My delusional rant du jour

I went to the grocery store today, as I so often do. I swung by the pharmacy at the request of my poor, constipado (that's congested, not constipated) husband for some Claritin-D. As I was standing in line, I realized that I've gotten very used to things happening when I say and how I say when it comes to health care. As Nick enjoys pointing out, I like to be in charge. And I do not like waiting. Especially as a patient.
I decided I want a special doctors' line at the pharmacy. The "trust me, I know what I need, and I don't wanna show my ID and fill out your little ephedrine-containing medication form" line. Maybe it's elitist or entitled, but darn it... I feel like four years of med school and three years of residency should at least earn me line-jumping and meaningless-paperwork-avoiding rights at the local pharmacy.
But alas, it just isn't so. I stood there and waited my turn like a regular commoner. But where you sign the little record documenting how many pseudophedrine-containing pills you bought (there's a montly limit by law), I scribbled MD at the end. As if to say, "Do you see how ridiculous this is? I can write for controlled substances, but I'm signing on the dotted line for an OVER THE COUNTER medication." In Bethie World, there's a special line for doctors at the pharmacy. And maybe the grocery store. And the post office, too. No, on second thought, not a special line for doctors. A special line for me.

Gotcha

Patient: Don't you think six months since my last visit is kinda long? Considering all my issues?
Me: Well, yes.
Patient: It's just so hard to get in with you.
Me: How do you mean?
Patient: It's hard to get an appointment.
Me: I'm sorry... what specific issue did you have when trying to make your appointment?
Patient: It's been six months!
Me: I don't understand what problem you had getting an appointment. We made an appointment for you two months ago, and you didn't come to it. And another appointment a month ago, and you didn't come to that one. So we gave you this appointment today, and you're here.
Silence.

At least this person was sandwiched between two of my favorite patients - the businessman who enjoys learning the research behind our diagnostic strategy and the schoolteacher with the best shoes ever.

Lessons learned

1) Cream of tartar is not the same as tartar sauce.

2) "It doesn't match, it goes" is in the eye of the beholder.

3) Always, always, always break the suction on every syringe (even the ones you don't plan to use) before you start a procedure.

3) Baking soda loses its oomph after a while. As in, three years is too old. And your cookies will be very flat.

4) There is no food gunk that really, really hot water cannot conquer.

5) It's just not worth owning anything so nice that you get upset if it gets ruined because using stuff ruins it.

6) Extra vanilla and underbaking by 2 minutes makes all baked goods better.

7) Christian Dior makeup is expensive but so much better and oh so addictive.

8) Finish your clinic notes before you leave for the day. Trust me, you'll feel ten pounds lighter walking out the door.

9) There is already bacon in the freezer. You do not need to buy more every time you are at the store.

10) There is never enough butter in the fridge. You should always buy more when you go to the store.

Bonus: Don't bring cookies on the first day; you'll seem too eager. But neither wait until the last day; you won't reap the benefits of your brownie points. Day 4-5 of a 30 day rotation is just right.

Greetings and salutations

Happy 30th birthday, Jen. Wish we could celebrate together, Texas Roadhouse style. Aah, maybe next year, or the year after that.

Hey, sis, can you believe you're getting married in two weeks?!

I loved the Nashville post, Angela. Gonna have to pre-tan to be ready for the shots at RR3 with Cass. That's Roommate Reunion 3 for you outsiders.

H-town friends, I am super excited to be moving back to your fair (eh, who am I kidding), I mean excessively humid city in a mere 34 days.

I love you, Nick, and I'm glad you're with me for all these big life changes.

Hi, Mom!

That is all for today. Over and out.

Never say never again

Big, self-pitying sigh. Remember how I gloated back in February about my last call, ever? Remember how I told you about jeopardy last year? Well, jeopardy repeats itself. But this time, it took me to the most dreaded of all places... the CCU. For a whole night of call.

Fellow: Hey, Beth, thanks for coming in to help out.
Me: I'd love to tell you it's out of the goodness of my heart, but it's really because they told me I had to.
Fellow: Still.
Me: But, I will do a good job while I'm here, out of the goodness of my heart.
Fellow: And that's why we're glad it's you.

Another big, self-pitying sigh. The day wasn't really too bad. The night wasn't either, at least until around 2:00am. (Why do bad things always happen at 2:00am?) A really sick guy rolled up from the floor, and his issues really just defied explanation. I know you aren't interested in the details, so I'll just sum up by saying that I came home very sleepy and grumpy. My general status is much improved after cupcake baking, working out, and a yummy dinner at Texas Roadhouse.
And now, I sleep, after what is (hopefully) really, truly my last call. Ever.

Ask Dr. Bethie, again

Dear Dr. Bethie,
Help! Sometimes I can see the veins on the back of my hand pop out. I know that means I have vasculitis, so what should I do?
Sincerely,
Warren the Worrier

Dear WW,
You do not have vasculitis. Visibly engorged veins of the hands simply means that blood is, in fact, flowing  to them. This is a necessary phenomenon to keep them from getting very cold and eventually falling off. If these engorged veins are cosmetically unappealing or distressing, you may relieve the situation promptly by raising your hands above the level of your heart.
Regards,
Dr. B

Dear Dr. Bethie,
Your suggestion worked; holding my hands over my head cured my vasculitis. But they are getting very cold, feel as if they might fall off. Also very hard to type with them way up there. Going to Mayo to seek a second opinion.
Respectfully,
Warren the Worrier

Dear WW,
Banging. Head. On. Desk. Sigh.
Best wishes,
Dr. B

Ask Dr. Bethie

Dear Dr. Bethie,
Help! Sometimes I can feel my heart beating inside my chest.
Sincerely,
Hyperaware Clare from Toledo

Dear HC,
Excellent. This is a phenomenon commonly associated with being alive.
Regards,
Dr. B

Dear Dr. Bethie,
I feel like you're not listening to me. I can feel it beating really strongly.
With angst,
Hyperaware Clare, still from Toledo

Dear HC,
This is a situation in which many people would like to find themselves. Enjoy it while it lasts. The alternative, not feeling a heartbeat, is highly compatible with death.
Warmest regards,
Dr. B

Dear Dr. Bethie,
I'm going to St. Thomas for a second opinion.
Good-bye,
Hyperaware (and now Indignant) Clare, yet again from Toledo

Battle of the sexes strikes a pose

Nick and I went to Houston last weekend to house hunt. (Rent, not buy, in case you haven't listened to my unending house drama.) But that was only half the fun. The best part of the weekend was getting pictures done. You see, we never had an engagement photo session because Nick was way too busy in the Navy on the other side of the world, fighting a war and whatnot. Blah blah. And that has made me sad ever since. Nick, on the contrary, has counted this as a victory and a brilliant strategic move. But as a belated birthday present, we planned an engagement-like photo session with our dear, sweet friend Kristen. Look at her pictures. I bet you'll love them. I sure do. So Sunday afternoon we trucked up to Rice Village and got our picture on. I had a blast. Nick tolerated the experience, kinda like a cat tolerates a bath. At one point, Kristen commented that he was grimacing. Oh by the way, this was a shot she was getting of us kissing. So now I know the truth. That kissing me causes my husband pain.
Links to proofs to come in the near future.

Tales from the land of Er, epilogue

I know, I know. I just finished telling you guys yesterday about how I wouldn't be blogging this week because of my big paper, and now here I am. I made progress today, so I deserve a break. Just one more ER story. And the edited-for-TV version at that.
I signed up for the "arm cyst" (translation: pus pocket) on my last shift. This was really a win-win situation: no one else wanted it and would therefore interpret my action as me taking one for the team, but I knew the necessary incision and drainage (I&D to those of us in the know) would take so long I wouldn't have to sign up for anyone else before my shift was over. So I gathered my supplies like a good little worker bee and pranced on in. I donned my plastic gown, mask with face shield thingie, gloves, and hat (take no chances with pus under pressure) and prepped my field.
I'll spare you the gory details (you really, really don't wanna know), but the short version is that I made a grown man cry. But that isn't even the point. As I was standing there injecting and cutting and probing etc, my butt started ringing. Well, not my butt exactly. My phone in my butt pocket. Clearly there was no taking that call.

Voicemail: Hi, it's Meagan. Just calling about your trip tomorrow. I'm sure you're busy saving lives in the ER, so just call me later!


Ha. Right, saving lives. One abscess at a time. Peace, ER. Time for me to make like a baby and head out.

The accidental procrastinator

So anyone who knows me knows that I like to get things done. Putting off term papers or studying for tests just always went against my grain. As I progress further into my training, it just gets tougher and tougher to keep ahead of the game. I don't know if it's the sleep deprivation or senility or what, but I frequently find myself without that anxiety-reducing cushion between me and my deadlines. And this time I've really gone and done it.
I forgot about a project. And not just a little one. A big one. A review paper on duloxetine and diabetic neuropathy. In the midst of planning my ACP poster and San Diego trip and Houston trip and the move and selling the house... I just forgot. I was gently reminded (the other girl had actually forgotten, too, for a few weeks), and now I have three days to crank this thing out. And I'm wasting time sitting here blogging about it.
So please pardon the mess as this paper goes under construction. I promise I'll be back, but don't expect much before next week.
Good luck to me.