"Was that you?" I ask.
It was as if Betty took offense to this simple question, because she then seemed to begin to shut down.
"All I was wondering, Betty, was if you made it smell... like, that, in here? Or, was it the car next to us?"
It was too late.... she took it personally. Though, I doubt she would have if it actually hadn't been her. I truly believe that, rather than upset, she was embarrassed, ashamed and frightened of what was happening to her more than anything.
She was dying in my arms.
Her last breathes were sour, and filled her insides where I sat. The aroma slowly faded, as did her strength.
"Betty, please... please get me home," I plead.
She responds as best she can, though rigor mortis is beginning to creep inside of her tissues, and it is slowly winning the battle- the wheel begins to tighten.
Betty's responses slow.... new and unknown lights begin to flash on, off, then on again. She seems to quiet with every passing block. Her usual rumble dissipates under my feet; she becomes oddly smooth- discordant, only slightly... but eerily noticeable to me, when compared to her normal dysarthria.... which was never obnoxious, but comforting instead- like the voice of Louis Armstrong.
She had been singing to me for 5 years... and now all I could hear was "what a wonderful world...." fading into the dark of the night.
As I wrestled with the ever stiffening wheel, begging her to make the corners, I feared the worst. Though, I had fleeting thoughts that this was not Betty's goodbye, but only a power steering problem. Perhaps we would part on better terms, on our own time, when we decide. Though, after the body was cold, I realized that this is the way it had to be. Only death could part us.... neither she nor I would be able to let go otherwise.
It had to be this way.
She left a trail of blood... or perhaps it was tears, or perhaps both. It led from the streets, where we used to roam together, into the garage. She was bleeding out. Steam was rising from her chest, like her soul was escaping from the mess that had become her withering body. It was as if it needed to finally be free of its ever aging cage, one that failed a little bit more every day.
She needed a tow to get to the car doctor, where the diagnosis was terminal. It would be that Sunday, February the 7th was our last ride together.
She will always hold a place in my heart. Even in the end, she never failed me. She did, in fact, get me home.
There were no long goodbyes, reminiscing, or tears shed as I cleared the remaining things from her comforting, yet stark and now empty interior. She had gone. All that was left were pieces of metal, rubber, glass and leather. So, I didn't fear for her when I snapped off the hood ornament that had, throughout her life, adorned Betty as a proud, strong and beautiful Cadillac.
She wasn't there to feel the break. I, however, did.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Betty's Kicks
Each and every day I have to fill up my left rear tire. (I suppose Betty can't be perfect, though I still think she is.)
It seems to be slowly leaking; I find it nearly flat every morning. It's been quite a nuisance the past few days... and it serves to remind me of the constant drain, and subsequent refill that is my energy, my confidence and the joy for the work that I do.
I have had wins, and I have had losses. But when the tire empties, I continue to fill it back up, despite the losses.... and I am happy.
I recently filled the tire by nailing my first solo Lumbar Puncture.
"Champagne", as they say.... and, just like that, I was filled to 30 PSI.
Today, I suppose, was neutral. My love for procedures was fed, but... to the point of nausea and bloating.... like the horrible feeling you get when you eat a whole Chipotle burrito and weren't really ready for it.
I'm on day 5 of a 5 day stretch tomorrow... and, it's the longest stretch of work days in a row I've had in 3 months at the ER. So, I guess I should just count my blessings and shut my face.
I still love life, and I still love my job.
oh, and I still love Chipotle.
It seems to be slowly leaking; I find it nearly flat every morning. It's been quite a nuisance the past few days... and it serves to remind me of the constant drain, and subsequent refill that is my energy, my confidence and the joy for the work that I do.
I have had wins, and I have had losses. But when the tire empties, I continue to fill it back up, despite the losses.... and I am happy.
I recently filled the tire by nailing my first solo Lumbar Puncture.
"Champagne", as they say.... and, just like that, I was filled to 30 PSI.
Today, I suppose, was neutral. My love for procedures was fed, but... to the point of nausea and bloating.... like the horrible feeling you get when you eat a whole Chipotle burrito and weren't really ready for it.
I'm on day 5 of a 5 day stretch tomorrow... and, it's the longest stretch of work days in a row I've had in 3 months at the ER. So, I guess I should just count my blessings and shut my face.
I still love life, and I still love my job.
oh, and I still love Chipotle.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Chasing Circular Logic
We are all in hot pursuit of something. And, something is always in hot pursuit of us.
The unaligned reality of it however, is that this is usually not one after the other, like a dog after its own tail. At least in this never ending chase, one is connected to the other; they both are following one another, admittedly, in a snare of the most basic of logic. But, if they were to just stop with the chase, they might see that they are connected, and find each other... sans the dizzying venery.
We toil, preen, plan, plot, hide away and quietly attempt to garner attention from the tail, as if we didn't care. But we can't help it. Our quiet actions couldn't be enough, and we lack patience, so we begin the nauseating spin... calling out in the middle of the hunt.
We are all too recluse, in the deepest sense of the word, to really know our neighbors, our friends and our loves without boisterous shouts and oversized signs that even the deaf and blind would have to acknowledge. We have lost the art of subtlety, and therefore, the art of deciphering such subtlety.
I blame facebook.
I shout there, with such a quiet whisper... and I whisper here in such a loud voice.
I suppose it doesn't really matter, the nystagmus hasn't quite yet gone after all the spinning.
The unaligned reality of it however, is that this is usually not one after the other, like a dog after its own tail. At least in this never ending chase, one is connected to the other; they both are following one another, admittedly, in a snare of the most basic of logic. But, if they were to just stop with the chase, they might see that they are connected, and find each other... sans the dizzying venery.
We toil, preen, plan, plot, hide away and quietly attempt to garner attention from the tail, as if we didn't care. But we can't help it. Our quiet actions couldn't be enough, and we lack patience, so we begin the nauseating spin... calling out in the middle of the hunt.
We are all too recluse, in the deepest sense of the word, to really know our neighbors, our friends and our loves without boisterous shouts and oversized signs that even the deaf and blind would have to acknowledge. We have lost the art of subtlety, and therefore, the art of deciphering such subtlety.
I blame facebook.
I shout there, with such a quiet whisper... and I whisper here in such a loud voice.
I suppose it doesn't really matter, the nystagmus hasn't quite yet gone after all the spinning.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I Am The Angel Of Death
We don't save lives; we palliate the dying.
In just over a month of working in the ER, I have yet to pull someone back from the grips of death. In fact, the Reaper has yet to make an appearance in any of my workdays. (Though he has been ever present in someone's day in the ER) I have not pumped on a chest in order to force the blood from the ventricles to the rest of a gasping body, dying for air. I have yet to administer the epinephrine, and the life saving shock of 360 joules to an ailing heart.
I doubt I've saved a life. But I can say with a high degree of certainty that I've crushed more than one.
I recently had a very pleasant 60-something gal visit me in the ER. She was sent to us after being seen by her regular doctor earlier that morning for ankle swelling that was noticed by her husband while eating breakfast. Her primary care doctor did an EKG and and exam, and told her to come to the ER to get looked over a bit more thoroughly.
This is precisely what I did. With my words, my hands, and the tools at my disposal, I did my best to uncover what might have been causing her swelling. And, to keep a long (and as is usually my mode of operation) wordy, story short. I discovered that it was not her heart, nor trauma, nor a clot that was causing her ankle swelling, but was a result of ascites. Her liver was full of lesions, and her enzymes were quite elevated.
They were metastatic lesions; spread from another, primary tumor site- at least, this was the read of the CT by the radiologist.
"SHI........" I mutter when reading the CT report.
By now, not only was her husband present, but a handful of family had amassed to accompany their hospitalized family member. It wouldn't be easy, for any of us involved.
All who stood in the cold, curtained room of 5A, were forever changed by the news that passed over my lips. The words penetrated each of the vastly unprepared masses of flesh in front of me like shrapnel ripping through unsuspecting soldiers, blown away by a hidden IED... placed by the most vicious of insurgents.
I am the insurgent.
My words are the Improvised Explosive Devise.
I exit, leaving destruction, smoke and confusion in my absence.
"Saving lives in the ER..." or, what do I do at work? 'Save lives, duh!" These are things l hear, and read from time to time from other health care workers, none of which ever seem to be doctors, PAs or NPs. Though I doubt this to be the case.... that souls are being grasped from the edge of the abyss, and snatched back by my fellow healthcare troops, I hope this is happening. I, however, have no such delusions of grandeur. I realize that I may heal certain conditions, treat the sick, and palliate those in pain.... but I do not save. I am no savior, nor do I jest about it.
I suppose those who have been in the position that I was, find it difficult to say that they've saved lives. When you, in some sense of the word, have killed someone, there are no number of souls you can pull from the fire that will be enough to claim status as a life saver. There is no more room for playful, and boastful banter.
If I do anything comparable, in permanence, importance, and power, to that of saving a life, it is to recite death sentences.
I am someone's bearer of bad news, bringer of death, and Reaper himself.
Don't misunderstand, I love my job. I love what I do. I'm happy that I've found myself to be where I am today. I just realize that I'm only prolonging the inevitable. I'm not saving lives, at best, I'm simply making them longer.... perhaps long enough for me to tell them that they are going to die from their metastatic cancer that has spread to their liver.
Only if I'm good enough to preserve them for that long, and, only if I'm that unlucky.
I guess you could say we're damned if we do, and damned if we don't.
I wouldn't, but you could.
In just over a month of working in the ER, I have yet to pull someone back from the grips of death. In fact, the Reaper has yet to make an appearance in any of my workdays. (Though he has been ever present in someone's day in the ER) I have not pumped on a chest in order to force the blood from the ventricles to the rest of a gasping body, dying for air. I have yet to administer the epinephrine, and the life saving shock of 360 joules to an ailing heart.
I doubt I've saved a life. But I can say with a high degree of certainty that I've crushed more than one.
I recently had a very pleasant 60-something gal visit me in the ER. She was sent to us after being seen by her regular doctor earlier that morning for ankle swelling that was noticed by her husband while eating breakfast. Her primary care doctor did an EKG and and exam, and told her to come to the ER to get looked over a bit more thoroughly.
This is precisely what I did. With my words, my hands, and the tools at my disposal, I did my best to uncover what might have been causing her swelling. And, to keep a long (and as is usually my mode of operation) wordy, story short. I discovered that it was not her heart, nor trauma, nor a clot that was causing her ankle swelling, but was a result of ascites. Her liver was full of lesions, and her enzymes were quite elevated.
They were metastatic lesions; spread from another, primary tumor site- at least, this was the read of the CT by the radiologist.
"SHI........" I mutter when reading the CT report.
By now, not only was her husband present, but a handful of family had amassed to accompany their hospitalized family member. It wouldn't be easy, for any of us involved.
All who stood in the cold, curtained room of 5A, were forever changed by the news that passed over my lips. The words penetrated each of the vastly unprepared masses of flesh in front of me like shrapnel ripping through unsuspecting soldiers, blown away by a hidden IED... placed by the most vicious of insurgents.
I am the insurgent.
My words are the Improvised Explosive Devise.
I exit, leaving destruction, smoke and confusion in my absence.
"Saving lives in the ER..." or, what do I do at work? 'Save lives, duh!" These are things l hear, and read from time to time from other health care workers, none of which ever seem to be doctors, PAs or NPs. Though I doubt this to be the case.... that souls are being grasped from the edge of the abyss, and snatched back by my fellow healthcare troops, I hope this is happening. I, however, have no such delusions of grandeur. I realize that I may heal certain conditions, treat the sick, and palliate those in pain.... but I do not save. I am no savior, nor do I jest about it.
I suppose those who have been in the position that I was, find it difficult to say that they've saved lives. When you, in some sense of the word, have killed someone, there are no number of souls you can pull from the fire that will be enough to claim status as a life saver. There is no more room for playful, and boastful banter.
If I do anything comparable, in permanence, importance, and power, to that of saving a life, it is to recite death sentences.
I am someone's bearer of bad news, bringer of death, and Reaper himself.
Don't misunderstand, I love my job. I love what I do. I'm happy that I've found myself to be where I am today. I just realize that I'm only prolonging the inevitable. I'm not saving lives, at best, I'm simply making them longer.... perhaps long enough for me to tell them that they are going to die from their metastatic cancer that has spread to their liver.
Only if I'm good enough to preserve them for that long, and, only if I'm that unlucky.
I guess you could say we're damned if we do, and damned if we don't.
I wouldn't, but you could.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
You're one in 1,271.... and not in the good way.
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)