Battle of the Sexes: The grocery store

Um, how has it been a month since I posted? Oops.

I try to do my grocery shopping at off-peak times to avoid the crowds. For me, this means shopping either late Friday night or very early Saturday morning. On Saturdays, I take the kids, and we stroll around the store stuffing our faces with tortilla and cookie samples. See exhibit A.

A) A's face stuffed with a tortilla. 

But on Friday nights, it's just me and the stocker guys. My trips are much quicker sans kiddos but still take a while. When I get home, Nick usually (not always but almost) makes a comment about how long it takes to grocery shop. Apparently he doesn't understand the grocery shopping process by which food magically appears in the pantry and fridge according to his exact pre-defined specifications.

Bethie goes grocery shopping:
Hmm, this cart makes a wonky sound when I turn right. I need a different one.
OK, Honeycrisp are $0.48 more per pound that Gala. But the last time I bought Gala they were really sour, no one ate them, and I just tossed them. So it's worth the extra money for them to be good, right? But these Honeycrisps are way smaller than usual; I wonder if this supplier is as good as the last one? Maybe I should skip both and just get the Fujis instead. Not my absolute favorite, but they look the best today. And how many? 3? We only went through 2 last time before I had to toss that rotten one. But E has been asking for apple, so she might eat it a few times this week. Or maybe not. Well, I'll just pay better attention, and I'll eat the last one if everybody else only eats 2 this week.
And so on and so forth. I'll spare you more details. Suffice it to say, shopping takes a LONG time.

Nick goes grocery shopping:
Nah, I don't need a cart. I just milk and bananas.
Bananas. Not green. Not brown. Done.
Milk. Blue lid, whole gallon. Done.

And he has offered to do the shopping before, but we both already know it wouldn't be done my way. He'd come home, and I'd ask him if that brand of cheese was on sale and whether they had a coupon for Cheerios that week, and he'd just stare blankly at me. So instead I do the shopping. And Nick eats. And we live happily ever after.

An honored guest?

I have received 3 invitations to talk at grand rounds in the last 4 months. Now to start, grand rounds is just a department-wide lecture; it has nothing to do with circles, actual patient rounds, or anything really grand at all. And when I say invitation, I really mean that the administrator sent an email to all the faculty in my department, and I caved to the pressure of metaphorical crickets chirping first and replied. At least for the first two. The last one was a personal invitation. Now I don't know how many other people he asked before me, but at least I have the dignity of an email actually address to Beth and not just "Rheumatology department." In all honesty, I kinda sorta think that I might have been invited because I'm the only rheumatologist whose name that other department's grand rounds coordinating faculty knows. He and I had a little run-in over who was getting an empty office.

There's a little story for ya. My division director told me he would show me my new office before I started 2 years ago. So he leads me to the intended address. I'm envisioning something mall but in a cozy way, a picture of the fam on the desk and everything. Maybe with a window. Well, we get there, and what do we spy but a squatter?! Seems someone else's division director also promised him that office. And his start date was 3 days earlier than mine. So he won by default. Hence, I think he remembers me.

But moving on. Tomorrow is also the Halloween party at daycare. And I have a shirt to make, which begs the question: what do you do when your kid needs a costume and you have a big, important presentation the next day? You stay up late. And then you blog about it so you're up even later.Gotta roll. Peace.

No blame here

So not much happening around my house this weekend. By which I mean 48 hours of continuous chaos from whence I emerge not at all rested or ready to start the week. I feel like lots of stuff happened, but was any of it blog-worthy? I don't know. I had a great idea to resurrect Battle of the Sexes, but it eludes me at the moment. And work is stressing me out, so I'm trying not to think about it (let along blog about it). So... kid story it is!

All the kids have been sick with a sinus congestion thing and have therefore been coughing. A lot.

E: Cough, cough, cough, cough.
Me: Oh, Tidbit. Are you coughing again? I'm sorry.
E: Mommy, you didun do nuffin to me. You no need be sorry. I jus' coughin'.

In other endearing news, she's decided over the last several days that she wants Daddy to be her husband until she grows up and finds her real husband because she doesn't know who he is or when she'll meet him. So for now she wants Daddy. Aww...

A little perspective

I've been saving this one for almost a whole year because my words are simply insufficient to convey the suffering and agony I encountered with this case. But it's a good reminder about how precious and unpredictable life is and the importance of treasuring even the trials. And I still think about her every time I walk past that bed in the MICU.



So if you count med school, I've been at this doctor thing for 10 years. That's a lot of sickness under my belt. And I'm pretty good at using humor and suppression (both higher order defense mechanisms, mind you) to distance myself from the emotional mire of death and disease. But every once in a while, something so tragic happens that I just can't keep the ghosts at bay.

A young mother died last week. She'd been suffering for some time, dependent on various machines to provide the functions on which her organs had given up. Days and days passed, and I think she finally saw that the doctors had not only lost hope but were completely out of tricks. So she made the decision, fully cognizant, to withdraw artificial life support. Her last wish was to see her child one more time. I know you're thinking how at least they got to have closure, right? Well, this is no tear-jerker poignant movie scene. She can't pass her final pearls of wisdom because she's trached and can't talk. And she can't give one last embrace because she's paralyzed. All there's no choreographed music swelling in the background or even the perfectly amplified silence of a movie. No, it's just the beeps and whirs of the machines, overhead pages in the background. And looking at her baby one last time.

It's enough to turn my stomach every time I walk by that ward. And make me selfishly think how grateful I am for my healthy babies and my husband... and myself. Because thinking about her makes me realize anew how every tantrum over broccoli, every argument about paint colors, every time I trip over a dog on my third overnight bathroom run - these are all beautiful luxuries. How precious those pebbles in my shoe would seem if they weren't there. And my heart breaks for that child, even more so because I was powerless to affect the outcome. And I hope and pray for a heavenly reunion for that family some day not too long off.

"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away: as it hath pleased the Lord so is it done: blessed be the name of the Lord." Job 1:21

All in the family

I had started this one a long time ago but just never finished it. I don't really know why. So here it is now...

Now I'm a pretty straight-shooting, non-hand-holding type of doctor, and some people don't like that. But other people do. I have a patient who has another family member who apparently also wants to start seeing me instead of some other rheumatologist.

Great. Book 'em.

And oh, there's actually a third family member who wants to see me, too.

OK. Even better. I hope I live up to my reputation.

And oh, they all want appointments on the same day.

Gulp. Um, ok. That's a lot of the same last name in one day, but I've got it in me. Check the schedule.

And oh, they all want appointments today.

Ha, ha, ha. For a second I thought you were serious.

No, they really do. Like right now.
.
.
.
.
Siiiiiggghhh. As glad as I am that they like me, the answer is no. There are no bulk discounts or "two-fer" deals when my clinic is already booked. No no no no no no no. Whew. High-pressure situation deferred for another day.

Test drive

Alright, guys. I know it's been a while. A long while. To be honest, life just didn't seem funny there for a while, and I didn't want my blog to turn into angry venting rant-land. So either I'm wrapping up that season of life or have just finally developed the maturity to deal with it, but I think stuff is funny again. Funny enough to tell you about. So no promises, but I think it might be time for (semi) regular programming again. Starting with this funny story about my kid from drop-off at daycare this morning.

Teacher: You know, Mom, that I usually have only good news for you.
Me: Oh no. What did she do?
Teacher: But today I have great news.
Me: [sigh of relief] Oh really?
Teacher: While I clean up from lunch, Ellison helps get out all the nap mats and tells everyone to lay down. She is my mat monitor. I tried letting a few other kids do it, but they couldn't handle it. But she's consistently been able to do handle the responsibility and get it right.
E: [blushing and leaning into me, smiling]
Me: That doesn't really surprise me. She loves rules. At home we call her The Enforcer.
Teacher: Well, she sure does a good job being my helper.

So I'm pretty sure what she's telling me is that my kid is the only one in the class both sufficiently compulsive and bossy to pull off that job. After some thought, I'm going to take it as a compliment. I've always said E is more than half Scholz, but maybe there's a little more Zarnow in her than I thought.

Cold call

I hate getting telemarketer calls on my cell phone. But this one actually made me laugh. Now if only I'd been quick enough to have this conversation, which came to me immediately upon hanging up.

Me: Hello?
Telemarketer: Hi, this is Susie Q from University of Pheonix.
Me: Uh, ok.
TM: I was just calling to see if you're interested in going to school.
Me: Well, I have already been to plenty of school. You do count college and medical school as "school", right?
Click.

In real life, I just said, "No." So she told me, "Thank you" and hung up. The end.

The dark side

Everybody knows one. That previously well-minded friend who suddenly went crazy loco and committed to some crazy work-out program like Insanity or P90X. I've been married to one of those fools for years now. Nick has an on-again, off-again relationship with Tony Horton (and more recently Shaun T), defined mostly by the state of his (bum) knee. So when P90X3 came out, it went straight on the Amazon wish list.

Where my mother saw it.

And bought it for him as a Christmas gift.

Sigh. Big, long sigh.

Why the sigh you ask? Because this time he wants to really do it. The whole 9 yards, P90X style. The rigid schedule. The crazy moves and millions of crunches. And, most importantly... the diet. Now he doesn't want to waste money on the supplements, thank goodness. But he does want to commit to 90 days of eating only healthy things. I asked him about cake for my birthday next month, and he said there could be a slice of cake but not a whole cake, which makes him an insane person.

The only one crazier than my darling husband is me because I've agreed to do this with him. It's a long story related to many things, including my post-Archer wrinkly belly skin and a small-group conversation about how Nick and I somewhere along the way stopped doing things for each other that we didn't really like but used to do anyway just to make the other person happy.

Kick-off is tomorrow, and can I just tell you the culinary horizon is bleak. Lots of kale, unbuttered sweet potatoes, and lean chicken breasts are in my future. Nick even bought me a Keurig for Christmas that I apparently won't get to use for 3 months. In fact, as I write this, I'm drinking my farewell cup of hot chocolate. So please don't offer me a Rice Krispy treat or sweet tea or heaven forbid a brownie because I have to say "no" for 90 days. Just stick it in the freezer and save it for me, will ya?