Tre chic, aka tres chicas at Roommate Reunion III

Hump day is almost upon us, so it's high time to brag on all the fun I had at Roommate Reunion III. This time around, Angela, Cassandra, and I rented a condo at Lake Travis. It was a bit of a drive but oh so worth it. I don't have pictures. I mean, there are pictures, but I don't have them. Angela used her super fun Instax camera, which is basically 21st century Polaroids. So here's what we did.

1) Eat pizza rolls for breakfast
2) Talk
3) Lay out
4) Eat Puppy Chow while talking
5) Talk while laying out
6) Scrapbook!*
7) Watch girl movies
8) Meet Mason, Cass' baby boy

Sounds like a great weekend, no? I already can't wait til next time! RR 3.5 will roll into Waco for a Baylor-style shindig sometime this spring. Woohoo!

*I'm gonna milk that and make it a separate post later.

Life of (pregnant) Bethie

I thought you might be entertained by a glimpse into my stream of conciousness. I promise I'm not going to over-blog going to try not to over-blog about the whole pregnancy thing, but send me a discrete, anonymous e-mail if anything gets to be TMI. (Mom, that means too much information.)

Earlier this morning, in my closet...
Ugh. This skirt doesn't zip. Double ugh. The buttons on this shirt are about to burst. I'm so fat. No, Beth, not fat. Pregnant. Eh, who am I kidding? I'm pregnant fat. Which is better than regular fat but still means I can't wear that dress today. I feel like I shouldn't be this big yet. I mean, Gizmo is sticking out a LOT. Hope I don't have polyhydramnios [overproduction of amniotic fluid leading to inappropriate uterine enlargement]. Can you even get that this early? Guess I need to bite the bullet and go shopping for maternity clothes.

This afternoon, in the maternity section...
Salesgirl: Hi! Are you shopping for yourself? (Yes.) How far along are you? (Almost 17 weeks.) Oh, wow. You're so tiny. I would have guessed 6 or 8 weeks. Well, look around and let me know if you need anything.
Yeah, "tiny." I'm sure she's learned from experience to guess at least a month less than she thinks. Does she not see the giant Gizmo bulge down there? [sift through a couple racks] But what if she's actually good at guessing? And I do look tiny? That would be nice. But then, what if that means I'm TOO small? Should Gizmo be bigger than he is? Oh no, what if he's IUGR [intra-uterine growth restriction]?! Maybe I should be gaining more weight. Oh, I hope everything's ok on the ultrasound next week. Especially his little kidneys. I mean, what if it's oligohydramnios [inadequate amniotic fluid production]?! OK, Beth, just calm down. I'm sure everything is fine.

In the dressing room...
Ugh. I look so big. Who was I kidding? I'm not too small. It would definitely be too big if anything. Oh, I hope his little esophagus and lungs are ok! And on and on, but I'll spare you.

Being me is exhausting.

No time to exhale

Oh. My. Goodness. Have you ever been just overwhelmed by all the good things in your life? It's a great feeling, no? But still a busy one. As for myself, I'm glad finally to be caught up in a whirlwind of good things and not stuck in a quagmire of trying ones. Starting with my first case conference last week. I've spent my entire fellowship so far (yes, all three weeks of it) stressing out over my HOUR long presentation. Then the day came and went. Just like that. And it went well. People commented but didn't criticize, asked lots of questions, and (best of all) no one fell asleep! But that could just be because I talk so darn loud. Eh, regardless.
And the good things just keep on rolling. Like the mad crazy Still's disease I saw in clinic yesterday.* Like the BBQ we're having at our place tonight with small group friends. And Roommate Reunion 3 (can't stop that train) this weekend. And some of Nick's family being in Texas next week. And getting to see if Gizmo is Gizmo or Gizette the week after that.
Woohoo. It's good to be me today.

*Still's disease is rare. You don't care about the rest. Very good for me, not as good for the patient. But he'll feel a heck of a lot better after a few days of steroids. Yes, Virginia, steroids really do fix everything.

Battle of the sexes: dinner time

Nick and I eat fast. Kinda like he walks fast, and I type fast, and we both make decisions fast. In fact, he's been known to put his fork down on his clean plate, look at my plate with a few bites left, and declare, "I won!"
Now here's an excerpt from tonight's dinner conversation when I finished my bowl of soup first.

Nick: Wow, that was fast. Did you even taste your food?
Me: What? You only have like three bites left. Besides, I'm disappointed in the recipe and didn't feel the need to savor it.
Nick: Yeah, whatever.
Me: And hey, how come when you finish your food first you win, but when I finish first I'm inhaling it?
Nick: I don't make the rules of the games, Beth. I just win them.

Initiation

I'm "on call" this weekend, which means I saw one patient at one hospital with the attending on rounds. I did, however, get my first page this afternoon, and I'm proud to say I knew the answer all by myself.

No, don't stop the steroids. Never, ever stop the steroids. They fix everything.

That is always the answer.

Bethie the invalid

I should probably preface this post with an announcement. I am pregnant. I think most of you know that already, but just in case. Anyhoo. I told you that to tell you this...

I met up with my co-fellow this evening for the weekend pager hand-off. She told me about our consult peeps, and then she needed to show me where something was. I picked up the tackle box (full of syringes and steroids and stuff for our injections) since my call technically started at 5:00pm, which made it my tackle box. By the way, this is lighter than my purse.

Co-fellow: No, I can carry that.
Me: Why?
Co-fellow: Because, you're...
Me: I'm what?
Co-fellow: You're... heavy with child!
Me: What?! No, I am not. I will be eventually. In three months, I'll let you carry the tackle box.
Co-fellow: OK, ok.
Me: Heck, in three months, I'll let you push me around in a wheelchair!
Co-fellow: Yeah, we'd do that.
Me: Oh my goodness, no you're not.

I'm pregnant, not broken!

Hello, fellow

Good news, guys. One week in, and I don't hate my job. This is meant to be a positive statement, by the way. Nothing about the first week was particularly terrible, but the newness of it all still left me a little overwhelmed and stressed out. So I'm not ready to commit that I love or even like my job just yet.
But I don't hate it.
I don't hate that 7:30 am is my "early" day. Remember when I was an intern and semi-routinely arrived at the hospital between 4:30 and 5:00?
And I don't hate not admitting patients. People in clinic may be sick, but everyone is well enough to go home. Anyone who isn't gets admitted by someone else. I'll "follow along."
I surely don't hate skipping the health maintenance part of clinic visits from my days as a PCP. You know, the part where I tell you to stop doing everything you think is fun and start doing everything that isn't. Like smoking, drinking, eating fast food, eating vegetables, taking your pills, getting your colonoscopy, exercising, yes you have to take the pills every day for them to work. You get the picture.
I can't imagine I'll hate working one out of every six weekends. Two days off in a row for five straight weeks? And they're still paying me?! Suckers.
And above all I don't hate sleeping in my own bed every night. Now Nick might have a different opinion about that one (good-bye, days of q4 bachelor freedom), but this isn't about him, now is it?
Hmm. I think I'm not going to hate this at all.