moules et frites
I can't help it, every time I manage to successfully place an IV in a preemie, I really want to run around the ward with my arms in the air shouting, "U.S.A! U.S.A!" But instead, I just slap an armboard on and cement that sucker down with a thousand Tegederms.
After being on call thrice already my first week in the NICU, the plus side is that I know all the patients pretty well going into week two. The minus is that I barely have enough energy to lift me wee head for week two, let alone weeks three and four. Now hear this: residency is tiring. Insights from the big house.
I met Coleen in the lobby of the hospital this morning--she picked a lovely weekend to visit from San Francisco, what with the RNC in town and me being to generally comatose to hold up my end of the conversation. But we managed to spend some quality time. Between her West Coast jet-lag and my being completely fucked up from Q2 weekend call, we were ready for lunch by around 10am. Too bad none of the restaurants in my neighborhood were. We waited around until around 11:15am, when the Banc Cafe finally opened for business, and sat in their outdoor dining section. I ordered the moules et frites. I wasn't planning on mollusk for lunch, but it was one of those things where the second I saw it on the menu, I could not entertain the possibility of eating anything else. We sat out there in the alternating sun and shade, chatted about this and that, and watched the people on the street go by. There was something very decadent about eating mussels in white wine sauce in the middle of the day.
Currently reading: Rereading "Persepolis" in anticipation (preparation?) for the sequel.