Sunday, September 24, 2006


So those new shoes we got Cal last weekend? Gone! Missing! Come back, shoes! One second Cal was playing with them (Now hear this! Babies like playing with shoes! Dirty dirty shoes!) and the next second they were LOST. I figured he just left them somewhere so I checked all his usual hiding spots (dresser drawers, garbage can, stuffed into the air conditioner) but they seem to have vanished into thin air. Then, just for good measure, I combed through Cooper's Corner for signs of foul play, just to make sure she didn't bury them or eat them or something. No dice. I'm sure they'll turn up a few months from now, all dusty and too-small useless, and we will then unceremoniously toss them into some box of outgrown things, perhaps never to be seen again. Shoes, we barely knew ye!

* * *

So Joe is applying for a fellowship in oculoplastics. Which is a field that I never even knew existed until he decided to apply for said fellowships. I am going to be married to a plastic surgeon. How very Dr. 90210.

The thing with this fellowship is that it's very competitive. I think there's only, like, a dozen spots available each year, and that's across the entire country. From California, to the New York island. From the redwood forest to the gulfstream wa-aa-ters. This land, was made for you and me!

We already agreed that Joe will be taking a year off before fellowship. There are a couple of simple reasons for this. One is that he is finishing residency this June, one year before me, and if we're going to move to a whole other state, we need to be able to move together. You know, because of the marriage and everything. The second reason is that I have decided that after this year, we are never, ever to both simultaneously be in any form of medical training. Because it sucks too much. All this call stacking and call swapping and stressing about who's going to be able to get out of the hospital in time to relieve the nanny is MADNESS, MADNESS, I SAY, and I will not willingly do it again after this year. So next year Joe's going to get some sort of patchwork attending job (mercenary ophthalmologist for hire, perhaps) while I finish up my indentured servitude, and then we will be able to cast off somewhere together, if need be. If I decide to do a fellowship, I will do one after Joe finishes his. But no more training at the same time. Ever.

So Joe's applying for a fellowship to start July 2008, but even though that's, like, two years away, the application cycle starts now. So he's running around getting letters of recommendation and writing personal statements and forcing me to take pictures of him standing in front of various blank walls to include with his application. It's all very enervating to watch. And what's even more enervating is the idea of having to actually move. There is an oculoplastics fellowship position available in New York, but...that's one spot. So statistics-wise, we probably shouldn't assume that we are staying in the city. And here's where I start getting nervous. I looked down the list of the other cities offering positions that year, and try to think calming things, and perhaps imagine myself living there, in a "house" maybe, with a "lawn" that has "grass" on it. Here's the (partial) list.

This could be...OK. It's near Joe's parents. (Apparently, in the Midwest, a 3-hour drive is considered "near".) It's next to a university. Joe likes their football team. It's cheaper than New York. Well, I guess anywhere is.

Um, family-oriented, I'm assuming? Nice scenery, I hear. Lots of...skiing? And maybe we could get in good with Jesus before the second coming.

This could be fun. Don't people go to Miami? Like, on purpose? Multicultural flavor. Warm. Possibly disproportionately populated with geezers.

Ooh, I've been there! When I was a kid, there was an exhibit at the Franklin Museum where you could walk through this giant model of the human heart. Like YOU were the BLOOD. Also, I think I applied to U. Penn because of parental pressure and took a picture next to a bronze Ben Franklin sitting on a park bench.

The only thing I know about Birmingham is vaguely related to stuff I remember about Martin Luther King Jr. from elementary school. Which is to say: very little.


This is supposed to be a nice city. They have a subway and everything! And, uh, deep dish pizza? And...improv?


OK, if Joe ends up being a plastic surgeon in L.A., I WILL DIE.


Well, we have family in Baltimore, anyway. But honestly, I don't really like the city all that much. However, on the upside--crabs!

So clearly I don't know anything about anywhere. And look, when it comes down to it, we really don't have that much say in the matter. When it comes down to it, Joe will be happy to get a spot, any spot, and with the archaic match system found only in medicine, we basically will have to go where the motherboard of the NRMP computer tells us to go. Might we match in New York? Maybe. Might we not match in New York? Maybe. So I'm preparing myself for some fairly big changes in two years.

However--possibly crabs! Or cheese steak! Or Jesus!

* * *

I'm done with my Peds rotation. Tomorrow I start my month on the Pain service. Thus realizing my manifest destiny.

Currently reading: "Don't Let The Pigeon Drive The Bus!" Heh.


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