographer, or something along those lines, is actually a serial killer. He was born with this affliction, which is portrayed as a disease which he cannot control, like the involuntary movements of Parkinson's... or the undeniable urge to move your restless legs, for which the syndrome was aptly named. Though he cannot resist the urge to kill, he's learned to channel his disease to only kill those deserved of death, like the aforementioned serial killer - rapist... who after using up his prey, buried them in shallow, Alabama soil, graves. Left to be consumed by the land. In the show, Dexter has a conscience, has common decency, morals; he's depicted as a vigilante of sorts. A killer of killers.
This man was just a killer.
and today, he had a killer 'migraine.' A migraine that made him declare a medical emergency. This is prison's version of saying "I need to go to the ER." Though, this means that they see us first, and we decide what needs to be done, whether it be treat and street, admit to our inpatient unit, or send to the hospital.
I was warned that this man was "really creepy" and was told of his crimes. Nobody seemed to want to even lay eyes on him, not the provider, not the nurse.... they asked if i'd be comfortable, and i said yea...
I think I had prepared myself to meet Hannibal Lector, or maybe his evil twin.... so, when this short, pudgy, pear shaped man came hobbling into the medical unit.... I was surprised. His salt and pepper hair, transitions lenses, khaki jumpsuit and clean white New Balance's made him all the less intimidating. The lenses were still somewhat shaded as he had just entered from the sunny outdoors which contrasted the darkness that still surrounded this man... at least, in my perception.... this shaped after hearing stories of his crimes, and witnessing the staff's reaction when they knew he was outside, just waiting.
I led him into the trauma room, which was unnecessary, but, my preceptor didn't want him back in her office, because she was so put off by him.... and she's no fragile lotus blossom.
I had him take a seat in the chair where 'Kevin', one of the nurses had told me, before I called the killer in, "The chair's for him, the stool's for you," this, as if it was of prime importance I sit on the stool and Hannibal on the chair. It was so very planned, deliberate... careful..... as if I allowed the criminal to sit in the stool, he may be able to pry off a piece of metal from the old stool, hold me hostage, or use it to jimmy open the locks to free himself and go back to his murderous ways.
it was strange.
He sat in his assigned seat as instructed by me.
I reached out my hand to shake his as I sat down.... "Hey, my name is Chris. I'm a PA student working with 'Billy Jean' today... I hear you have a roaring headache...." I say as I shake the same hand that ended more than a few lives, and subsequently piled the earth upon their vacant bodies.
I got no chills... no creepy feelings or fear. It was just strange. Strange as I tried to picture this very non-threatening 50-something man raping, killing, and repeating. It was amazing to me that he could do these things, and still sit across from me, and complain of his headache... that he could rape and kill, not just once, but many times, and then sit feet away from me, and simply complain of his headache, then knees, then vision, then back, then neck..... as if he carried no weight, responsibility or guilt for what he had done. It seems to me that one should be tormented by the things that they've done, such things as these.... and they should be unable to function normally.
How could he go on with his life normally? He should be tormented by the things he's done... by the ghosts of those who's lives he's ruined. Instead, he's tormented by chronic pain; pain not limited only to his migraines.
It's just occurred to me now, that maybe this chronic pain, maybe these ailments are the haunting of the stolen souls. maybe this is their retribution, and his penance. Who knows....
In any case, I didn't feel bad when after learning that he had significant photophobia, i still needed to complete a cranial nerve exam, which includes flashing a light in his eyes to check pupillary reaction. Now, I didn't do this simply to cause him pain... I would have had to do it with anyone with this same complaint of a migraine.... but, with other folks, i may have felt bad. with him.... not so much.
After the first flash of light in his left eye, I see constriction and right pupillary accommodation... I go to the right side, and see the same.... exam done... or, it could have been done. I rechecked my work on more time, just to be sure.
"Sorry, I know that bothers you."
I sort of am sorry, somehow... still not entirely sure how. I think if i knew his crimes in detail... knew those affected by his actions... i wouldn't be sorry.... not in the least. but, without this knowledge, and the time or desire to imagine his evil deeds in great detail, I can't bring myself to hate him.
though, i am miles away from pitying him, empathizing with him, or caring whether or not he's in pain.
I guess, even though I made him see the light, he still hasn't seen the light.... neither have I.
I think that this is a first for me. Though, I suppose I can't be certain.
I have watched the show 'Dexter' and that guy hides it well. But, he killed baddies, baddies like the guy I met today. The premise of the show is that this man, named Dexter, who works for the police, as a forensic photographer, or something along those lines, is actually a serial killer. He was born with this affliction, which is portrayed as a disease which he cannot control, like the involuntary movements of Parkinson's... or the undeniable urge to move your restless legs, for which the syndrome was aptly named. Though he cannot resist the urge to kill, he's learned to channel his disease to only kill those deserved of death, like the aforementioned serial killer - rapist... who after using up his prey, buried them in shallow, Alabama soil, graves. Left to be consumed by the land. In the show, Dexter has a conscience, has common decency, morals; he's depicted as a vigilante of sorts. A killer of killers.
This man was just a killer.
and today, he had a killer 'migraine.' A migraine that made him declare a medical emergency. This is prison's version of saying "I need to go to the ER." Though, this means that they see us first, and we decide what needs to be done, whether it be treat and street, admit to our inpatient unit, or send to the hospital.
I was warned that this man was "really creepy" and was told of his crimes. Nobody seemed to want to even lay eyes on him, not the provider, not the nurse.... they asked if i'd be comfortable, and i said yea...
I think I had prepared myself to meet Hannibal Lector, or maybe his evil twin.... so, when this short, pudgy, pear shaped man came hobbling into the medical unit.... I was surprised. His salt and pepper hair, transitions lenses, khaki jumpsuit and clean white New Balance's made him all the less intimidating. The lenses were still somewhat shaded as he had just entered from the sunny outdoors which contrasted the darkness that still surrounded this man... at least, in my perception.... this shaped after hearing stories of his crimes, and witnessing the staff's reaction when they knew he was outside, just waiting.
I led him into the trauma room, which was unnecessary, but, my preceptor didn't want him back in her office, because she was so put off by him.... and she's no fragile lotus blossom.
I had him take a seat in the chair where 'Kevin', one of the nurses had told me, before I called the killer in, "The chair's for him, the stool's for you," this, as if it was of prime importance I sit on the stool and Hannibal on the chair. It was so very planned, deliberate... careful..... as if I allowed the criminal to sit in the stool, he may be able to pry off a piece of metal from the old stool, hold me hostage, or use it to jimmy open the locks to free himself and go back to his murderous ways.
it was strange.
He sat in his assigned seat as instructed by me.
I reached out my hand to shake his as I sat down.... "Hey, my name is Chris. I'm a PA student working with 'Billy Jean' today... I hear you have a roaring headache...." I say as I shake the same hand that ended more than a few lives, and subsequently piled the earth upon their vacant bodies.
I got no chills... no creepy feelings or fear. It was just strange. Strange as I tried to picture this very non-threatening 50-something man raping, killing, and repeating. It was amazing to me that he could do these things, and still sit across from me, and complain of his headache... that he could rape and kill, not just once, but many times, and then sit feet away from me, and simply complain of his headache, then knees, then vision, then back, then neck..... as if he carried no weight, responsibility or guilt for what he had done. It seems to me that one should be tormented by the things that they've done, such things as these.... and they should be unable to function normally.
How could he go on with his life normally? He should be tormented by the things he's done... by the ghosts of those who's lives he's ruined. Instead, he's tormented by chronic pain; pain not limited only to his migraines.
It's just occurred to me now, that maybe this chronic pain, maybe these ailments are the haunting of the stolen souls. maybe this is their retribution, and his penance. Who knows....
In any case, I didn't feel bad when after learning that he had significant photophobia, i still needed to complete a cranial nerve exam, which includes flashing a light in his eyes to check pupillary reaction. Now, I didn't do this simply to cause him pain... I would have had to do it with anyone with this same complaint of a migraine.... but, with other folks, i may have felt bad. with him.... not so much.
After the first flash of light in his left eye, I see constriction and right pupillary accommodation... I go to the right side, and see the same.... exam done... or, it could have been done. I rechecked my work on more time, just to be sure.
"Sorry, I know that bothers you."
I sort of am sorry, somehow... still not entirely sure how. I think if i knew his crimes in detail... knew those affected by his actions... i wouldn't be sorry.... not in the least. but, without this knowledge, and the time or desire to imagine his evil deeds in great detail, I can't bring myself to hate him.
though, i am miles away from pitying him, empathizing with him, or caring whether or not he's in pain.
I guess, even though I made him see the light, he still hasn't seen the light.... neither have I.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Sultan of 9th Avenue
I see you standing there...
I saw you walking towards Betty and me when we pulled up.
Just standing there, waiting. waiting for me to get out of my car....
You don't look friendly. I don't think you want to chat about the weather, the current situation with the taliban in Pakistan, or the craigslist murderer.... let alone welcome me to the neighborhood. I feel like you want to give me a piece of your fat little mind.
As you waddle up to the curb, I try to decide if I'm going to say what I want to say, or if I'll be nice. I pretend to not see you, but I see you.... You and your gaudy golden jewelry, horrible flowery outfit, flowing... stupid.... shirt, and fat woman pants. You're wearing far too much makeup, and it's not helping. You're not 18 anymore, though you seem to be trying to appear that way... and as soon as you open your mouth, I realize that you have certainly not matured past that numeric age. Well, your mind hasn't, but, much to your dismay - and against your best efforts, your body has. Now, no, you're not old, not by any stretch. you're just not young... and you need to act your age.
"Um, are you staying here permanently, or just temporarily?"
AAHHHHHHHHH! I knew it.... this friggin' pageant mom is going to pull squatters on the street parking.
"Excuse me?" I say, trying to hide my fury. (Betty begs, "Unleash the fury, Mitch... i mean, Chris")
Actually, it was the air-ride equalling out after i stepped out of the car. If I had looked at the dash a green light would have been on, stating that the "Car is Leveling." From the outside, it sounds like a growl. and, it was, in my mind, Betty demonstrating her displeasure at the Jaba-the-Hut impersonator inconveniencing us.
"Well, do you live here, or are you just visiting?" She tried to clarify.
"Oh, I'm living right there across the street." I say, pointing at the big, old house, directly across the city street. It's a pretty house, a sage green, huge...over 4000 square feet. The guy I'm renting from now is fixing it up inside and out. It seems that many of the people on the street have done the same. It's a nice neighborhood. It's sort of analogous to a neighborhood in uptown minneapolis, for those familiar. and, maybe some SE hood in Portland. There are nice, big old homes, sidewalks, and wide streets. These streets are where everyone parks their cars, as the homes don't have driveways. It's not metered, or signed with "2 hour parking" or anything of that nature. It's welcoming, sign free, and fee free.
Like I said, it's a nice hood, except for this one troll.
"Well, see, I'm a homeowner... (good for you, turd) and I live right there" as she points to the house nearest Betty from which she emerged, "aahhhhh, I like to have this place to park, because well, you know, ah, i get groceries... and it's, ah, easier to carry them from here."
I look up, down, and across the street... there are spots EVERYWHERE within a spitting distance. The only reason I parked right HERE is that i was traveling this direction down the street as I returned from work, and it was the closest open spot, without turning around, to my place.
While I stare in amazement, she continues, "and I have an 18 year old daughter, and she gets home at night, and, ah, it's easier for her to park right here..." (I'm sorry your adult daughter is either mentally or physically impaired so terribly that she cannot park anywhere but directly in front of your house at night) "It's just easier for her."
Yea, like it was easier for me to park there.
"So, could you move?"
I'm fuming. The audacity of this lady! Who made you Sultan of the street? It's one thing if it's suburbia, where driveways abound, and there's only the occasional car on the street... then i can understand someone's request to not park in front of their place. but HERE? this is a city street, where the only place to park IS the street. it's fair game, Jaba.
I contain my anger. This is a silly, nothing, of an incident. It's nothing to get upset about. So, I act cordial, neighborly, and say, "Of course, no problem."
Furious... but you'd never know it.
Except for the guy who happened to be walking his dog up the street as I was getting a lecture on how and where to park. He heard the whole thing, and as I unlocked Betty and was about to hop back in I turn and make eye contact with him...
I give him this look as i roll my eyes and raise my brow....
he laughs, shrugs and says "What are ya gunna do?"
It made me feel better; at least he too thought this woman was out of line in her request.
I figure, I relented once, that's good enough. If it's easier for me to park there from now on, I will. Her only reasoning was that she 'gets groceries' and she's got a parking challenged daughter. I figure, her grand prix daughter has to learn sometime, and this woman couldn't possibly be getting groceries every day...
or wait... nevermind.
regardless, I'm still parking there. now, it's just out of spite.
I saw you walking towards Betty and me when we pulled up.
Just standing there, waiting. waiting for me to get out of my car....
You don't look friendly. I don't think you want to chat about the weather, the current situation with the taliban in Pakistan, or the craigslist murderer.... let alone welcome me to the neighborhood. I feel like you want to give me a piece of your fat little mind.
As you waddle up to the curb, I try to decide if I'm going to say what I want to say, or if I'll be nice. I pretend to not see you, but I see you.... You and your gaudy golden jewelry, horrible flowery outfit, flowing... stupid.... shirt, and fat woman pants. You're wearing far too much makeup, and it's not helping. You're not 18 anymore, though you seem to be trying to appear that way... and as soon as you open your mouth, I realize that you have certainly not matured past that numeric age. Well, your mind hasn't, but, much to your dismay - and against your best efforts, your body has. Now, no, you're not old, not by any stretch. you're just not young... and you need to act your age.
"Um, are you staying here permanently, or just temporarily?"
AAHHHHHHHHH! I knew it.... this friggin' pageant mom is going to pull squatters on the street parking.
"Excuse me?" I say, trying to hide my fury. (Betty begs, "Unleash the fury, Mitch... i mean, Chris")
Actually, it was the air-ride equalling out after i stepped out of the car. If I had looked at the dash a green light would have been on, stating that the "Car is Leveling." From the outside, it sounds like a growl. and, it was, in my mind, Betty demonstrating her displeasure at the Jaba-the-Hut impersonator inconveniencing us.
"Well, do you live here, or are you just visiting?" She tried to clarify.
"Oh, I'm living right there across the street." I say, pointing at the big, old house, directly across the city street. It's a pretty house, a sage green, huge...over 4000 square feet. The guy I'm renting from now is fixing it up inside and out. It seems that many of the people on the street have done the same. It's a nice neighborhood. It's sort of analogous to a neighborhood in uptown minneapolis, for those familiar. and, maybe some SE hood in Portland. There are nice, big old homes, sidewalks, and wide streets. These streets are where everyone parks their cars, as the homes don't have driveways. It's not metered, or signed with "2 hour parking" or anything of that nature. It's welcoming, sign free, and fee free.
Like I said, it's a nice hood, except for this one troll.
"Well, see, I'm a homeowner... (good for you, turd) and I live right there" as she points to the house nearest Betty from which she emerged, "aahhhhh, I like to have this place to park, because well, you know, ah, i get groceries... and it's, ah, easier to carry them from here."
I look up, down, and across the street... there are spots EVERYWHERE within a spitting distance. The only reason I parked right HERE is that i was traveling this direction down the street as I returned from work, and it was the closest open spot, without turning around, to my place.
While I stare in amazement, she continues, "and I have an 18 year old daughter, and she gets home at night, and, ah, it's easier for her to park right here..." (I'm sorry your adult daughter is either mentally or physically impaired so terribly that she cannot park anywhere but directly in front of your house at night) "It's just easier for her."
Yea, like it was easier for me to park there.
"So, could you move?"
I'm fuming. The audacity of this lady! Who made you Sultan of the street? It's one thing if it's suburbia, where driveways abound, and there's only the occasional car on the street... then i can understand someone's request to not park in front of their place. but HERE? this is a city street, where the only place to park IS the street. it's fair game, Jaba.
I contain my anger. This is a silly, nothing, of an incident. It's nothing to get upset about. So, I act cordial, neighborly, and say, "Of course, no problem."
Furious... but you'd never know it.
Except for the guy who happened to be walking his dog up the street as I was getting a lecture on how and where to park. He heard the whole thing, and as I unlocked Betty and was about to hop back in I turn and make eye contact with him...
I give him this look as i roll my eyes and raise my brow....
he laughs, shrugs and says "What are ya gunna do?"
It made me feel better; at least he too thought this woman was out of line in her request.
I figure, I relented once, that's good enough. If it's easier for me to park there from now on, I will. Her only reasoning was that she 'gets groceries' and she's got a parking challenged daughter. I figure, her grand prix daughter has to learn sometime, and this woman couldn't possibly be getting groceries every day...
or wait... nevermind.
regardless, I'm still parking there. now, it's just out of spite.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)