Writing Challenge: 30 days?

I used to be a writer. I would write poems, essays, stories. Anticipating a career in journalism, I would dream in front-page style prose, narrating my days as a reporter, thinking of headlines and hooks to describe my days.

And then medical school happened. As mentors and preceptors and senior residents laughed at my expansive H&Ps, they successfully condensed to concise, to-the-point, fragments of vital information. The lazy whimsical sentences I loved and lyrical sentence structure were replaced with abbreviations and staccato paced paragraphs. I chose to pursue a career in Emergency Medicine, a specialty whose abbreviated notes are bested by surgeons only.

In order to graduate, I need to complete my final research project. An interesting study, one that appeals to my sense of patient autonomy, physician personhood, and good medicine. Draft 1 is done. But I can't seem to get myself to do the hard edit, the dissection, the real shaking out and rewriting the paper needs to be publishable.

As I mindlessly consumed blog posts last night from around the small corner of the internet that interests me, one comment a fellow doc-mom noted struck a chord. She mentioned that she was a PhD student who started blogging to sharpen her writing skills before starting her thesis manuscript. Maybe blogging- a 30 day challenge- will help me do the same?

Cocksackie virus

I noticed the little blisters around the bum first. Curious, I checked her thighs, and...

finished months later:

she had A6 EVERYWHERE. thighs, hands, mouth, face, bum, feet. Big blisters, little blisters. They didn't bother her one bit. And the next time I saw them in clinic, I was like Yup. Been there, done that. Show me something better!**

**the better came. in the form of perianal strep. but not my kid. in clinic.

Should there be a warning?

Sometime during the first year of med school (only a year ago, but sleep deprivation makes the months blur a bit) the school had a mandatory assembly scheduled for a Friday afternoon. Part of the curriculum at my medical school includes "Doctoring" a multi-year thread that teaches students empathy, how to interact with patients, and interview skills. The Doctoring chairperson got up in the ampitheatre and introduced the interpretative artist whose movie we were about to view, and then discuss. The movie was a personal interpretation of her body's fight with cancer. Informative, innovative, and creative. But too personal. For me. My mom has been fighting cancer for multiple years now; her prognosis is now unknown because she has surpassed expectations almost a hundredfold. I couldn't watch more than a few minutes. I just left. I got it. I didn't need to be there. I at least would have liked to have been warned, prepared. Maybe I would have sat closer to the back. At least I had an aisle seat.

My younger sibling recently had a similar experience. A motivational speaker came to speak on a random topic at her school. In opening, the speaker deviated from her planned speech and noted how her father's suffering from X cancer, the same one as my mom, motivated her to do good, strengthen belief, live life. My sister was trapped; in a small audience, she couldn't leave. She got pity looks from those who knew her story, questioning looks from those who noticed her pale complexion and uncomfortable shifting. There was no way she could have been warned. Was there?

There should be some sort of preparation mechanism. I know, protecting everyone from every little bit of uncomfortable history is impossible. But it would be nice to think people would at least try, in an educational setting, to make an effort. An opening statement, or, when possible, a preparatory email. If we do it for standardized tests in elementary school, why does it have to stop?

Working Out

Where do you find the time? I'm either guilty I'm taking time away from my daughter, guilty I'm not going to sleep with my husband, or guilty/stressed I'm not studying. Then, I look on the scale and notice I've gained back all the weight I lost so proudly a few months ago. And I feel rotten. And sad. And unhealthy. And, honestly, fat. I used to run marathons- now a sprint from the parking lot to make it to class close-to-on-time leaves me puffing.

I guess studying will have to wait- if I'm unhappy, I won't get anywhere, anyway.

And no more chocolate milk.

I am doing research in Peds/Genetics and have spent the last 3+ hours calling random IT departments and EMR specialists in order to gain access to the patient database I need to do my research. It is impossibly ridiculous. As much as I understand the need for patient privacy, etc., it seems the various checks/boundaries have left everyone confused... and me, bored, sitting at a coffee shop, blogging.


I've already ordered diapers, those organic-Mom MD sunscreen wipes b/c putting on sunscreen lotion before swimming has already left all my carpets and couch and clothing smelling like the beach at the end of a long day, and extra wipes. And some of the cute shorts and cover ups featured on the ad on the side to replace the collection of clothing we left drying on a rack in Israel. So, I guess it's been productive.

We went to Israel last week to visit my husband's family. The trip was amazing. For the entire trip I was like a SAHM, with my baby (who is now a toddling, talking 13.5 month old) ALL DAY, and I LOVED IT. I really had so much fun just being around her, playing with her, watching her interact with the world, her cousins, her grandparents, a new atmosphere. It was so perfect. But I knew, I could not do this forever. I love school, talking to adults, using my brain. Since it was only a 10 day vacation, I thrived, but I knew I could not be at home with her forever. That may be the reason I feel so conflicted.

I cried tonight.

I was just looking at MRI quiz slides, surprised that I recognized more than I thought, and let my mind wander. It has been a really long year. I'm exhausted. I'm in the midst of a losing battle of sanity vs. BC emotions and BC is kicking my butt. I have been cranky, cranky cranky. And bloated. Honestly, I'm more annoyed at the bloat b/c I am on day 10 of level 2 (give or take a few skipped days, I've been pretty consistently doing 30 Day Shred) and while my arms look pretty good my tummy/hips are still far from toned. I guess eating right is better than exercise, at least for me.

Random rant: Gender equality/neutral behavior promoting has been blowing up the internet lately. CNN got in on it, too. I may be considered "old fashioned" but while crying tonight, I sat there as my husband rubbed my back and wailed "I just want a ma-ma-manicure. And a haaiirrcut. And I want to shop. In a store." At which point we both started cracking up, thinking of how ridiculous I sounded. As trivial as these things may be, I like having pretty nails (self-attempts look worse than my five-year-old magic marker manicures) and I have not worn flip flops/sandals yet this summer (it's been hot here for a while) because I am embarrassed of my naked toes. I LIKE being a girl. I LIKE mani-pedis, blow-dries, shopping. Baking is relaxing and I think cooking dinner is fun. I also like being a med student, not being a SAHM, and having a husband who does dishes while watching NBA playoffs (which I watch too, while making Pharm flashcards.)

While I understand and promote the ideas of girls getting into engineering, biotech, sciences, math, I don't think it has to come at the expense of tea parties, ballet tutus, or pigtails. By fighting so hard to be "like the guys" we lose the ways we are special. I still think there is nothing more awesome than a girl shooting a 3 pointer with eyeliner and straight-ironed hair, a cardiologist rocking bright red lipstick and heels, and computer science engineer in a sundress. If we try to make everyone equal, we may just suck the individuality out of everyone. (In fairness, when my 4 y/o brother prefers baking cooking to monster trucks, we just enjoy the cookies, no second thought. All this boy/girl stuff has to chill. Let kids be who they want and stop imposing adult concerns on them)