standing tall

"healer, heal thyself"


I spent last night hyperemetic- fancy word for many many oral donations to the porcelain god. Now don't get all excited, I did not go out, party, drink too much and get impregnated by Brad Pitt..
that was last week,

but today, resident, slave, SG is sick as a dog!

At 5 am, when the alarm went off, I had to make a decision, go to work, or go to work,
after much contemplation and trying to remember which way the bathroom was I stumbled in the dark to the shower, froze off my tuchus( which must be a little smaller today thanks to my ailment) and grabbed a set of scrubs and a sweatshirt and ran out the door. I managed to get to work avoiding the heebeegeebees, ran four blocks to the hospital and was of course late, as usual.
Wet hair and all, I turn to my peers for some TLC, Ughh, I am sooooo sick, I wine. "Why don't you go to the closet and put in an IV for yourself and run some D101/2 NS and some zofran? you can completely walk around withe the IV pole and get your work done, no bigee" - said one helpfull, but clearly delusional co-resident.

wait a minute, I think...
I look down at my ankle,
where's the chain?
where's the ball?
where's the Martha Stewart -esque stylish yet functional ankle alarm bracelet?
could it be I was in Hotel California ( aka, prisoners of my own device)

I AM A HUMAN BEING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ( INTERNAL PRIMAL SCREAM)

I am sick! I want to sit down, drink tea, watch bad movies on channel 11, and sleep for 482 hours! I want my mom to put a washcloth with cool water on my scorching forehead, I want to go home!

and so, SG, breaking the rules of residency (written and unwritten) marched( ok, slugged) into the chief resident's office, took one feverish look into the eyes of the chief (and may I add, if I wasn't ill, I'd still be burning up, he is one hottie!) and said, I am sick, I can't work, I will vomit on little babies and women in labor, I need to leave, please replace me.
Now I would like to say that chief resident offered me a chair and a backrub,
instead he said, Ok, ask one of your peers to cover your delivery pager( evil monster) when you finish your work in the nursery and you can switch call with Denise ( I was supposed to be on 30 hours tonight)

I didn't move mountains

I went and spent 4 hours discharging, drawing blood, examening neonates and teaching mommies how to not kill their babies by the time they come back in a week for newborn follow up.

I didn't move a mountain,
but I did stand tall
I never signed away my life.

now where is the remote? wait, I don't have a TV!!!! arghhhh

life in my palm

and now for a less humorous topic:

life,
the meaning?
ok, we won't go there today( but stop back soon who knows when the mood might strike to discuss it)

rather I'd like to bring up something that I have been feeling that makes me rethink some philosophy.
I am currently taking calls in the Neonatal ICU. "oh, cute babies", you might be thinking...
actually not really,
mostly what we see is babies born as early as 23 weeks gestation( 40 weeks is fully cooked), They are small enough to rest in my palm, they are pink, sticky, with eyelids fused, barely perceptable fingernails, chests heaving by the assistance of breathing machines. Basically, every few hours the nurse draws blood, runs it in the machine, shows me the numbers and I enter some other numbers into the breathing maching and pray to G-d that this algebraic recipe will be the soup of sustaining life.
but sometimes as I watch these very foreign looking creatures in their plastic cases it is truly hard for me to see this as life. There is no way to find out how the patient feels, if they do at all. Is the baby crying from pain? from fear? is there cognition of existence at that age? are we doing the right thing by keeping these babies alive? are neonatologists caring, selfless, lovers of mankind or are they aiming to play G-d with these frankenstein creatures ( spend a day in the NICU being barked at by your superiors and you might have an opinion).
sometimes I wonder is the outcome worth the process, will these children be able to live?
isn't that what pediatrics is about, giving children a head start on life? what have we started here?

no, that's my mom

I was post call today and like clock-work arose at 5 PM to start my day! I decided I could either go to the gym or to the city and check out some holiday deals. guess which one I picked?
no surprise! ( after all, getting a good deal definitely gets my heart rate up! that's completely aerobic exercise!)
anyway, sans a transit strike, I got to the city with the lovely q65a and then the E. I heard banana was having their first day of their winter sale so I stopped by. I was looking pretty cute in my kelly green wool winter coat( J crew sale catalog, online shopping addicts anonymous buy of the month) and my black kitten heel boots( go Target!) and my mock fendi bag. I approached a really cute brooch that would look great on my coat, suddenly, ninja saleslady does a backflip over her sword, takes her stance and goes in for the attack, "Mrs. can I help you with anything?" without a moment to even process I go for the high kick, "excuse me! ... Mrs?????????" and give her the stare down. she aint no preteen herself! "Oh, I'm sorry madam, can I help you with that pin? Is it a gift for a special young girl?"

let's just say ninja saleslady won't be home for christmas......
ok, really, I lost my nerve, put down the grenade and walked out of the store.

am I getting that old?????
this is not good as I am aproaching my birthday.

to console myself I went on a small shopping spree:
one floral scarf as a gift for my olders sister to wear in her hair when she gets married.
a bcbg long jean skirt with a cute elastic thing that goes in under the butt.
fur lined black ballet slippers-to wear to work( just 29 shmucks!)
and some MAC cover up --- thank G-d she didn't try to sell me wrinkle cream!

what's a girl to do?

me, my hunk and our baby

No, I am not letting you in on a big scandal, but there is a guy, I like him, and the only thing we have in common is the baby we share.
well sorta...
He has a friend who has a sister who just gave birth to a lovely baby boy here in my very own Losers Immigrants and Japs hospital. I was so excited, on Sunday I got a call from him.. I didnt even know he had my number! and he has a girlfriend, she is sweet, but very young and definitely needs TPN ( supplemental feeds)
so he left me a message and a text message!
"hi, my friend's sister had a baby, give me a call with a full report!"

he called a third time as I was on my way to my sister's Syrian soire. we spoke for a full three minutes, i have been blessed!

I promised to call him back
oops, monday night went straight form the gym to bed
tuesday night, almost fell asleep at the gym
wednesday night, being held captive here
thursday, sleep all day
friday, rush for shabbos
when can i call him?
is it too late?
am I doomed to just have this ilegitimate baby between us and never a real relationship?

please comment....

running around the library in a bunny suit

why am I 26 ( not a day over 21) and being hazed in a fraternity?
confused readers, stick with me.

As you all likely know, I am a pediatrics resident. I arrived with lofty goals such as :
seeing patients
healing patients
being happy
making money- some...
getting an edjumication

instead I have spent 6 months ( yes friday marked the end of 6 rotations!):

being yelled at by people who might just be my age
made to do things that have absolutely nothing to do with my 20+ years of education- like being a wheelchair transporter, collecting urine cups, restocking the cabinets, washing down the examination room furniture, bringing parents straws and watching their purses at the medical desk when they leave their rooms.

It is no wonder that 90 percent of my patients' parents call me "that nice nurse"
( nothing against nurses, but they don't have a 200,000 debt weighing on their ego)

so in the end,
when I grow up I want to be a doctor

Shakira wears a snood

ok, the title isn't exactly true, but if she was at last night's engagement party, it wouldn't have been far from the truth. My older (which was asked oh only a dozen times.. I can't help it if I don't look like malibu barbie!) sister's engagement to a Syrian yid( SY to those in the know) was celebrated in holy Brooklyn, AKA Syria. It was like nothing I had seen before!
I showed up at 8:15 for pictures, and surprise surprise my whole family was nowhere to be found. I made friends with the coat checkers (it helps that I am S. Lo when it comes to Spanish skills, well.. maybe for a Frum girl's standard) and went downstairs to see the Novia y novio . Shocker, they clean up pretty well!! No Joke! Sister SB was a vision in turqoise and sequins and three dimensional sequined flowers sewn onto the three thousand dollar frock( when did my parents win the lottery?) oh, and it was designed by the Syrian ( surprise number three, Syrian men like things their way!) She did look radiant, her hair, platinum ringlets cascading from a half pony- no frizz in sight!! aparently she was done up by the Syrian beauty resue team, not too shabby ( I guess they do have experience working miracles, I mean have you seen the unibrows these syrian babies are all born with?)
The two of them were posing for some very close knit photos, shomer negiah, what's that?
ok, so I am standing there alone, it is quite awkward, I keep standing there behind a fake palm tree (apparently Susie's wedding theme?) and then I made friends with the bartender julio, from Mexico. ( wedding proposal number one of the night) he told me that he is not rich, but has a rich heart and I would have a lifetime of drinking pleasure- tempting as it sounded at that moment of "get me out of this Arabian nightmare" , but if I am to afford a wedding half as fancy as this engagement party, I am going to have to look for riches below the belt( get your mind out of the gutter, I meant the pockets of course!)
mother in law aproaches. a vision in sequins and lace and frou frou... she says hi, we make friends and I notice she is giving me the once over- yes this tummy is real, not an implant, I would never be so fake, gosh! and yes, SB's family does own a fully stocked refrigerator( it is not my fault that SB can't seem to find it and subsists on parsely alone)
so I go back upstairs to be less awkward, knowing my life and my stories guess what happens next?
SG's exboyfriend walks in with friends.
here's the brief lowdown: we dated three years ago, he was my first real boyfriend, we dated nearly 6 months. I had some issues, I liked most of his personality, but not all. He was moody, it turned out to be depression, he is funny though- but he was no brad pitt if yaknowhatimean. Oh, and he lied to me about an ex-girlfriend, about having a jdate profile, and who knows what else!
anyway, he walked in took a look at me, sheepish dazed kinda grin and said hey as nonchalantly as he could muster. I said hi and gave a nice pleasent smile, sucked in my gut, and said how are you? ( does he know that for the past 4 weeks since finding out the date of this event I have been living in the hell of "I can't believe I let myself turn into a pint of lard over the past three years when I am going to see my ex boyfriend! I gotta look godd and kill him!") this past shabbos a good friend said I look fine, but I am not the thinnest I've been-( thanks for the ego boost AC!)
Anyway XBF showed up with a cute male friend!
hmm...

so to cut this blogg short,

the party was so fancy, amidst the mist( choking on it) from the grilling shawarma, there were palm trees, layers of tulle draped from the ceiling strung with lights and many many sequins chandeleirs! In fact the mother of the Syrian asked me, " what no sequins?" no, I replied, I am allergic!

I did some of my best Shakira shakin with my sisters while the syrian maidelah mafia looked on in
A. amusement
B. horror
C. hunger, did I mention how they ate like there was a famine in the land?

surprise number four: where were all those suposed gorgeous, perfectly coifed, size negative two Syrian ladies? guess we couldnt pry them from their tradmills for this.

In all I had a good time. syrians know how to party, they are fun, they smile, they hug, and they sparkle.

mazal tov, Ma'bruk!

My Zulu, always in my heart, forever on my mind

Today I lost my lifetime friend of 19 years, Zulu, my family cat.
She died from congestive heart failure- in non medical terms her heart was too full and it flooded her body.
I would say this is accurate for Zulu:

a thought I had,

people spend their lives collecting things
pets spends theirs collecting love.

Zulu's heart was too full of love, you might say.

I will miss her:
my fuzzy cat, booboo, fuzzy nugget, fuzzy but, cattywat, zubear, zue, pwetty cat.

she will remain in my heart as a reminder that life is never too important to miss quiet time with family, basking in the warmth of a sunny summer day and always making time for a good nap.

I love you zulu and will miss your soul with all of mine.

Baruch dayan ha'emet

over a bowl of corn soup

Tonight I woke up at about 6pm, brutal call yesterday. Not only was my senior being quite aloof, making me feel like an intern sloth, and rushing me through my admissions( for what purpose?there was nothing else to do!) but she let me sleep through 6 am, a whole 2 hours( except once when she woke me up to aks me a question about a transfusion which I never gave, but in my dream state I couldn't remember why, though the logic was apparent while awake!) and hence I was sleeping when the other residents came in for the morning, making me look further sloth-ish and making me behind in my rounding, so I didn't get out till noon--very illegal- if the joint comission on resident's work hours is reading this, please throw me a life saver. ( btw, sometimes run on sentences are written for emphasis!)

Anyway, back to the corn soup,
I met a male friend from college for dinner tonight. Nothing but friends, I swear. Though to his credit, he's so nice, and shy sometimes in that way that modest people should be. When he talks about asking a girl out, he blushes and stumbles on his words.. cute!

boy do I digress...

Amidst our conversation which was comparing who has had worse dates (see prior postings, I win!) he suddenly looks down and says, "there's something I wanted to run by you" ok, go for it, well, there's this girl I'm close with and well we've been friends for a while and I want to take it further-- he's blushing, looking at his corn soup, and having a hard time with words... meanwhile, in my head, "oh my gosh, oh no, it's true there are no platonic B/G friendships, I knew it, he wanted to go for dinner so he could ask me out, shoot, what do I say? am I turning red? does he see me squirm in my chair? how do I get out of here?!!!!!

and then, as if G-d heard me, "yeah, her name is Ilana" ( not SG!)

hallelukah hallelukah hallelukah!!!

Deep breath, smile, and I offer him some sound advice.

He walked me home and said thank you for the nice time.

friendship is a good thing.

I am afraid of heights

Last time I was on call here at SCH ( let's call it smiling children's hospital) I was climbing into the bunk bed in the cell I call home, a mere few feet off the floor, yet from the top, I teetered precariously, hoping to stay aloft. Now I am not waxing poetic here in a sleepless delirium, but I am setting the stage for something I realise I have been feeling lately. I have "made it" they say, got my MD, here I am, Dora the explorer in hand, to heal the kids of the world (or just Long Island) yet I daily walk the tightrope. Will I fall from the edge at the expense of patient from the swiss cheese holes in my education, called 'real life experience' ? Can I assert myself when I need to, to advocate for a patient in need? Do I even know what I am doing here? could this bag of saline with very few solutes really be a doctor? will I know what to do when the big news hits and someone is in need. will I reach for my stethescope and fall out fo the bunk bed of doctorhood?

nothing aganist brooklyn, but...

My first posting, here goes: ( no applause please)

Just came back from a date tonight. He was sephardic, from Brooklyn and we met through a Jewish internet set up site. www.sawyouatsinai.com . Could this be funnier without a story?
I am at a point of dating frustration. I haven't dated much in my life, maybe a grand total of 23 guys( and this includes even one date!) not too great for these 26 years. You might be wondering why... since I am outgoing, have a great career, many friends and a self declared hot mama... I am wondering the same thing ( any ideas, please post!). Anyway, I digress... so he meets me at 9 at my place, he hadn't called in a week since we had set this date up, which I thought means it was off. I was on the phone with friends, planning a fun sat night out when he calls, "how are you doing?" "do you want to come meet me somewhere in between brooklyn and queens tonight?"( and what borough might that be???) "no, I'm too tired to drive tonight, why don't you come pick me up!" like I am not even worth picking up! anyway, so much for a girls night out. Ok, I agree to go despite the MIA week. He calls because he is late, "sorry, I am lost" good thing my middle name is mapquest! he picks me up, and is sitting directly behind another car, was I supposed to jump over it to let myself into the passenger side? "hi" "do you mind moving up?" I get in the car bang my head, smooth smooth SG! oy, I can't help it, some combo of being an amazonian Jewess, wearing slippery heels, and a short sports car. Hi, again, he doesn't look and me and says "where to?" oh no, I knew it, this wasn't my date, this was a cab! shoot, now I am in the wrong car, what must my poor date think?
About to reach for the door, "so you have any place in mind, I mean you live here, where can we go that is nice?" Hmmm.. I've never seen a cabbie interested in the niceness of our destination, and wait, there's no partition for the backseat.. shoot number 2, this IS my date! "hi" , I say again, though I am not sure if I can use the excuse "I think I have a bad connection, can you repeat yourself" when there's no crummy cell in sight. "Uhm, well, this is Queens, there's nothing really nice" "COMEON!!! he yells, I GOTTA MOVE!!!!!! oh no, abusive date, damn I hate these types! it's too late to jump out ,he is speeding away from my abode and those DVDs that would be much more entertaining than a night out with a date beater. Oh well, it's one for the blog, I think and decide to suffer through it. I suggest a nice place where we went as a family for thanksgiving, good food, always tables, no one I know.. OK! As we are just past it, I think my heart rate is back from tachycardia land, and I say, ok, it's over there. he says, what about this other place? and names something vaguelly familiar, fine, anywhere, just out of being alone in a car with this boy! suddenly his car must have turned into a batmobile as he attempts to fly through the streets of queens, makeing sudden 180's with the agility of a sumo wrestler on ice skates.
In one piece we arrive at the place after he tells me that he is a racist, hates blacks, and "I'm a numbers guy, just look who fills the prisons in the US?" when I reply, "you mean MEN?" he says "no, it's those damn shvartsas" ok, he is a date beater, sumo wrestling, racist, sephardi from Brooklyn working in the shmata business. Now why are we compatable? "you must be a people person? " if he means a human being, then I guess he has pinpointed exactly what sets us apart!
Turns out the restaurant needed reservations, Mr. chest hair entangled in chains wouldn't have been smooth enough to know that... not that I am bitter, just cold and wearing heels. "oh look, there's the owner of www.sawyouatsinai.com sitting there!" I see they are on a first name basis, now how much did the date slip him to get a date with me through the site? arghh!
Finally we get to a third place, he runs out of the car before I can even slamn my door, uhm, care waiting, who was I kidding?!
We order appetizers only, the waiter was black, very nice, he asked "no entrees?" the date just sneers, chuckles and I say politely, "no thanks".
We have a conversation, oh I mean he has a conversation, and finally through some good guacomole and chinese beef, he asks, "care for dessert". Well, anyone who knows SG knows there's no passing up dessert (even with my pipe dreams of getting skinny by Sunday for my sister's engagement party) so I suffer through some delectable chocolate mousse cake and something about how he has dated 200 syrian women but never made it past the first date. I couldnt resist "were they all from the same harem?" hee hee, big belly laugh here! "what's a harem" damn, humor is just lost on ice skating sumo wrestlers!
arghh...
he drives me home, parks a few houses away, turns and said, with a smile" It was really great meeting you" "I wish you an easy shift tommorow" to which I reply, thank you" and "bye"
I even smiled ( look the Hillel Theater Group came in handy!)
I rushed upstairs to start my blog,
people are always saying, " SG, your stories! you could fill a book"
and I could,
but I won't bore you with one tonight...

thanks for reading.

SG