Saturday Morning

It's a beautiful Saturday morning and I'm sitting in my front yard watching 2 of my kids play lacrosse with our neighbors (and hoping to God that no one breaks a window or dents a car) and not helping my oldest kid with his science homework (because it involves physics and I suck at physics and I was giving him the wrong answers).

The best part of today is: WE HAVE NOTHING SCHEDULED!!!! This is a minor miracle. The other best part is I can sit in my front yard in my pajamas and no one cares. Let me clarify; I'm not wearing a neglige (in which case people might turn to stone if they cast a glance upon me and my middle-aged physique) but flannel bottoms and a sweatshirt. And I'm wrapped in a blanket drinking my coffee. This is considered appropriate weekend attire on my street (especially considering we have a batty old lady who routinely walks up and down the street in her inside out pjs and peers into everyone's cars, windows and trash cans).

The kids and neighbor kids have decided that using one of our plastic adirondack chairs as a target would be a good idea. And from an 11 year old boy's perspective it is very ingenious. From the broken chair's perspective, not so much. In case you didn't realize this, children destroy things. Usually it's not intentional but the formula is directly proportional; the higher the concentration of boys the greater likelihood you have for destruction.

Middle kid's best bud moved in across the street. This is a good thing. However, right now they are in a battle over how to calculate points per shot. It's like I'm watching a political debate and tempers are flaring. It's a completely ridiculous and stupid argument and they've already been warned so now they are each in their own penalty boxes on separate sides of the street. Not sure if this is the best way to handle it or if I should just let them work it out themselves but the volume of bickering was starting to disturb my peaceful morning. Now they've crossed to the middle of the street, shook hands and negotiated rules.

This morning our dog (# 2 of 3) relieved himself in my bathroom and closet. I thought one of the boys had failed to flush...Puffy (i realize that some might consider this an effeminate name, but his given name is Puff Doggy and he is quite secure in his masculinity-even though he's a eunuch) took a piss on the corner of a stool and the pee had spread through all the grout lines like little rivers and streams. As if this wasn't enough, he, or possibly dog #3 (the geriatric beast, age unknown, who is vision, hearing and cognitively impaired) took a poop in my closet.









I haven't perfected my turd identification skills so with the absence of DNA testing, I couldn't determine who dropped the 2 desiccated turds. So, they were both cast outside. I suspect it was all the little, middle dog as he is too scared to walk down the hallway leading from our room to the back door. We put one of those buzzer discs under a chair near the path so he wouldn't get on the chair but he's too dumb to realize that his collar wasn't even on his neck. That and I watched the old dog take a poop outside this morning so I could better characterize each dogs' poop. Old dog's poop is more of an orange hue, a bit bigger in diameter and not so dry.

The funny thing about the dog collar alarm system is that whenever one of the batteries goes low in a smoke detector and starts to beep, the dogs freak out. It's psychological torture because they think it's the big dog alarm in the sky. Even though their collars don't buzz, the noise must be the exact same pitch as the dog alarm noise. In a sick an sadistic way, it's kind of funny....

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Waiting

I'm sitting in the UT Aquatic Center at another water polo extravaganza. At the end of the day we'll know if our oldest kid has been selected to continue to the regional games. This is very nerve-wracking stuff. I'm trying to be all zen about it, but mama bear doesn't like it when her bear cub is being evaluated. Regardless of the outcome we are proud of him, but I really, really hope he makes it!

Athletically, I am not a competitive person, so this concept of trying out for a team is not intuitive. Maybe because I was the fat, slow kid who was always picked last I shied away from team sports and competitions. I remember the sting of "not being good enough" and I don't want that for my kid. Of course I'm transferring all my own crap onto him and I'm pretty sure he doesn't wrestle the same demons I did.

I met a nice mom and we talked for a long time this morning. I think that at these kinds of things parents are either too nervous to talk or they don't want to get friendly with the competition. Her son is one of the young ones, like mine, trying out for this thing. We were like minded in many of our parenting theories. Also, talking made me less anxious.





I know I'm gonna chicken out and make Lee be the one to be here when they announce which 14 out of 18 kids get to continue. Every time they blow a whistle or point or say something to my kid or if he's waiting on the side of the pool, I'm a freaking nervous wreck, reading all sorts of things in to it. And there is this little Asian female coach who is a drill sergeant. I don't know about my kid, but she scares the poop outta me.

Okay, gotta watch now. He's in. Keep your fingers crossed...more for me than for him!

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The Good Intern

Yesterday was a good ER day. The patients weren't all that interesting and most of them didn't need to be seen in an emergency room. The residents, student and I saw a lot of patients in the 12 hours we were there and that is always good from a revenue/RVU generating point of view. It was a good ER day because of the people with whom I worked. Working with learners is a tricky business, especially in the ER when you have 12 hours out of a 3-6 year training period to teach something and/or make an impact while simultaneously trying to keep patients alive and keep up with all the electronic documentation. When evaluating these kids, the students and the residents, unless they have committed some egregious errors, they get the equivalent of an A+ from me even if they've really only performed at a B + level, mostly because it's hard work and just showing up and doing your job gets you a B and if you have some enthusiasm and a good attitude, then you get pushed over into the A to A+ column. Very rarely, I have a C student or resident and recently I had my first ever F resident (and I'm still reeling from that one and have yet to formally document her poor performance). Yesterday I had some genuine A+++ individuals.

One kid, in particular, really had an impact on me yesterday. At the onset of the day I thought I might be working with a couple of duds. They were both kind of quiet and one was a urology intern and the other a family medicine intern so automatically they were suspect for laziness (urology) or dumbness (family medicine). I fully admit that I'm an internal medicine snob. As the day progressed they proved me and my prejudices wrong. The family medicine resident was smart and hard-working and had the air of internal medicine elitism, which I appreciated. But, it was the urology intern that has kept me up most of the night thinking. It's his story to tell and I don't have his consent to disclose it, but he was remarkable and it was not because he was really, really knowledgeable or really, really accomplished. He was remarkable in his ordinariness, decency and humility. This kid seems to have had humble beginnings and then a series of adverse life circumstances and despite this he has extracted all the character developing aspects of the situations and moved on without anger or bitterness.

Surgical interns have a tough job. Despite new duty hour restrictions that are supposed to put limits on the number of hours an intern or resident can stay in the hospital, the supervising surgeons and the surgical programs often ignore these rules. The interns, who are powerless, are subject to the whims of whomever they may be assigned to for the month. This intern had been assigned to an esteemed surgeon but one also notorious for abusive behavior towards his interns and residents. He shared a few stories of his month with the supervising surgeon and I wanted to cry and hug him and he wasn't trying to garner sympathy. After about his third day on the service with this supervising surgeon, he realized he had to just take his knocks and move on.

What I want to do is find this kid's mother and tell her, "job well done. Despite all the shit you and your family have experienced, this is your real treasure standing right before you. If I could fast forward 10-15 years from now and see that my boys had the character, humility and humor of your son, then I'd know it has all been worth it."

I don't know if I'll ever work with this kid again and I certainly hope that 6 years of a surgical residency doesn't alter his character. I don't think it will because I think he has a rare trait called resiliency. I'm not sure he learned anything from me. Maybe I demonstrated to him that not all supervising physicians have to be assholes to prove they are in charge and it is possible to treat your residents decently and humanely (both residents were amazed that I let them leave before check out. I saw no point in them staying there. They had finished their work and I had to stick around anyway and they are the ones working the 60+ hours a week for minimal pay). I certainly learned volumes from him.

Mom 2

Lately, probably because of all the heap, I've been introspective. This self-indulgent pastime is a contact sport. As you may recall, in my texts with my mom, I stated that I'm always trying to prove my worthiness and I know this is rooted in deep-seeded insecurity. The human condition is such an F'ed up thing. Why, at the age of 44, am I still rearranging the puzzle pieces of my life?

So this is it. Illegitimate. If you look up the Merriam-Webster definition in the online student dictionary it says; 1: born of a father and mother who are not married and 2: illegal. The regular dictionary gives you this definition:

il·le·git·i·mate, adjective \-ˈji-tə-mət\

1: not recognized as lawful offspring; specifically : born of parents not married to each other

2: not rightly deduced or inferred : illogical

3: departing from the regular : erratic

4 a : not sanctioned by law : illegal b : not authorized by good usage c of a taxon : published but not in accordance with the rules of the relevant international code

with following synonyms: baseborn, bastard, misbegotten, natural, spurious, supposititious, unfathered


What if you are 19 years old and it is the late 1960s? Do this word and its synonyms have a negative or positive connotation? If suddenly you find your situation described as "not legitimate" by your parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents and community how do you feel about yourself? What if the setting is a deeply Catholic and traditionally Mexican small town? What kind of vibes do you unwittingly pass off to your adorable little bundle? Especially if everyone is playing hot potato with you and your tiny little baby? At 19-20 years of age, you are probably conflicted by all the negative energy that is swirling around your piece of the universe. You love your tiny baby and think she's awesome, but people keep sending you mixed messages. "Your baby is adorable, but you are a f-up. And we need to send you away and pretend this never happened." Even if they aren't saying those exact words, this is all you hear. Everything gets filtered through the lens of condemnation. Kind of hard to recover any shred of self-esteem from this situation and to move forward in a positive, constructive manner. Fast forward 44 years and look back at those texts from yesterday. That 19 year old is the same kick-ass lady who is sending me those positive affirmations. More to come...sorry to put you all through this...this online, literary version of dissecting a garbage disposal, but I warned anyone who might read, this is not for you...it's for me (and maybe my kids someday. If they care)

Mom

Are you ever tired? Bone tired? Not just today or even this week, but deep down, every fiber of your being tired?

I had a text message exchange with my mom today that was simply lovely. I forget how fortunate I am to have her in my life.






















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Projects

My husband said we need to start our own business called "Third Grade Projects Done in an Hour; Guaranteed to Look Like a Third Grader Did It!"


This is our interpretation of what our daughter's Lincoln Memorial project would look like had she actually done it herself. I think she'll take at least an 89 on her lack of effort.

Lee and I must be the worst parents on the planet. She's been telling us about this project for weeks. Lee even texted about 37 different photos of the actual Lincoln Memorial from their recent trip. All along we had planned to photoshop a picture of daughter's face onto the Lincoln statue. We had it all planned out except for the actual execution.

At 9 o'clock while we are laying (lying?) in bed she suddenly freaks out. "Oh my God! What day is it?!"

"Sunday," I reply.

"No, I mean the date?" The full on girl hysterics complete with waterworks and hyperventilating are about to begin.

"My project is due tomorrow!! What am I going to do!?!?!"

Obviously, we didn't have any of the instructions for the project/paper, but thankfully my friend bailed us out, immediately emailing over her kid's copy. Meanwhile, our daughter is wailing because she thinks that forgetting about a 3rd grade project is a tragedy akin to the sinking of the Titanic.

Lee and I had hoped that tonite might be the night we'd actually get to have a conversation, but we both just sighed as we talked our 9 year old down off the ledge knowing that our evening was going to be spent figuring out how to make a model of the Lincoln Memorial using duct tape and paper towel rolls. Between the 2 of us we have more than 20 years of graduate level education and here we are staying up late on a third grade assignment. I think I've pulled just as many late nights on elementary school projects as I did studying in medical school. Seriously. And if you did a side by side comparison of my grades in medical school against the grades my kids have made on the innumerable projects they've (I've) completed in the past 7 years, you'd wonder how I ever made it past the 3rd grade in the first place and you'd be glad medical schools don't ask for 3rd grade transcripts or require their students to do reports on the history of the cadaver with concomitant paper mâché models.

Now I'm sure that all 3 of you who are reading this are clucking and tisk-tisking about the bawdiness of my overt disregard for assignments and the honor code and self-sufficiency in children. And wondering where my daughter is going to land in 10 years if I'm rescuing her at this minor level. My response to all of you haters out there..."I have no frigging clue if I'm doing this correctly and I hope to God I'm not causing any kind of irreversible damage."

Oh yeah, she was worried that her report wouldn't be long enough because the teacher wants a full page. Guess how we fix that little problem? Increase the font size. Voilà! It's big enough for Helen Keller to read, but it's a full page!

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Norovirus

Oldest kid is home with a wicked case of Norovirus, likely contracted while he was on the school trip. He's mostly on the mend, just needing some TLC.


His little brother thought he could capitalize on big brother's unfortunate turn of events. This morning middle kid was specifying his symptoms; nausea, belly discomfort, sensation of imminent vomiting. I had signed off on another absence and was assuring him of his likely need for summer school and I guess he decided he needed to throw in another symptom just to solidify his case. But, he picked the wrong symptom-shortness of breath. Mom, "It's hard for me to breath." At that point I knew he either was suffering from Ebola virus or he was full of sh*t. My pre-test probability for bullsh*t was high. It might have been reasonable for him to be coming down with the same highly contagious GI illness, but throw in respiratory distress and you either need an ICU bed or a day of school. After tossing him a Tylenol and a Zofran, we were out the door and suddenly he was cured.



Middle kid during President's Inauguration. The flag next to the pool of drool signifies his patriotism.

My friend is tired of helicopter parenting her college age child. I'm fairly close to the college student and friend wants me to inquire of student's progress acquiring a summer internship, review student's personal statement and advise student that he/she should quit relying on adults in his/her life to get things completed. Hmmm?

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