the underwear drawer

bowl of cherries

All these years, I thought I was allergic to cherries. I was allergic to cherries at a time in my childhood and adolescence--where the cherry juice would touch my mouth and lips, I would get all swollen and itchy and red, and my throat would start to swell. Not enough to kill me, mind you, but just enough to tell me that maybe I shouldn't eat cherries. So I didn't. I haven't eaten cherries for something like the past ten years.

(Random Michelle Trivia: I am allergic to lots of things that no one else is allergic to. Such as apples, peaches, carrots, certain soy products, and horses. I have no idea how I am allergic to horses, but it is true. I'm also allergic to cats, but I didn't put that on the list, because plenty of other people are allergic to cats too, so who cares.)

Then yesterday, on a whim, I ate a cherry and had no adverse reaction whatsoever. And they tasted good. So I ate more cherries and didn't die. I didn't even swell up or itch a little bit. So I guess sometime in the last ten years, I outgrew my cherry allergy. I don't know at what point this happen, but I shed the single tear of a sad clown thinking about all the summers of cherry-eating that I've been missing.

Well, here's to making up for lost time.


* * *




So I had my big 36 week OB visit today, which consisted of an ultrasound, repeat GBS culture, and an internal exam. Yuck for internal exams.

No great pictures from the ultrasound to post up here, or even to print out for Joe. The kid is just too damn big. Whereas we were able to get such nice shots last time, this time it was just a heart here, a liver there, part of the spinal column, the back of his head. Cal was being a jerk with the the ultrasound tech as usual, and was stubbornly facing my spine during the entire exam, unwilling to turn around and give us a look at his face, or even budge slightly from his facing-the-corner position. "He looks pretty comfortable, doesn't seem like he wants to move for us" the tech said, not knowing that he was doing the Electric Boogaloo on the subway all the way into my appointment, and would commence breakdancing (doing all the moves, including "The Worm") all the way home.

The one thing that freaked me out from the ultrasound was this little piece of information:


MICHELLE
So can we get an estimated fetal weight from these measurements?

TECH
Yes we can. Based on these measurements, he's...six pounds eleven ounces.

MICHELLE
Wait...he's going to be six pounds eleven ounces when he's born, or he's six eleven right now?

TECH
Right now.

MICHELLE
But that...that sounds really big. (Hopefully) These estimates are usually kind of off though, aren't they?

TECH
Well, it kind of depends. I think in your case, he probably will end up being a little smaller than the ultrasound estimate.

MICHELLE
Oh good. Why is that?

TECH
(Pointing and various measurements)
See, because they take all the measurements from the head and the abdomen and everything and extrapolate a weight based on that. But your baby has a big head, so that drives up the weight estimate, even though the abdomen gives us a better idea of true weight.

MICHELLE
Wait, his head is big? How big?

TECH
It's measuring at 40 weeks now, and you're 36 weeks.

MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE
Our kid's a genius! Either that, or he has hydrocephalus.

TECH
But his body is a little smaller. It's a very cute body.

MICHELLE
So he has a big head. I wonder where he gets that from?

MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE


MICHELLE
Dammit!


Later on, though, my OB did some sort of voodoo manual palpation estimation of fetal weight, and said, "This is not a huge baby. He's going to be a good size. I'm estimating maybe seven and change at term." Which made me feel better. But only slightly. Because the head is the biggest part. Curse you, large head genes!


* * *


I got a mass e-mail yesterday from one of my new classmates. He was trying to organize a hoedown tonight down in Alphabet City where all of the new first-years (oh Christ, I'm a first-year again) could all get together and hang out before we start work Friday morning. I was very happy to get this e-mail, because finally, here was real proof that at least some of my classmates were friendly social creatures who want to hang out and have a good time. See, I have this fear that after two years of warm fuzzies in Peds, I'm going to be thrown in a viper pit of gunners and weirdos. Mind you, this is not based on any Anethesia residents I've ever met (all of them that I know seem to be rather laid back and pleasant), but I just have this phobia that THIS IS THE YEAR that the department decides to fill its first year class with strange, intense social misfits. I mean, they accepted me, didn't they?

And then I started getting all this anxiety that everyone in the class already seems to have met each other during the hospital orientation last week. I had to go through the hospital orientation too, but that was two years ago when I first started, and once you're already settled into the hospital, they thankfully don't make you go through those damn medical informatics and fire safety lectures again. But now everyone knows each other except for me. Maybe they're already all friends. Maybe they've already formed cliques, or Lord of the Flies-esque tribes, and when I appear on the scene I will be ostracized, or have my glasses stolen from me to start fires. Maybe no one will like me. Maybe I'll have no one to eat lunch with and will have to eat alone in the library while pretending to read old copies of JAMA.

Moving from the Children's Hospital to the Grown-Up Hospital is feeling more and more like switching from middle school to high school.

Currently reading: I've got nothing. Where are my new books from Amazon? I think they're bundling the order with some other stuff, so they're taking a really long time to get here.