The day the music died

Well, folks, it's that time again. Time for me to write a self-indulgent, whining post about heading back to the MICU (aka "the unit"). That's right, I said MICU. A whole month of intubations, central lines, pressors, and more bodily fluids than you can shake a stick at. Waaah-waaaaahs and frowney faces all around. I've been more than just a bit spoiled by this cush consult rotation (in fact I'm sitting at my desk writing this), so I guess the powers that be decided I should join the Polar Bear Club and dive right into the icy cold unit. I'll do my bestest to keep you posted on the trials and tribulations of critical care medicine, but please promise still to love me even if posting gets sparse and I fail to return your phone calls or e-mails. Odds are, I'm still alive.
The only person who deserves more of your pity than me is my intern, whose birthday is tomorrow on our first call. Time permitting, I plan to bake him something tonight, poor thing. As for me, I have volunteered Nick to take me for my last supper at Midtown Cafe. After that I see another month of Luna bars and yogurt in my future.
So when 3am rolls around and the unit's hoppin' with action, I'll just look around and remind myself of what I don't see. Rheumatology fellows. They're all at home asleep, and that will soon enough be me, too. Honestly, the dreading is (almost) always worse than the actual doing when it comes to the unit. So let's paste on our fake smiles, shall we? That, along with a healthy serving of rules #1-2, should carry me at least until Thanksgiving, and by then it will be old hat all over again.

Speaking of change in the wind...
1) Even at the risk of offending my future employer, I'm siding with my alma mater. What up, UT? Here's to breaking the 15-year losing streak. Sic 'em, Bears!
2) I voted today. Did you? Sic 'em, GOP!