Right at home and overwhelmed

Oh. My. Goodness. Well, I've landed in Houston. The Scholzes are back together again. So now it's boxes and dishes and curtains. And oh yeah, my new job. I started orientation this week. My department invited us to dinner with the program director and the fellows for a laid-back, informal orientation tonight. I think the point was to put us more at ease, but this is simply not possible.

Old fellow: Maybe you guys don't even need this. You're all so calm. I was freaking out last year.
Me: Oh no, we are. Fake it 'til you make it.
Other new fellow: Yeah. It's my poker face.

I know, I know. Life as a rheum fellow doesn't really sound that bad. Rare weekends, no nights, no admissions, etc. But that doesn't mean I'm not stressed out about some resident calling me to ask about giant pulse doses of steroids and then reporting back to his attending that "the rheum fellow said _____." Eek!
But I will say that Houston already feels like home again. Almost as if everyone sat around holding their collective breath while we were gone, waiting for us to come back. Even the crazy drivers are pleasantly familiar. I heart 288. And Prego. And Ruggles. And the Galleria. And most of all, HEB. Happy sigh.
OK. Time for me to hit the sack. Got a big, early day tomorrow. It's badge and parking day.

Metamorphosis: an epilogue

Today was my last day of residency. Can you believe it? All the fuss around such a big ending of course prompts some reflection on the last three years, so please bear with a bit of pensive sentimentality.
For better or for worse, residency has shaped me in more ways than I can count. While I never considered myself naive as to the grueling nature of life as a doctor, my heart was still unprepared to pay the toll. And the long hours and sleepless nights (both at the hospital and at home worrying about the hospital) taxed me physically beyond what three years should rightfully take. I am not who I was before.
I can look a man in the eyes and tell him he's dying - not at a ripe old age, not next year. Today. Maybe tomorrow if we're lucky. And I can bear the rage and grief that pour out from him as he seeks a scapegoat, a culprit, anything on which to blame his circumstances except fate and God who could never be so cruel. Whoever said hell hath no fury like a woman scorned has never met a dying man.
I can do anything you can do better. And faster. And look calm doing it. But if you look closely, the tremor of my hand betrays me, how I still panic on the inside.
I don't cry anymore. That place only wins if you let it. Yeah, nobody would blame me for crying sometimes or feeling defeated or even quitting. But I win if I can plow through with a dry face.
I am in charge. And not with hesitation in my voice, glancing to the side to see if anyone questions me, but real-deal queen-bee in charge. Of course, that's about to go out the window as I start over on the bottom rung of the ladder, but it's encouraging to know what that kind of confidence feels like.
I am head-over-heels in love with and completely dependent on my husband. I need him for everything. But I don't need him around every second of the day to feel secure. I've finally arrived at the place where I can rest easy and assured that what we've got is The Real Thing. Long haul, here we come.
I am not the best at everything. This one's been particularly hard for me to admit. After having spent too many years as a big fish in a little pond, I have now encountered too many intellectual superiors to count. But I've learned to be content with being good even if I'm not the best. Usually.
And so many more things that I can't remember or haven't even realized yet. And the people - attendings and residents and students - nobody understands the pressure and the weariness and the exultation like the people who were there with you at 3:00am. I'll miss them dearly. It's bittersweet, how the hospital has been my life for the last three years. It's been a constant, a guarantee, and there's something to be said for that kind of security, even if it's the miserable kind.
And that, as they say, is that. Time to hit the road in my trusty Blazer headed southbound, back home. See you there.

The beginning and the end

Stick a fork in me, I'm done! Residency, check. Next on the list, fellowship.
The car is packed. The house is clean (and leased - woohoo!). The last patient has been seen and the last note written. Nothing left to do but turn in my pager, drug my dog, and hit the road.
Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

Brief Ode to Izzy

My almost completely empty house was broken into this morning. Drama, drama, drama. Details aren't important. I'm fine, and almost all the stuff worth taking is already in Texas. The remaining stuff(including the lap top on which I'm typing) was in the master bedroom, where Izzy was. I'm pretty sure her presence deterred further entry and subsequent theft. Thanks, Iz; you've earned your keep! Since the piece of cheese and profuse snuggling may not have adequately conveyed my gratitude for you barking, snarling guard dog act, I've composed a haiku in your honor.

Golden retriever
Loves fetch and peanut butter
Thinks she's a lap dog

Paradise lost and found

Greetings once more from Middle Tennessee, where the "bless his hearts" flow like honey. Speaking of honey, Izzy has found her balm in Gilead. Meaning, she's kinda starting to like our new situation. Let's think about it from her perspective: she gets my undivided attention and pet momma love. No Dallas to nose her way in, no Nick to steal me away. Just me and my puppy BFF. She's been getting walks every day (sorry about today Iz, but it's just too rainy!), lots of fetch, even more lap dog time, and (the best part in her puppy opinion) having me asleep on ground level right beside her. A pup could get used to that, right? The lack of furniture and other Scholzes also makes it much easier to keep me continually in her sight, which is very important when one's doggy mind is obsessed with not getting left behind.
As for me... I'm really over this. Squatting in my own house is not exactly my idea of fun. I'm tired of eating peanut butter sandwiches off paper plates and only having a daily selection of 6 pairs of shoes. How much can a girl take?! But we are certainly in the home stretch... the Bethie train rolls into H-town in only 8 days! Woohoo!

Me, myself, and Izzy

I know my time in Nashville must be nearly over because Nick is gone. Yup, that's right. The movers came and packed (nearly) all our earthly possessions in a giant truck a couple days ago, and Nick left Friday to meet said giant truck in Houston. There's apparently almost too many boxes to fit in our new, more compact rental house, even after what we thought was a massive purge over the last few weeks. Looks like a storage unit lies in our future.
But that isn't the point. The point is that I am now all alone and lonely except for my faithful sidekick Izzy. Poor thing was freaking out Friday. You see, Nick (with a tiny bit of help from me) loaded the car very early and left (with the other two dogs) shortly after I took off to work. So poor Isabelle spent all day thinking we'd left her behind, totally abandoned in a completely empty house. She often doesn't even come straight to the door when I come home, but Friday evening she was right there, tail wagging, little front paws bouncing off the ground with joy that she was not in fact forgotten.
My offering to alleviate her suffering was a few rounds of fetch in the backyard and a nice, long walk. She forgave me, but she's been even more my shadow than usual since. If I walk from one room to another, she follows. She's even been lying by the shower door while I bathe.
Aah, Izzy, have no fear. All will be well soon enough, when we arrive in Houston to join your pet daddy and furry brother and sister. Just gotta survive the 787.25 mile drive between now and then.

And the Oscar goes to...

Well, maybe not an Oscar. But I'm still proud to announce that I was declared this year's winner of the first annual Jeanetta L. Frye Best Shoes of Residency Award.
I'd like to start by thanking all of you for noticing my shoes; I'd never have won if you all hadn't looked down every once in a while! And Jeanetta is one of my dearest friends from residency,* and she introduced me to the beauty and overall amazing-ness of Cole Haan shoes. A girl can't help but get addicted. Therefore, I dedicate this award to Jeanetta and the spirit of fashionable doctoring she embodies. Interns and second-years, I only hope you will carry on the tradition and aspire to wear great shoes, too, instead of those nasty clogs. Please, please, if you've ever enjoyed a banana chocolate chip cupcake, do that for me. Thank you again, my dah-lings, thank you!

*She moved to Virginia with her husband and sweet baby Garrett last year for GI fellowship. She was my resident twice as an intern, and she has the best shoes ever. Period, end of story. I miss you, J-Dawg!

A different kind of windy city

Ay, carumba, amigos mios. What a weekend. What a month. Life has been full to the brim and then some over these last few weeks. I spent last weekend in Seattle along with the entire Haley-Zarnow clan for my sister's wedding. This involved a lot of eating, quite a bit of laughing, and a fair share of me stressing out because I am a type A and can't help myself. Planning a shower at a restaurant you've never tried in a city you've visited once is tricky at best, but it was a success.

No, I'm not actually that much taller than my mom and sister. I'm just wearing higher heels. Laurie let me do her make-up over the weekend with the caveat that I was not supposed to make her look just like me. The problem is that we look very much alike. What's a girl to do? And my toast went off without a hitch, even if it was scribbled on the back of my IM board practice test paper. The bottom line is that Laurie is married, which was the main goal of the ordeal.

I have more blustering to do yet. The moving truck comes tomorrow. Nick leaves Friday. I leave in a mere 16 days. Fellowship starts in 20 days. Can I say it again? Ay, carumba. No rest for the weary

Under siege

Egads, cyber friends! What a crazy week it's been. I don't know what in particular made it so, but I feel like I've been working at a frenzied pace yet still accomplishing nothing. But that isn't the point.
The point is that Nashville has been invaded. Not the dreaded British, or even the body-snatchers. That would be a welcome relief. Cicadas. Yup, those giant, googlie-eyed, grate-on-your-nerves insects. The Volunteer State is due for its 13-year crop, and they have resurrected in impressive numbers. I hate them. The incessant buzzing. The horrifying splat and subsequent goo-ishness they leave on your windshield on the highway. The vicious attacks on my person and property. OK, that's giving them too much credit. They're way to dumb to plan anything so intricate as an attack on a life form a gajillion times their size. But they do fly at you, and they are really hard to get off because, as mentioned, they are ginormous. I was sitting in my lounge chair in the backyard earlier this week, catching some rays while I studied, and (I'm so not kidding, wish I were) a giant, dead cicada fell out of the tree and landed on my head. I screamed, did a little dead-cicada-on-my-head dance, and headed straight for the cicada-free great indoors.
But relief is on the horizon. I get a cicada-free interlude this weekend since I'll be in Seattle for Laurie's wedding. And then, only 17 days until I escape permanently to Houston! Wish me luck in the meantime.