Privileged information

I got a consult today on a woman who was previously diagnosed with lupus. The admitting doctor told me she's seen a rheumatologist "for a long time" and is certain that rheumatologist could tell me all about her lupus.

Well, folks, truth be told this woman has seen a rheumatologist one time. Two days ago. So no, that person couldn't tell me all about her. I even go so far as to try calling the other facility, but of course no one's in on Saturday.

I later try to tell the admitting doctor (who clearly never tried calling the other rheumatologist) that while I suspect she does in fact have lupus, I need more information. She interrupts and tells me she's just certain that if I talked to that rheumatologist I could.... Nope. That didn't work. I ask her to try calling back later. She then asks me to keep trying to call. Apparently I'm part of a members' only club wherein we don't talk to non-rheumatologists.

Or maybe it's just that no one wants to admit that he doesn't understand anything we say because it's all so insanely brilliant.

Or maybe it's just plain laziness.

Nah, we've got a secret club. Butter me up, and maybe I'll teach you the secret handshake.

Sleephyhead

Believe it or not, my little sweet pea is 6 months old. Crazy, right? Here she is, waking up happy from her nap.

Just around the corner

Last night was the rheum department's graduation dinner for the departing second-year fellows. I hear you saying, "But, Beth, you're just a first year. Why are you telling me this story?"

Because I had an epiphany. I have been in school for my entire life. My entire life. I know that technically they pay me, and I am board-certified and personally licensed. But if I'm really honest, I'm functionally still in school.

For one more year.

That's it. Just one year until I call the shots. This terrifies me. I sure hope I'll be ready.

Pitiful



Without a doubt, Elle has the world's meanest mommy, who insists on wiping her face after she eats. She is clearly not a fan, as evidenced by those big ol' crocodile tears.

My new alter ego

I got volunteered to make this stuff called ballistics gel for practicing needle-guided ultrasound at work. Think really thick, inedible Jello. I therefore recruited Laurie to assist me. She told me she felt like we were playing at mad scientist. I agreed. I'll skip ahead a bit in the story. By this point, we have mad scientist nicknames. For the rest of this post, Laurie is Murgatroy and I am Dr. Zamboni.

Murgatroy: (wringing her hands and fake limping across the kitchen) What next, master?
Dr. Zamboni: That's a horrible mad scientist sidekick limp. You look more like a bunny rabbit.
Murgatroy: I'm sorry. I didn't have any time to practice. I had to make this up on the fly.
Dr. Zamboni: You need to work on it. If you can't fix it, I'll have to rename you Hop-a-long.
Murgatroy: Well, you're mad scientist laugh isn't any good. It isn't nearly evil enough.
Dr. Zamboni: OK, how's this... Mu-wahahahahahaaaa!!

Both Murgatroy and Dr. Zamboni are laughing so hard we can't breathe at this point. I am proud to say Murgatroy had perfected the evil sidekick limp by the end of the second batch. I wonder what we'll cook up next?

It's a jungle in here

Enjoying the Exersaucer before putting on her foofy church dress this morning

In a nutshell

My Friday afternoon consisted of the following:

1) the magically disappearing gout

2) Steroids are not toys and should only be handled by a trained professional.

3) I know this isn't why you called me, but (I can't believe I'm about to say this), I think she has lupus. Please order an ANA.

TGIF!

Bathing beauty

Egads! I just realized I missed baby picture Sunday last week. Sorry. My holiday weekend call was kinda crazy, I just forgot about the blog. Oops. To make it up to you, you'll get not one but two pictures of my most awesomely cute baby girl.

Babies sunglasses are so cute they're deadly.

So hungry and impatient she actually started trying to eat her Bumbo chair while I heated up her dinner.

Tennis, anyone?

Remember a few weeks ago when I told you about my epic quest for a tennis racquet? Well, I just realized that I left you hanging and never told you about actually playing tennis. So here's the rest of the story.

Laurie and I have been out to a local park to play tennis several times since then. "Playing tennis" is used loosely here. What I really mean is that we kinda serve the ball and sometimes hit it back and then maybe hit it back again but usually not. We pretend not to see when the other whiffs it. We use the white lines more as guides than actual boundaries. We play doubles, and by doubles I mean we end up hitting both on our court and the court next to us because of all the wild shots. (Wild as in crazy off the mark, not wild as in wicked good.) If we bothered to pay attention to all the rules about the lines no one would ever win. Oh, wait, never mind. We don't keep score, so no one wins anyway. Or better put, we're all winners. The best part might be our nicknames: Bethie "Twinkletoes" Scholz (better known as Twinkles) and Laurie "Lobtastic" Zarnow (better known as The Lobster). Is it bad that I just laughed out loud at myself over nicknames we made up like a month ago? I can't help that it's just still that funny.

You should join us if you're ever down this way. I'm sure we could make room for a third somewhere. Symmetry isn't important. The only rule is that if you hit it over the fence, you're the one who chases after it.