I know I have written several posts on how much my life has changed and that it is clear, by all accounts, that I am no longer the 21 year old college student my inner self still believes she is.
But a couple of things lately make me feel as if I may as well have one foot in the grave.
Saturday I went to a "party" for a good friend's 40th bday. I call it a "party" because it was a dinner with a couple of friends, which was awesome. But a major contrast to my 30th bday, with a big party at my house and even (cringing here) a keg and the police called by my neighbors. Anyhow, I had a great time at Robyn's dinner, and I would not have wanted to go to any wild parties- can't think of much less appealing now. First we went to Union in Encinitas. This is apparently a very cool and trendy place with lots of really good looking people. I was pretty horrified to be there and I really wanted to apologize for my presence (as in, "Yes, I realize I am at least 10 years too old to be here and I will be getting out of the way really soon, thanks"). I felt so much like the older sister in Knocked Up, when she goes to the bar with Allison and can no longer get past the bouncer. We only lasted 5 minutes at Union-- nowhere to sit, too loud, and we just wanted somewhere quieter so we could sit and catch up. Yes, I recall my mother saying similar things when she was about my age. So we headed south to L'Auberge. A very nice place, but much quieter. Grabbed a table by the fireplace overlooking the beach. Perfect.
So Robyn (the birthday "girl') and Colleen are friends from residency. Residency feels to me like it was maybe a few months ago. But no, have been out now for 7 years-- long enough that I do not know a single resident in the program, except those from my time that stayed on as faculty. Nope, don't know anyone, but according to Colleen, they are a very wild bunch-- lots of heavy partying and even cocaine use. I can honestly say I don't know a single individual (well, to my knowledge, at least) who uses cocaine. I've never even seen it, save for the 4% solution I used to use in the ER topically to stop nosebleeds. I always viewed cocaine as really bad, will-mess-up-your-life-forever-even-if -you-use-it-just-once-- like Len Bias who died after his "first time." I am not saying at all that I want to try cocaine-- nothing further from the truth, actually. But hearing about these people who seem to me like my peers (though they are probably 10 years younger so definitely not "peers") living this fast and crazy life makes me feel so disconnected to my residency days. And even when Colleen and Robyn were discussing a couple cases they have seen recently I realized that I am so of touch with clinical emergency medicine that I don't even know how to do the bread and butter procedures of my specialty any longer. They were talking about intubating with a Glideoscope-- I have never seen one and would have no clue what to do with it. So no, residency wasn't just a few months ago-- it was pretty much a whole lifetime ago. And though I keep up with the medical literature (ok, reality check, while I do the requisite CME to keep up my license, I spend most of my "educational time" on the message boards--- nothing like an online community of physicians as Saturday night entertainment), I am really out of touch.
And then tonight I was looking up an old friend from college-- someone I dated very casually many (OMG 18) years ago. Found him on the internet-- he is a professional musician so it wasn't hard. I last saw him 12 years ago, so it isn't like we are close, haven't even spoken in that interim. But still, I have an idea in my head of what he is like-- and it doesn't fit AT ALL with what he appears to be now. Why is this surprising-- I don't know-- I certainly have changed tremendously in 12 years. Now he has a food blog with incredibly ornate vegetarian recipes. First, didn't know he liked to cook-- and I don't remember him being vegetarian. Certainly could have been-- was a long time ago. He also had long hair- he doesn't now. I can't describe it-- I guess it is that even though I realize I have changed over the years, it makes me feel incredibly old to see other people so different from the way I remember them.
It is way too late now, and I really need to head to bed. But, to keep me honest, here is where I am in my training plan:
Week of June 12: 25 miles, and painful. Definitely not recovered from the marathon. Most runs I was just dragging
Week of June 19 (last week)-- 35 miles and much better. I know, I know, probably shouldn't have made such a large mileage jump, but workouts felt good and I ended up running an extra day.
This week: haven't run at all yet, last run was Saturday- today is Tuesday. Need to hit 28 miles (well, I did 2.5 m speedwork today so I guess not accurate to say I haven't run at all) I cross trained yesterday and did speedwork with my coach today which leaves me with 3 more days of running. Was going to stretch it out to 4 and have a Saturday run, but am going out to dinner with girlfriends on Friday, and as I just can't recover from drinking like I used to (again, because I am so OLD)-- I need to do it in 3.
Dragging my tired old self to bed...
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Maybe not quite the runner I had hoped...
So I started this week with my running coach. It was hard. Really, really hard.
Monday was fine: 6 miles. A nice slow pace on trails- 53:10-- not breaking any land speed records, but fine
Tuesday: met with my coach for circuit and interval training. Spent the whole time wishing it was time to be done.
Wednesday: Cross training; did my usual boxing workout. Fine, felt good, liked it
Thursday: "long run"-- only 10 miles. I know 10 is pretty far, but I just ran 26.2 m--- this should be a breeze. It wasn't. It totally sucked and I even had to walk for a minute. And I was soooooo slow. I did do a bunch of hills, but even still, it was pretty pathetic. I think about 1:30-- not sure as was having some trouble with my Garmin.
Friday: 5 miles. Fine, considering I was hungover (which is another story altogether)
I am hoping this week is a bit easier.
I am also completely "graduationed" out. 3 graduations in one week. Ouch. The speeches are pretty much all the same. I already know all the words to Dr. Seuss "Oh the Places You'll Go." Don't want to hear it again in a speech.
Also, the most entertaining was probably the 8th grade graduation at the elementary school here in town. I have never seen so many Chanel bags and >$500 heels. And that was on the 8th grade girls!!!! I am now giving serious consideration to homeschooling, especially as I have a daughter. Just a thought.
Monday was fine: 6 miles. A nice slow pace on trails- 53:10-- not breaking any land speed records, but fine
Tuesday: met with my coach for circuit and interval training. Spent the whole time wishing it was time to be done.
Wednesday: Cross training; did my usual boxing workout. Fine, felt good, liked it
Thursday: "long run"-- only 10 miles. I know 10 is pretty far, but I just ran 26.2 m--- this should be a breeze. It wasn't. It totally sucked and I even had to walk for a minute. And I was soooooo slow. I did do a bunch of hills, but even still, it was pretty pathetic. I think about 1:30-- not sure as was having some trouble with my Garmin.
Friday: 5 miles. Fine, considering I was hungover (which is another story altogether)
I am hoping this week is a bit easier.
I am also completely "graduationed" out. 3 graduations in one week. Ouch. The speeches are pretty much all the same. I already know all the words to Dr. Seuss "Oh the Places You'll Go." Don't want to hear it again in a speech.
Also, the most entertaining was probably the 8th grade graduation at the elementary school here in town. I have never seen so many Chanel bags and >$500 heels. And that was on the 8th grade girls!!!! I am now giving serious consideration to homeschooling, especially as I have a daughter. Just a thought.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
I guess I am a real runner now...
I have always hated running. Hated it. Never really felt like I got into the zone--people told me how great it was, but I never felt that. I have been an avid exerciser since high school-- though before that I was the opposite of athletic. I was always the last person chosen for team sports....I still remember the acute pain and embarrassment I felt, waiting and hoping not be be the last one left standing. The best I could really hope for was to be the second to last one left. But I always viewed running the same way I did working night shifts in the ER: completely dreaded doing them but felt accomplished (though tired) afterward.
Anyhow, I started running a couple of months ago (if that) by accident. Truly. I went for a run one day to mix up my workout, and 4.5 miles wasn't bad, so I did a half marathon with a girlfriend. It is a big stretch, from 4- 13 miles! I thought I would die, but I liked the challenge. I decided then that if there was ever a time for me to run a full marathon, it was the present-- I had 13 m behind me, no time like now to make it to 26. So I actually "trained" for a marathon, doing 11 training runs and actually finishing in a respectable time.
So I still can't say I love running, though there were parts of the marathon that actually were fun, and crossing the finish line felt like a major accomplishment. I realized, while training, that I really love working toward a goal, and probably haven't felt that way since I was a medical student. It's kind of like studying for a test, and I was always pretty good at that. And though I hate to admit it, distance running reminds me of some of the things I liked about being an emergency physician: I liked working the physically strenuous hours (it is very hard to go back and forth constantly between days/nights/weekdays/weekends), but more than that, I liked being able to do things that most people don't. I want to make this clear: it isn't that I felt like being an ER doctor was so special or accomplished, but there is something satisfying about being able to stay up all night when needed and being prepared to handle any emergency. Most people don't know how to suture, place central lines, manage a heart attack or stroke in progress, or diabetic ketoacidosis in a child. I did that routinely, and I liked having those skills and that knowledge. Retrieve a crochet hook from someone's urethra? No problem (and yes, I really did that). Treat full body lice? Got that covered. Manage an acutely psychotic person? Did that all the time. Treat a man's parasitic infection after he coughed up a worm right in front of me? Yep, I can do that. And running a marathon felt the same-- most people don't do it and wouldn't want to, as neither running nor medicine is particularly glamorous. But I can/did and that gives me tremendous satisfaction. And, just like medicine, anyone CAN do it with the proper effort and training, if so inclined.
So, I went from hating running to running a marathon, and now I have 3 more scheduled in the next 10 months. Crazy. And I still don't love running, but I like the challenge. I am determined to run my next race with a time that qualifies me for Boston-- that may be a bit of a stretch for me, but I like working toward the seemingly unattainable. And instead of the 11 haphazard training runs I did for this last one, I now have a running coach and start my program with him tomorrow. I am VERY excited-- mostly to see what I can get my nearly 40 year old body to do.
Tomorrow I am scheduled to run 6 miles, and I am curious to see what that will feel like. I haven't run since the marathon, and I remember that when I came upon mile 20, 6 miles seemed like nothing, like I was really in the home stretch. I don't know if tomorrow will seem like a breeze, or maybe just as hard as all my other runs since I am going in with the mindset that this is short. Don't know, will report back.
Anyhow, I started running a couple of months ago (if that) by accident. Truly. I went for a run one day to mix up my workout, and 4.5 miles wasn't bad, so I did a half marathon with a girlfriend. It is a big stretch, from 4- 13 miles! I thought I would die, but I liked the challenge. I decided then that if there was ever a time for me to run a full marathon, it was the present-- I had 13 m behind me, no time like now to make it to 26. So I actually "trained" for a marathon, doing 11 training runs and actually finishing in a respectable time.
So I still can't say I love running, though there were parts of the marathon that actually were fun, and crossing the finish line felt like a major accomplishment. I realized, while training, that I really love working toward a goal, and probably haven't felt that way since I was a medical student. It's kind of like studying for a test, and I was always pretty good at that. And though I hate to admit it, distance running reminds me of some of the things I liked about being an emergency physician: I liked working the physically strenuous hours (it is very hard to go back and forth constantly between days/nights/weekdays/weekends), but more than that, I liked being able to do things that most people don't. I want to make this clear: it isn't that I felt like being an ER doctor was so special or accomplished, but there is something satisfying about being able to stay up all night when needed and being prepared to handle any emergency. Most people don't know how to suture, place central lines, manage a heart attack or stroke in progress, or diabetic ketoacidosis in a child. I did that routinely, and I liked having those skills and that knowledge. Retrieve a crochet hook from someone's urethra? No problem (and yes, I really did that). Treat full body lice? Got that covered. Manage an acutely psychotic person? Did that all the time. Treat a man's parasitic infection after he coughed up a worm right in front of me? Yep, I can do that. And running a marathon felt the same-- most people don't do it and wouldn't want to, as neither running nor medicine is particularly glamorous. But I can/did and that gives me tremendous satisfaction. And, just like medicine, anyone CAN do it with the proper effort and training, if so inclined.
So, I went from hating running to running a marathon, and now I have 3 more scheduled in the next 10 months. Crazy. And I still don't love running, but I like the challenge. I am determined to run my next race with a time that qualifies me for Boston-- that may be a bit of a stretch for me, but I like working toward the seemingly unattainable. And instead of the 11 haphazard training runs I did for this last one, I now have a running coach and start my program with him tomorrow. I am VERY excited-- mostly to see what I can get my nearly 40 year old body to do.
Tomorrow I am scheduled to run 6 miles, and I am curious to see what that will feel like. I haven't run since the marathon, and I remember that when I came upon mile 20, 6 miles seemed like nothing, like I was really in the home stretch. I don't know if tomorrow will seem like a breeze, or maybe just as hard as all my other runs since I am going in with the mindset that this is short. Don't know, will report back.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
It's official, I'm even older!
So I was looking back over my older posts, and read that the contents of my DVR recordings pretty much define me as middle aged.
Well, if that is true, than the playlist on my ipod makes me Grandma-aged.
I think that is about all I will say on the subject, as I am simply too embarrassed list in writing the songs I have downloaded. I will say, that I am quite surprised that when I purchase them on itunes, there isn't a pop-up stating, "Are you sure you want this? Why would you ever want to listen to this??"
I have had perhaps a wee-bit-too-much champagne, as I will admit that the song playing in my ears as I crossed the finish line of the Rock&Roll marathon last weekend was "9 to 5" . Yes, by Dolly Parton.
See, enough said. If you see your grandma, please tell her I said hi.
Well, if that is true, than the playlist on my ipod makes me Grandma-aged.
I think that is about all I will say on the subject, as I am simply too embarrassed list in writing the songs I have downloaded. I will say, that I am quite surprised that when I purchase them on itunes, there isn't a pop-up stating, "Are you sure you want this? Why would you ever want to listen to this??"
I have had perhaps a wee-bit-too-much champagne, as I will admit that the song playing in my ears as I crossed the finish line of the Rock&Roll marathon last weekend was "9 to 5" . Yes, by Dolly Parton.
See, enough said. If you see your grandma, please tell her I said hi.
Yes....still alive...and with a daughter....
Wow, what has it been, 2 years since my last post?? I don't know why I stopped updating my blog...maybe I felt I didn't have much to say. Though looking at my last entry, it was right before I got pregnant with my daughter, and then I was tired, lazy, and not in a mood to write.
So, in the interim since my last post I have:
1. had another baby, a GIRL
2.had said daughter hospitalized twice
3. had dear friends lose their child, only 2 months older than my daughter, to SIDS-- a horrible, horrible tragedy and one that affected me deeply
4. officially become a serious runner-- I have run one half marathon and one full marathon and have 3 more marathons scheduled during the next 10 months
5. NOT given up my Diet Coke addiction
6. become a pretty decent cook/baker
7. lost my beloved dog, the one I had before I was a mother...and gained a new dog, one that I am honestly just not bonded to
8. lost the rest of my baby weight, then got pregnant again and gained more than I gained with my first, and then lost it all again
9. given up a lot, if not most, of my fears about myself and motherhood. I have two kids I have managed to keep alive, keep fed, and generally healthy/happy. That is pretty much successful motherhood, at least in my mind.
Part of the reason I haven't been keeping up with my blog is I simply haven't known where to start.
I will stick with the plan I have when my house is so messy, I just don't know where to start cleaning: tackle the first thing I see and work from there.
So:
OMG, I have a GIRL!!!
Backing up to about 2 years ago, I got pregnant. I just could not wait to find out that I was having a boy. Of course I was having another boy: I am not meant to be a mother of girls, first of all (not girly, not close with my own mom, don't like dolls); I had a name for a boy, all kinds of plans for a boy-- how close he and my older son would be, how we would have so much fun playing in the dirt and doing boy things, how much I would love my future daughter-in-law (I admit, I got very much ahead of myself). I also enjoyed the idea of being the only woman in a house full of boys. Who wouldn't want to be the lone female doted on by a house full of men?? Now, just to be clear-- I love my girlfriends and really enjoy the company of other woman-- I am not one of those people who "just can't relate to other women." I simply did NOT want to be the mother of one.
So, I continued along in my pregnancy believing with all of my being that I was having a boy. I wasn't completely convinced though, and I wanted to know immediately. I did the "Intelligender" several times-- a urine test you can do I think after 5 weeks gestation--mine first said "girl", and I figured it must be wrong so I did it 3 more times. I next got a "boy" and then 2 "indeterminate" results. I, of course, chose to believe my fetus had a penis.
Went to my 15 week U/S, and wow, was I shocked to learn I was carrying a girl. "Shocked" would be one word: "terrified" and "depressed" might be others. I recognized that really, I needed to just be happy I had what appeared to be a healthy baby. But having at best, a rather aloof, and at worst, downright adversarial relationship with my own mother made me dread having a daughter. I can remember being very little, one of my first memories really, and thinking that I would never have children, because I didn't want them to feel about me the way I did about my mom. Which I know sounds like a horrible thing to say about my mom, but the bottom line: she just didn't do much mothering at all. And having 2 teenage stepdaughters in the throes of teen angst and hormones also didn't make feel feel like having a daughter was all that much of a blessing. Though I realize now how wrong I was and what a gift my little girl is.
I first refused to believe I had a girl growing in my uterus. I had to go back at 18 weeks for another US to clear some anatomy that wasn't easily visible on my 15 week scan. I figured at that time, surely the tech would tell me that in fact, I was having a boy. Nope, still a girl. Fast forward to my c-section: the anesthesisologist asked me what I was having and I said, "Well, supposedly a girl, but I really think it is a boy." He laughed, telling me he had not seen an error in gender on US in more than 25 years of practice. And, of course, once she was out of my uterus, my daughter was very much a girl. And TRULY a girl: loves dolls (I am desperately afraid of dolls), loves having her nails done (ok, clipped) at even 9 months of age, loves babies and all things pink. I guess I like pink though too, so I can't say we are complete opposites.
Now, with Ingrid nearly 17 months old, I couldn't imagine life without her; I also love the dynamic between my two children. I think we are given the children we are truly meant to have. Perhaps she is supposed to teach me more understanding and forgiveness for my own mother. Or maybe just payback-- maybe she will be a feisty (sure is now), rebellious teen and young adult who just clashes with me at every turn. I hope not. She certainly is a Daddy's girl though, oh my. Anytime Ken walks out of the room it is as if he is leaving for war and she fears she will never see him again. I leave and occasionally will get a plaintive, "Mommy!" But never the aching, siren call she emits for my husband. And I am happy-- I am glad my daughter and her father are so bonded. I know she loves me, and I am completely ok with not being her favorite. So different than I was with my son when he was younger-- then I constantly obsessed about whether or not he loved me "enough". I re-read some of my old blog posts tonight and laugh that I was ever concerned he wasn't bonded enough to me. He is the ultimate mommy's boy now-- and honestly, I love being the center of his universe and realize the days of this are numbered. Soon his friends will eclipse me, but for now, I love that he wants to constantly be by my side.
And of course, it is much more fun to dress a girl. That alone has been very fun. And looking back, the visions of what life would be like with two boys are pretty hazy-- now I see myself taking Ingrid to ballet, going on spa days with her, buying prom dresses, dealing with her first period, and planning her wedding. Yes, I realize none of these may pan out. She may very well hate dance, hate shopping (though her love of shoes already outpaces my own), drop out of school and decide to never marry. I am completely ok with all of those-- my only goal for myself and mothering a girl is to accept her for who she is. That is of course, easy now. Even on her most challenging days, she is still a cute, rambunctious, ornery toddler who always makes me smile. I fully recognize that our most difficult days lay ahead. I hope when she is a teen I will remember that I have promised to always love her exactly the way she is, and support her in whatever she chooses to do, even when she is at her most obnoxious.
One thing is clear-- my daughter has a very strong personality-- she is opinionated, bossy, and short-tempered. Some would say, just like me. She definitely has a love for Diet Coke-- not that I am putting it in her sippy cup of course, but she got ahold of some a few months back and now screams everytime she sees a can/bottle and claws for it. She likes champagne too....see, already we have so much common ground!
So, in the interim since my last post I have:
1. had another baby, a GIRL
2.had said daughter hospitalized twice
3. had dear friends lose their child, only 2 months older than my daughter, to SIDS-- a horrible, horrible tragedy and one that affected me deeply
4. officially become a serious runner-- I have run one half marathon and one full marathon and have 3 more marathons scheduled during the next 10 months
5. NOT given up my Diet Coke addiction
6. become a pretty decent cook/baker
7. lost my beloved dog, the one I had before I was a mother...and gained a new dog, one that I am honestly just not bonded to
8. lost the rest of my baby weight, then got pregnant again and gained more than I gained with my first, and then lost it all again
9. given up a lot, if not most, of my fears about myself and motherhood. I have two kids I have managed to keep alive, keep fed, and generally healthy/happy. That is pretty much successful motherhood, at least in my mind.
Part of the reason I haven't been keeping up with my blog is I simply haven't known where to start.
I will stick with the plan I have when my house is so messy, I just don't know where to start cleaning: tackle the first thing I see and work from there.
So:
OMG, I have a GIRL!!!
Backing up to about 2 years ago, I got pregnant. I just could not wait to find out that I was having a boy. Of course I was having another boy: I am not meant to be a mother of girls, first of all (not girly, not close with my own mom, don't like dolls); I had a name for a boy, all kinds of plans for a boy-- how close he and my older son would be, how we would have so much fun playing in the dirt and doing boy things, how much I would love my future daughter-in-law (I admit, I got very much ahead of myself). I also enjoyed the idea of being the only woman in a house full of boys. Who wouldn't want to be the lone female doted on by a house full of men?? Now, just to be clear-- I love my girlfriends and really enjoy the company of other woman-- I am not one of those people who "just can't relate to other women." I simply did NOT want to be the mother of one.
So, I continued along in my pregnancy believing with all of my being that I was having a boy. I wasn't completely convinced though, and I wanted to know immediately. I did the "Intelligender" several times-- a urine test you can do I think after 5 weeks gestation--mine first said "girl", and I figured it must be wrong so I did it 3 more times. I next got a "boy" and then 2 "indeterminate" results. I, of course, chose to believe my fetus had a penis.
Went to my 15 week U/S, and wow, was I shocked to learn I was carrying a girl. "Shocked" would be one word: "terrified" and "depressed" might be others. I recognized that really, I needed to just be happy I had what appeared to be a healthy baby. But having at best, a rather aloof, and at worst, downright adversarial relationship with my own mother made me dread having a daughter. I can remember being very little, one of my first memories really, and thinking that I would never have children, because I didn't want them to feel about me the way I did about my mom. Which I know sounds like a horrible thing to say about my mom, but the bottom line: she just didn't do much mothering at all. And having 2 teenage stepdaughters in the throes of teen angst and hormones also didn't make feel feel like having a daughter was all that much of a blessing. Though I realize now how wrong I was and what a gift my little girl is.
I first refused to believe I had a girl growing in my uterus. I had to go back at 18 weeks for another US to clear some anatomy that wasn't easily visible on my 15 week scan. I figured at that time, surely the tech would tell me that in fact, I was having a boy. Nope, still a girl. Fast forward to my c-section: the anesthesisologist asked me what I was having and I said, "Well, supposedly a girl, but I really think it is a boy." He laughed, telling me he had not seen an error in gender on US in more than 25 years of practice. And, of course, once she was out of my uterus, my daughter was very much a girl. And TRULY a girl: loves dolls (I am desperately afraid of dolls), loves having her nails done (ok, clipped) at even 9 months of age, loves babies and all things pink. I guess I like pink though too, so I can't say we are complete opposites.
Now, with Ingrid nearly 17 months old, I couldn't imagine life without her; I also love the dynamic between my two children. I think we are given the children we are truly meant to have. Perhaps she is supposed to teach me more understanding and forgiveness for my own mother. Or maybe just payback-- maybe she will be a feisty (sure is now), rebellious teen and young adult who just clashes with me at every turn. I hope not. She certainly is a Daddy's girl though, oh my. Anytime Ken walks out of the room it is as if he is leaving for war and she fears she will never see him again. I leave and occasionally will get a plaintive, "Mommy!" But never the aching, siren call she emits for my husband. And I am happy-- I am glad my daughter and her father are so bonded. I know she loves me, and I am completely ok with not being her favorite. So different than I was with my son when he was younger-- then I constantly obsessed about whether or not he loved me "enough". I re-read some of my old blog posts tonight and laugh that I was ever concerned he wasn't bonded enough to me. He is the ultimate mommy's boy now-- and honestly, I love being the center of his universe and realize the days of this are numbered. Soon his friends will eclipse me, but for now, I love that he wants to constantly be by my side.
And of course, it is much more fun to dress a girl. That alone has been very fun. And looking back, the visions of what life would be like with two boys are pretty hazy-- now I see myself taking Ingrid to ballet, going on spa days with her, buying prom dresses, dealing with her first period, and planning her wedding. Yes, I realize none of these may pan out. She may very well hate dance, hate shopping (though her love of shoes already outpaces my own), drop out of school and decide to never marry. I am completely ok with all of those-- my only goal for myself and mothering a girl is to accept her for who she is. That is of course, easy now. Even on her most challenging days, she is still a cute, rambunctious, ornery toddler who always makes me smile. I fully recognize that our most difficult days lay ahead. I hope when she is a teen I will remember that I have promised to always love her exactly the way she is, and support her in whatever she chooses to do, even when she is at her most obnoxious.
One thing is clear-- my daughter has a very strong personality-- she is opinionated, bossy, and short-tempered. Some would say, just like me. She definitely has a love for Diet Coke-- not that I am putting it in her sippy cup of course, but she got ahold of some a few months back and now screams everytime she sees a can/bottle and claws for it. She likes champagne too....see, already we have so much common ground!
Saturday, April 4, 2009
The End of an Era
The last episode of ER aired this week, and is has left me feeling a bit out of sorts. I haven't watched the show in years and don't even know the characters now. But realizing that ER had a lifespan greater than that of my own emergency medicine career hit me quite hard, and since lately I have been reminiscing for some reason, this felt particularly poignant.
ER began when I was in college, and I would watch it with my roommates, sometimes while working on my medical school applications. I also remember watching a couple of episodes in cheap, nasty motel rooms when I was traveling for medical school interviews.
In medical school, the show was an institution, we all watched it. I remember reading an article in the newspaper about how applications to emergency medicine residencies increased by over 40% in the years following its debut. Was that a factor in my choice of residency? I like to think not, but maybe it made me more aware of the specialty. And I was definitely greatful for that awareness of the general public--I think in the past most people viewed the ER as staffed by second or third-rate docs with questionable licensing who weren't able to get other jobs.
In residency, if I watched it, it was definitely not as often. For a couple of reasons-- one, if I adctually was able to catch the show, I would never admit to it. That would be lame. We were real ER docs-- we had no need to watch them on TV. Two, with such an erratic schedule (and this was in my pre-DVR days)- I was working or sleeping through most episodes. But mostly, I found that I was working so much as a resident, that when I was watching TV, it was not relaxing at all to see anything that remotely resembled my workplace. I just felt like I was at work.
The medicine on ER was great though. They had wonderful writers and consultants. True, the ER was a lot more exciting all at one time than any I ever worked in (except for one crazy day I will never forget-- super busy, maybe 30+ just in the waiting room, I don't know how many I saw during my shift, and in a 60 minute span did CPR and pronounced a man dead, a pericardiocentesis-- sticking a needle into the sac around the heart to withdraw fluid--delivered a surprise baby, treated a man with a heart attack, and had one of the waiting room paitients get really tired of waiting and attempt to swallow his whole bottle of Benadryl. It's not usually like that). But I digress. But ER got it right; the medicine was perfect, and once I even learned a couple of esoteric items-- like Jamaican vomiting sickness from eating unripened Acai fruit, really seen only in the tropics.
I just never really got back into ER-- until I had a baby. When my little one was born, and I was pretty much useless, I would spend much of the morning in bed trying to nurse and watch tv. My morning consisted of a 4 am wake up-- breast feed, back to sleep usually by 5, then up again maybe at 7:30 or 8. I was just so fatigued, I couldn't even drag my sad self out of bed, so we'd lay there, I would feed the baby, and watch ER on TNT. With the drapes drawn it still looked like night. I was very inefficient at breastfeeding, and really freaked out at how much my life had changed so quickly. Between the exhaustion, and the hormones and being overwhelmed-- I was a mess. ER was a bright spot at that time.
And now it's gone. Yes, I am sure the TNT reruns will still be there, but as an institution, it is over. Why this makes me sad, I am not sure, because I wouldn't be watching anyhow. I have long since moved to Grey's Anatomy, where the medicine is awful but the plot fun. And kind of reminds me of internship, but slightly more dysfunctional. But this last Thursday, I had my own little funeral for ER, because in a way, it was like saying goodbye to my own ER career.
ER began when I was in college, and I would watch it with my roommates, sometimes while working on my medical school applications. I also remember watching a couple of episodes in cheap, nasty motel rooms when I was traveling for medical school interviews.
In medical school, the show was an institution, we all watched it. I remember reading an article in the newspaper about how applications to emergency medicine residencies increased by over 40% in the years following its debut. Was that a factor in my choice of residency? I like to think not, but maybe it made me more aware of the specialty. And I was definitely greatful for that awareness of the general public--I think in the past most people viewed the ER as staffed by second or third-rate docs with questionable licensing who weren't able to get other jobs.
In residency, if I watched it, it was definitely not as often. For a couple of reasons-- one, if I adctually was able to catch the show, I would never admit to it. That would be lame. We were real ER docs-- we had no need to watch them on TV. Two, with such an erratic schedule (and this was in my pre-DVR days)- I was working or sleeping through most episodes. But mostly, I found that I was working so much as a resident, that when I was watching TV, it was not relaxing at all to see anything that remotely resembled my workplace. I just felt like I was at work.
The medicine on ER was great though. They had wonderful writers and consultants. True, the ER was a lot more exciting all at one time than any I ever worked in (except for one crazy day I will never forget-- super busy, maybe 30+ just in the waiting room, I don't know how many I saw during my shift, and in a 60 minute span did CPR and pronounced a man dead, a pericardiocentesis-- sticking a needle into the sac around the heart to withdraw fluid--delivered a surprise baby, treated a man with a heart attack, and had one of the waiting room paitients get really tired of waiting and attempt to swallow his whole bottle of Benadryl. It's not usually like that). But I digress. But ER got it right; the medicine was perfect, and once I even learned a couple of esoteric items-- like Jamaican vomiting sickness from eating unripened Acai fruit, really seen only in the tropics.
I just never really got back into ER-- until I had a baby. When my little one was born, and I was pretty much useless, I would spend much of the morning in bed trying to nurse and watch tv. My morning consisted of a 4 am wake up-- breast feed, back to sleep usually by 5, then up again maybe at 7:30 or 8. I was just so fatigued, I couldn't even drag my sad self out of bed, so we'd lay there, I would feed the baby, and watch ER on TNT. With the drapes drawn it still looked like night. I was very inefficient at breastfeeding, and really freaked out at how much my life had changed so quickly. Between the exhaustion, and the hormones and being overwhelmed-- I was a mess. ER was a bright spot at that time.
And now it's gone. Yes, I am sure the TNT reruns will still be there, but as an institution, it is over. Why this makes me sad, I am not sure, because I wouldn't be watching anyhow. I have long since moved to Grey's Anatomy, where the medicine is awful but the plot fun. And kind of reminds me of internship, but slightly more dysfunctional. But this last Thursday, I had my own little funeral for ER, because in a way, it was like saying goodbye to my own ER career.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sugar Daddies
My inlaws were here the other night, and conversation turned to one of their many relatives I don't know/never heard of/probably never will meet. Someone mentioned (with some disdain, I thought) that she "got a sugar daddy". All of a sudden a light went on in my head, "I bet that's what they think about ME!"
I am sure many would think I have a sugar daddy. It's ok. I signed up for this. I have to be ok with the judgement of others. It doesn't mean I'm not occasionally bothered by it, but it runs deeper than that. But also, this is one of those things that really (particularly today), it simply isn't appropriate to complain about. I mean really, with all the real problems people have, being out of work and losing their homes, who wants to hear me whine that people can sometimes be cruel because I am married to a man 20 years my senior who has maybe 10 times the wealth I could ever dream to have?
The thing is though, it isn't as easy as it seems. Please understand, I don't mean to complain about my life. I worship my husband. But I love him without all of his financial accountrements, certainly not because of them. Oh yes, it is definitely nice to live this way. I won't complain about the things we have, but if that all went away, I know what is really important in life, and believe me, it sure isn't the stuff. (And I so hope I can pass that on to my kids, but that is a different discussion.) I know most of the world, and the people that knew him before I came along regard me with suspicion. I know HE, at times, is suspicious of me. Most of this is due to his very painful divorce from his first wife. Some is from what others are always whispering in his ear. But what these others fail to understand is that I am here only because I am devoted to my husband and could not live without him; he is my soulmate. The naysayers do not realize what I went through to get here-- and what I still endure (again, not that it is any big deal in comparison to the plight of people in the middle east, the homeless, the out of work, etc...but I am not some Loser looking for a Rich Guy to barnacle herself to, as many seem to suspect).
Being with my husband cost me a job that I really loved. The reasons why are beyond the scope of this entry. But that was a painful time-- not to mention stressful for our relationship. I am sure there are those who would say, "Yeah, well, what do you care? You have a rich guy to take care of you!" Yes, but that's not me. I was always self-sufficient and self-reliant, and prided myself on those values.
I also have three step-daughters, who (understandably) have been anything but welcoming.Of course this is a difficult time for them with the break-up of their family-- I get that (I had absolutely nothing to do with this, however) . They may as well stand outside the house with signs that read: Go Away Now. I have been called a golddigger many times (interesting moniker for a doctor) as well as mocked openly on their Myspace and Facebook pages.
My husband's friends have also regarded me with what can only be described as resign. A couple have been ok. Most have been dismissive. I also get this. They see me as someone out to take advantage of their friend. I appreciate that they are trying to be a good friend to him. But what no one really understands is that I harbor no delusions that what is his is ours. I know: It's. Not. Mine. Believe me, I know. Even if it were, I didn't earn it, it truly isn't mine.
In a prior entry, I mentioned how having my son gave me a sense of legitamacy in my life. That is true, but the flip side of that is the pain at realizing that my son (and all my eventual children) will have access and acceptance with into my husband's circle that I will never enjoy. No one will ever suspect them of being opportunists or trying to take advantage-- they were born with this name-- that alone gives them rights that are not mine.
There is the adage that those who marry for money end up earning it. That isn't me, but I understand where it comes from.
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