I made it out of the MICU by the hair of my chinny chin chin, but it's out of the frying pan and into the fire with me. I'll be spending two weeks on a little gem of a service called CHF (congestive heart failure), affectionately dubbed Team Failure. And by gem I mean punishment, and by affectionately I mean anything but. Cardiology falls just underneath MICU in the adrenaline junkie subspecialties of medicine, and we have previously established that I am adrenaline averse. But I am captain of this little ship for two weeks. And by captain I mean the scallywag who scrubs the decks.
Here's a brief re-cap of my first couple days: Show up at 5 am. Discharge 8 patients. Stay up all night and admitt 9 new patients. Drag through post-call rounds. Go home, eat, sleep. Show up at 4:30 am. Discharge 4 patients. Admit 5 patients. Leave at 6 pm. Go home, eat, sleep. Show up at 4:45 am. Discharge 3 patients (no, wait, just 1, the other 2 have issues and have to stay). Admit 2 patients. Leave at 6:30 pm. Are we sensing a trend? I'll bore you the gory details, but suffice it to say I'm not planning on having a lot of fun these next two weeks. I'll see you on the other side.
Light at the end of the tunnel: If I survive 3 more overnight calls, I will be on clinics. Translation... NO CALL for two months. Woohoo! Nick is gonna have to get his fast food fixes in fast before I'm home for dinner every night.
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