Last Night

 I can think of at least a dozen things I should be doing instead of sitting in front of my computer, clacking away at the keyboard. My dirty house, my stack of board review cares, the appt I need to leave for in 20 minutes, and my bed are all loudly calling to me. 

But sometimes, you just gotta write.

Last night was my very last call night of residency. 

While there are still quite a few more days in front of me before the end of residency, they are mild and benign compared to what lies behind me. 

Nights are the worst time to be a doctor.  It is when people get the sickest, the decisions have to be made the fastest, and you feel the most alone. During the day, surrounded by colleagues and consult services and social workers and interns, everything feels safe and manageable and yes-I-can-do-this-I-am-okay. But then night comes and the bustling crowds teaming around each patient bed are gone. The fatigue sets in. The hour counting starts (20 hours awake, 21 hours awake, 22...) And things just happen. It feels like night is when hearts choose to stop and strokes choose to start and metabolic derangements choose to declare themselves. Insecurity and doubt and sleep deprivation and loneliness press in from every side.

Yet decisions are still made, vent settings are changes, medications are started and stopped and labs values are corrected and pagers beep and are answered and I find that I can do this. 

Morning arrives and fresh, rested faces appear back in the hospital and all the patients from overnight are just fine.

In the pre-dawn bustle, I head to the hospital cafeteria.  I, the soon-to-be anesthesiologist, stand in line between the soon-to-be neurosurgeons, orthopedic surgeons, trauma surgeons, and obstetricians. We are all bleary eyed and pale, ordering our scrambled eggs and breakfast sandwiches and coffee.

There is camaraderie between us as residents, wearing our fatigue as war medals beneath our eyes.

I wonder to myself, now that the last night is over, I wonder will I miss this?

And that's when I realize how tired I am. Because no. From now on, every night will be spent in my bed. I will come home every evening. I will not count how long past 24 hours I've kept my eyes propped open and flogged my brain to decide, work, choose.

The last night is finally done. And all I can feel is gratefulness to have survived yet another thing. To be done with another thing. 

By The Numbers

12 years is a long time. But this marriage has been the best, most exciting, most worthwhile thing ever. It has given me my children. It has opened doors and opportunities I might have been too afraid to go through with alone. It has become my labor of love.

And it's still a work in progress. 

You think after 12 years you know everything there is to know about a person. Well, I just found out that Hubster likes thin spaghetti noodles, when I thought he only liked regular spaghetti noodles.

There are still so many things I want to do with this man. Finish our education (come on, next two years.) Buy our forever house. Live through a renovation. Travel the world. See our children marry and have our grandchildren. 

I love you, Hubster.

Here's to 60 more anniversaries.

Half Birthday

6 months old today.

Eating solids.
Jabbers non stop.
Smiles at everyone all the time (people in the store, at church, on TV).
Blows raspberries.
Starting to scoot around on his tummy.
Wants to sit up and crawl, but isn't quite there.
Will not sleep on his back anymore.
Starting to copy his big brothers and hold his own bottle.
Still spits up quite a bit.
Loves his Sophie giraffe, carrots and sweet potatoes, peek-a-boo, and walks.
Dislikes having to hold still during diaper changes and peas.

Fastest 6 months ever.

Hanging On

That's what I've been doing lately.  Just hanging on.

Hanging on until spring came. And amazingly enough, just like every other year, it came. Despite freezing temperatures and snow falls in March and bare branches and brown, dead lawns and gardens in April it came.

Hanging on until residency is over.  I'm still waiting for that one, but it's coming, in a very slow, dragged out way, but it's coming.

Hanging on until Duck, and by natural extension, me, starts sleeping through the night again.

I keep thinking that I'm on top of things, that I can make time for everything.  For all the dishes and laundry and school activities and family time and studying and home projects and putting away the winter clothes and movie night and research projects and the over all big picture.  But I can't do it all.

I think I'm on top of it, and then there is a huge family crisis that has me rushing back to Utah to be with family.

I think I'm on top of it, and then I realize that there are just a couple months until boards and I'm spending every last second studying.  Listening to lectures while I drive. Flipping through questions while in line at the grocery store. Rushing to get the boys to bed so I can pull out the books and study until I fall asleep at the kitchen table surrounded by highlighters and flashcards.

I think I'm on top of it, and then I find myself doing 24 hour calls every third night and working 85 hour weeks and 15 straight days. And I'm just so tired and overwhelmed that I can't even fake a smile.

I think I'm on top of it until I realize that I'm busy and tired and overwhelmed and my boys are rapidly growing up around me and I feel a blind panic that I'm missing every thing important.

I know this is just a temporary phase.

Boards and residency will be over in July. There will be no more 24 hour or weekend shifts. Eventually the piles of laundry and the faint smell of unwashed dishes will be taken care of.

Until then, I'm hanging on.

Boy Mom

You might be a boy mom if...

...you can name all the Transformers and if they are Autobot or Decepticon.

 ...your floors look like this...

...you know the difference between Skylanders and Pokemon (but still don't let them play either one.)

...bedtime consists of pillow fights, sock wars, and having to smell each other's feet.

...you know all the Star Wars characters (well, almost all of them.)

...you are an expert on removing grass, mud, blood, and ketchup out of clothes.

...you don't even notice the girls' clothing section.

...you've never been down the pink aisle in the toy section.

...you own more Legos than shoes, dishes, fancy dresses, or hair accessories.  Combined.

...you know all the super hero's super powers, and why no one wants to be the Aquaman.

..you have gone to the store with a child dressed as a dragon, Tigger, and Superman.

...you wouldn't have it any other way.

As close to a political post as I'm ever going to get

At first, I thought that I could avoid them by cutting down on the time I spent on social networks. But to no avail. It's everywhere: people's political views, stands on social issues. I can tell you where nearly every single one of my Facebook friends stand on abortion, gay rights, gun control, welfare, health care, the environment, the president, immigration, raw milk, vaccinations, and genetically modified organisms.

Oh, I miss the time when people posted what they had for dinner on Facebook.

Every where I turn, there are arguments about all these issues. I do everything I can to avoid these conversations. I do my best to ignore all the polarizing posts, posting instead about Duck's milestones and my plans for the weekend. I never talk about politics outside my own home.

But it's not because I don't care. I'm passionate about many issues. I have strong opinions about these issues and which way I think the country should go. But I'm not posting them on social media. I'm not making polarizing blog posts.  I'm not arguing with my coworkers about them. I'm not joining in the conversation, regardless of whether I agree with you or not.

Because it doesn't help.  When was the last time someone changed their opinion because of a political picture posted on Facebook?  When was the last time a political disagreement around the work lunch table ended with the two different sides agreeing? It doesn't happen.

All it does is continue to polarize people, drive them apart, and create a contentious environment. I'm sick of it.

Sermons given over the pulpit are for those already in church, for those already converted. Those sermons never bring someone in the door.

There is only one thing that has every changed someone's opinion.  And shockingly enough, it wasn't that picture you posted about eagle eggs and unborn babies.

The only thing that changes how people think about something is experience. The proverbial "walking in someone else's shoes."  Until something happens to you, until something happens to someone you love, until you witness someone's example, there is no changing a person.

It's not the billboard that convinced a person to go to church, it's seeing someone do something remarkable that draws you in. It's not editorialized photos that change people's thinking, it's having it happen to you.

Very few of us have the same view of things that we had as children. It's because of experience.  Going through life, having things happen to us, seeing how things affect the ones we love. That's why we change.

I'm not telling people to stop feeling passionately about things. By all means, continue your strong feelings about social issues. But focus those feelings into real actions. Because you aren't convincing anybody to agree with you simply by arguing, or forwarding a Facebook meme.

Now, excuse me, I have to go and tell everyone what I'm having for dinner.

5 Months

At five months old, Duck...

Has discovered his feet.
Just started solids.
Coos and talks all the time.
Not sleeping quite as well as before, but not bad.
Tries desperately to sit up, but settles for rolling everywhere.
Loves smiling at people, playing with toys, and snuggles.
Still dislikes his car seat or not have an audience.

And is getting a little less cooperative with getting his picture taken.