au natural

I had a dream the other night that Joe was Brad Pitt. He didn't look like Brad Pitt--he still looked like Joe, and I was still me, and we were still married, but he kept getting calls on his cell from Angelina Jolie on his cell phone, because she was in the hospital getting ready to have THE BABY and I had to be all supportive and whatnot even though I was actually jealous that she was getting all the attention.

I have no idea what that dream was about, except that I find that whole Jolie-Pitt clan to be really, really, really, really ridiculously good-looking.

(Orange mocha frappuchinos!)


* * *


So I was just reading this article in the Times about the study out of Africa showing that circumcision may cut the risk of HIV transmission. Hmm. Nine months too late for us.

I know this is another hot-button topic for some reason (even though I don't quite understand why people care so much about the foreskin of other people's kids) but Cal is uncircumcised. Before he was born, I didn't really care much either way--I mean, I had done my research (literally, meaning that I had to do a presentation on the topic for my urology rotation in med school) and knew that the current AAP position was that the medical benefits of circumcision were not enough to recommend the practice as a standard for all newborns. As for the aesthetic considerations, I had been a Peds resident for two years in a population where hardly any baby boys were circumcised, so I was used to seeing uncirced pee-pees and just figured it was no big thing. However, given that I didn't have a penis myself, I decided to leave the final decision to Joe, who could maybe more critically evaluate the risk-benefit ratio. He also didn't really care so much either way, but we had sort of half-heartedly decided that we would have Cal circed in the hospital before we came home.

See, the thing is, when your kid is born, everything changes. Suddenly it was no longer theoretical, and the idea of putting our kid through an elective surgical procedure, no matter how small, with no significant medical benefit and without any religious or cultural commitment to the practice seemed kind of foolhardy. I felt like we had gotten lucky in our encounter with the fickle gods of the medical establishment--why tempt fate more by offering up another change for something to go wrong, instead of just cuddling our healthy baby and getting the hell out of Dodge as soon as possible? So that's what we decided to do. And that's why Cal is uncirced. But if we had decided to circ him then, it probably wouldn't have been a very big deal either.

Might we have decided differently if the results of the study had come out before Cal was born? Maybe. It's not enough to make us run and get Cal circed now--circing a non-newborn is a big deal, at least in my hospital. It would involved a pediatric urologist and OR time and general anesthesia and all that kind of thing. And it's still not a pressing medical concern. But I guess this is what it's like to be a parent, constantly second-guessing the choices that you've made for someone else. And hoping that you've made the right ones.

Well, the possible increased risk of HIV-transmission for uncircumcised males will hopefully never be an issue anyway, since Cal is never, ever going to have sex. Ever.

Currently reading: OK, I don't know what's up with this, but between having a lot of down-time at work this week (with the neurosurgeons away at conference) and a couple of good subway commutes, I think I've read two and a half Jodi Picoult novels in the past two weeks. I can't quite classify why I have to read these--it's a little bit like my sickness in HAVING to read the rest of the absolutely pulp-like Dan Brown opus in its entirety even after it became clear why he was never a huge name before every airline passenger's favorite, "The Da Vinci Code." Jodi Picoult's stuff is melodramatic and formulaic and the characterizations can be pretty strained at times--but I CAN'T STOP READING THEM. Help me. Though (usually) better written, Picoult's stuff occasionally reminds me of books written by Lurleen McDaniel, this young adult author I read when I was younger that would write books entitled things like "Why Did She Have To Die?" and "Six Months To Live." I am reading "The Tenth Circle" now. Wait, let me guess...there's going to be a courtroom scene and a last minute SHOCKING revelation on the witness stand.

poor man's anesthesia

So all the neurosurgeons in the universe (including intergalactic neurosurgeons) are off at some big neurosurg conference somewhere. San Francisco, I think. You know, the city where "Full House" was set. In fact, I'm fairly sure that all the neurosurg residents are riding on some cable car and running over the top of a hill as we speak.

I'm supposed to be rotating through neurosurgery this month, but since there's no one actually around to operate, yesterday was a little less than busy. Which was a nice change. I actually got to do some studying for once. Since I had all this free time, I decided I should study something that I would never, ever read otherwise, under any circumstances--so I decided to read the chapter about the anesthesia machine, like how the flowmeters and vaporizers work and where the popoff valves are and such. I had good intentions. But then I fell asleep. Anesthesia indeed.

Maybe I should just save my medications and give my patients my textbook to read. Or, just hit them over the head with it. Would probably work equally well.

Currently reading: About closed circuit anesthezzzzzz....

and may their first child be a masculine child

First the obligatory Cal weekend photo. Only it's actually a picture from last weekend, because it's been raining like a Bible story all this weekend, and we didn't get a chance to go to the playground.




Oh wait, I found another photo. This is from brunch today. I just think the expression on his face is funny, like, "Oh, hello there, I didn't hear you come in. Yes, my Cheerios are imprisoned in plastic--what of it?"




OK, so maybe it's not that funny, but whatever. He's my kid, indulge me.


* * *


I was so excited--they were running a "Godfather" marathon on TV last night on some kind of endless loop on AMC. Only I tuned in halfway through "The Godfather II," and by the time "The Godfather III" finished I was too tired to watch the movie that I really wanted to watch, "The Godfather I." I know it's not really called "The Godfather I," it's just called "The Godfather," but I didn't want to be confusing about it, and oh my god, how many times have I said "Godfather" in this paragraph? We have to change the subject.

(Anyway, I wasn't really paying attention to the movie because I was playing with Cal and I didn't want him to watch all those mobsters getting shot in the face and stabbed and to witness the misery of corruption and human isolation because, like, hello, adult themes and violent content.)

Despite the miserable weather, we really had a very good weekend. Cal just got two more teeth up top, bringing the grand total to six. I was on overnight call Friday, but was home by Saturday morning and got to enjoy an (almost) full weekend off. Joe and I have our third wedding anniversary coming up in four days. Life is puttering right along, and it's the little things that make it good.

Currently eating: Joe's beef stew. It's like, his specialty. (The secret is the brussel sprouts.) We blended some stew up some for Cal, and he ate a prodigious amount for dinner. We also mixed some of the gravy into Cooper's dog food. It's a meal the whole family can enjoy! That said, I have yet to find any food that Cooper won't eat. She's like a goat--she would eat a boot or a tin can if you gave it to her.

force per unit area

In addition to Grand Rounds, there is a weekly lecture series for each residency class that we're obligated to attend after work once a week. Usually the lectures cover academic topics, but sometimes they cover topics that the ACGME deems mandatory, like "Don't Do Drugs" and "Let's Talk About Feelings." This week's topic was "Resident Stress In The Workplace," which I guess is kind of a variation on "Don't Do Drugs," but sort of more pointless, because there's only so much you can do to do about Stress In The Workplace as a medical resident.

The talk detailed some of the risk factors for high stress levels in residency. Among some of these factors were:

• Female (unclear why this is)
  
• Being part of a doctor-doctor couple
• Having a child

I'm three for three, baby! Which I guess means that according to their research model, I should be on the edge of the George Washington Bridge right now with a brick tied around my neck. But I honestly think I'm just too tired to be stressed anymore.

At least once a week when I come into work, someone asks me if I'm post-overnight call and heading home. I take this to mean that I must just have the face and demeanor of someone who has never slept in life, ever. And you know, some days, it feels like just that.

Currently reading: "Of Mice And Men." For some reason, my copy was sitting on top of the toilet. I think because I was taking a bath the last time I read it. Reading in the bathtub is something I highly recommend if you have the time. Or a clean tub. But right now I have neither.

sunday potpourri

I realized the other day that I haven't had a dream about work for quite a long time. The first few months of my anesthesia residency, I dreamed about work constantly. Anything from a complete storyline to banal little vignettes of me drawing up meds and listening to pulse ox tones. There was just so much anxiety and so much to learn that I couldn't shut my brain off, even at night. Nowadays, there's still so much to learn, but the major anxiety--fearing that my patients were going to drop dead any second because of my inexperienced hands--has largely faded. Which I guess means that I may be ready for my second year. Almost.

Lord, I can't believe I've been at this for almost three years, and I'm still a resident. With two years and three more months to go. Can't we just speed up the film and get to the climactic end scene already? The one where I walk out of the hospital beaming and jump in the air, as they freeze-frame and the credits roll?


* * *


Joe was talking to his mom on the phone today when she mentioned that she was reading my website. Part of me doesn't know how she found it, and the other part of me is wondering what took her so long. Dang. I mean, not that I mind...really...but it is kind of weird. Just like when it was weird when I realized that my own mom started to read the page, and she started to pipe up with all sorts of opinions and commentary on stuff that I had never discussed with her in person. The thing is, you can't really tell someone not to read your site, because, you know, they're just going to read it on the sly anyway, and then they might get mad because HOW COME YOU CAN DISCUSS YOUR LIFE WITH STRANGERS ON THE INTERNET BUT NOT WITH ME? So now I can't talk smack about Joe's mom anymore and how she's really a clown costume-wearing psycho killer with bodies buried in her backyard.

Just kidding, Joe's mom! I love you! If you're still reading this page! Which I know you still are! Because the temptation is too great!

(Don't kill me!)


* * *


I think I almost got some guy at Trader Joe's fired today.


MICHELLE
(Looking at burgers in the frozen food aisle)

SALESGUY
(Pointing at the "Southwest Burger")
I think those are really good.

MICHELLE
Yeah? They look good.

SALESGUY
(Pointing at the "Buffalo Burger")
Those are really good too.

MICHELLE
Yeah? Thanks, I think I'll take one of those.

SALESGUY
(Pointing at another box)
Those you can only eat once in a while, though.

MICHELLE
Why?

SALESGUY
Because...
(lifting box to show nutritional information, which shows that each patty contains almost 700 calories)

MICHELLE
(Studying box)
Woah, stuffed with blue cheese and bacon, huh?

SALESGUY
Yeah.

MICHELLE
I call that "The Artery Buster." I thought this store was supposed to be all wholesome and whatnot.

SALESGUY
(Starting to look nervous, darting furtive looks up and down the aisle)
Well, ha ha, yeah, you know what they say, all in moderation, right? I mean, you don't have to eat it every day! Or you could cut it up for appetizers! And serve it at parties! It's not that bad for you!

MICHELLE
That's OK, I don't like blue cheese anyway.


I'm going to see that guy out on the street tomorrow afternoon with a cardboard sign and an empty coffee cup in front of him.

Currently eating: Green tea gelato.

there's something about mary

The thing about the weather is that when it finally becomes nice out, life just seems grand. Today we had highs near 80 degrees. In New York! In April! I KNOW! We took a nice walk en famille and had breakfast at the diner, looked at all the flowers blooming and the leaves coming out at the park, and then we stopped by Walgreens to buy some Kit Kats. Life is good.




This strong sense of well-being is in no small way owed to the fact to the peace of mind of knowing that Cal has just been so happy this past week. Mary has been awesome. Honestly, I never knew it could be like this. Cal loves her. We love her. She plays music for him and reads him books and takes him to the park and cuddles and snuggles him, and oh, it's so good. You know, I used to say to Joe (when we were discussing some shortcoming or other regarding Georgia's job performance, and I was making excuses to forestall the inevitable), "Well, you know, you can't expect anyone to take care of Cal the way we would if we were home with him." But you know, I was totally wrong about that. Mary does take care of him like we would. Actually, she may even be doing a better job than us a lot of the time. Do you know happiness? Because happiness is knowing that your child is happy and safe and in good hands when you're at work.




Even though we started out thinking that this would be a temporary situation, we've since asked Mary if she would consider being Cal's primary nanny for as long as her own circumstances will allow. She has accepted, and Joe and I are beyond ecstatic. Because, as you know, we love her. LOVE. HER. With hearts in our eyes! We're still in discussion with one other person, and have a couple of phone numbers of other people to contact, but mainly just with the idea of having them on deck as backup, in case Mary wants a day off once in a while, or goes on vacation or what have you. Basically, we want to make this as pleasant of a job for her as possible. We want her to be happy. Because of the love.




And to think, just a week and a half ago, we were still in Code Red mode. I think my blood pressure must be down at least twenty points since then. (And when I say "points," I really mean millimeters of mercury--but never you mind about that.) Thank god for Mary. And thank god that she e-mailed us in the first place, after reading about our crisis up on this old webpage. Yay for the internet, and thanks, Al Gore! This just proves that the readers of this page are the nicest people out there. Isn't it funny how things work out sometimes?

Currently reading: "Vanishing Acts." Hmmm. So you know, Borders was having this "Buy 2 books, get the 3rd one free" deal. This is just a sneaky marketing scheme that not only sounds better than "33% off" (which is what it boils down to), but also actually gets you to buy three books instead of just one. So anyway, this was the "free" book. So I guess I'm getting what I paid for, huh?

living in central time

So at the beginning of the year, I got this $9.99 watch from Walgreens. Because that extra cent I get back from that $10 bill goes straight into Cal's college fund, boy! I bought the watch specifically because it had a stopwatch function, and because I didn't want to shell out a hundred dollars for some fancy pants watch that had a stopwatch function but also a barometer, a GPS system, and a time machine. I just needed a crappy watch to wear to work, OK? The crappy watch came with a crappy instruction booklet which I promptly lost, and now I can't figure out how to use the damn thing. Specifically, I can't figure out how to change the time to Daylight Savings. So for two weeks now, I've been adding an hour to the time on my watch, while reminding myself not to add an hour when I look at other clocks, and it's just screwing me up in ways that you can't believe.

I tried to just randomly push buttons to see if I could just figure out how to change the time without the instruction booklet, but have long since given up. IT CAN'T BE DONE. So now I'm faced with two choices. One, find some geeky teenaged boy to change the time for me (yes, I tried Joe already--he fiddled with the watch for about ten seconds before giving it back to me because he couldn't figure it out), or get another $9.99 watch from Walgreens. Or go with the third option, which is to move to a different time zone. Hello, Bismark, North Dakota!

Currently reading: "Vanishing Acts." By the same author as "My Sister's Keeper," which you guys had originally recommended to me. A good enough read so far, even though I'm annoyed at the whole "different fonts for different characters' narratives" bit.

post-call post

So I started looking on the Urban Baby message board for nanny postings, and have been reminded of one important thing--the world of competitive mothering is a mean one. There is no shortage of people to tell you that what they're doing is right and what you're doing is wrong, and also, by the way, you're a dirty pirate skank whore. This page scares me. Also, I didn't see any good nanny postings, though some of the nanny horror stories scared the bejeesus out of me. Now, just something else to add to my list: no nannies that will let your kid wander barefoot and ignored across a busy intersection while mewling piteously in abandonment and eating crystal meth particles off the sidewalk.

People have suggested that I look at the ads run by the employers rather than the nannies themselves (implying that the employers think highly enough of the nanny to go this extra mile to help them find a new job), and I've certainly been looking at these postings a little harder--but I have to say, some of these ads kind of make me suspicious. How do you know that the employer is actually posting them? Because sometimes when I see an ad that is run in all caps, screaming "PLEASE HIRE MY EXCELENT NANNY SHE TAKE GOOD CARE OFF MY KIDS (THERE TWINS) BUT WE ARE MOVEING AWAY" I kind of wonder. Not that I have such impeccable spelling and grammar myself, mind you, but you know.

OK, enough about this.


* * *


Joe and Cal came to visit me at the hospital yesterday while I was on call. It was kind of weird to see Cal there--that kind of disconcerting feeling you get when you see people out of context, like when you have your boss over for dinner, or see your 5th grade teacher at the supermarket buying beer--but it was fun to have them around for a while. We all had dinner together, and then I had to get back to work. I thought I might get all maudlin when they left, but I actually didn't. I was proud of myself. There's no crying in baseball.

Currently reading: "Ice Haven," the new Daniel Clowes book. Actually, is it even new? I haven't really been paying attention.

mrs. doubtfire she isn't

We had another blazingly successful nanny interview yesterday afternoon, where the interviewee just never showed up at all. She never called to cancel, mind you, she just decided not to come. Ever. So, uh, she doesn't get the job.

Well, that was easy.

Currently eating: The "Spicy Chicken Sandwich Meal" from Wendy's. Because when you're on call, you eat crap, but it's the best-tasting and most hard-earned crap you'll ever eat, by gum!

code orange

Things are holding up for now. My parents have been our saviors this week. At home, they discuss who's going to take "the first shift" (meaning showing up to our house at 6:00am) and who's going to take the "afternoon shift" while the other goes to work. We couldn't be surviving now without them. I had initially thought that Joe and I might have take turns violating the Supreme Code and actually call into work telling them that, due to childcare issues, we couldn't make it in--but that idea was nixed before it was even fully out of my mouth, because as we all know, the first rule of Fight Club is that you do not call in sick to Fight Club. "You can't CALL IN SICK when you're a RESIDENT!" my dad said, all aghast, as if I had just suggested that I just might drink some gasoline. "You HAVE to be there! You have to show them that you're A PROFESSIONAL." And so far, for all the troubles at home, we have been. But all thanks to my parents.

Cal also has an excellent fill-in nanny for the time being. For the sake of her privacy, I'm not going give you a million and one details about her life, but she's a reader of this page who lives in New York and offered to come and help us out while we continue our search for a permanent nanny. Let's call her "Mary," because she, like Mary Poppins, came down from on high with her flying umbrella and totally saved our butts. We met with Mary on Wednesday evening, and she's been coming by in the afternoons while my dad is watching Cal, just to give grandpa a much needed break and to play with The Boy. Next week, if she doesn't run away screaming in fear from all the piles of yet-to-be-recycled recycling that threatens to consume our apartment, we'll have her start with us for full-time work days. Thank god for nice people. And, it must be mentioned (not only because she reads this page, but because it's true), that Mary is also sweet and genuine and GORGEOUS LIKE A PRINCESS and probably the most overqualified nanny that Cal will ever have. I mean, she has a CHEMISTRY DEGREE, for the love of God. Maybe she can teach Cal how to build Bohr models out of his Linkadoos.

In terms of the search for a permanent person, it's been one step forward, one step back. We learned our lesson the first time around, obviously, and are proceeding our search with great caution. I'm going to trust my instincts more. One thing I found (in retrospect) with Georgia is that as far back as her first week with us, there were ample signs of what would be the problems to come, and if only I'd let myself see those signs instead of doggedly wanting to believe that she was the One True Nanny, maybe we wouldn't have been living as hostages for as long as we had. There's a difference between giving people the benefit of the doubt and being a total doormat, I guess, and what I'm realizing with some dismay is that while I thought I was just doing the former, really, I was a living example of the latter. It's just that I felt like I had no choice. I once told Joe months ago, when he was sort of subtly pointing out some not-so-cool things about Georgia, that I had to believe the best about Georgia, because otherwise, there would be no way that I could walk out the door to go to work every morning.

But I'm trying not to think about our old situation too much, because it just makes me all enraged, and serves no purpose anyway. It's over already, the reign of terror is over. Glory be. And now for something completely different. Aside from the rousing success of finding the glorious and talented Mary to fill in for us temporarily, the experience of looking for someone to step into the permanent position has been a little discouraging. We've had a good number of leads, but not many of them appear to be leading anywhere. We've had people on the phone ask about money before even asking anything about the job or Cal. We've had people who obviously know we have an infant at home call us at 11:30pm to confirm an interview time. We had someone come to interview who I suspect was borderline retarded. I don't say this in a malicious or a facetious way, I mean that in a purely clinical sense, like, I think her IQ was around 75 or 80.

First of all, she came along to her job interview with her cousin, which initially I tried to explain away by saying, "Oh, maybe it's because of some language barrier and she needs the cousin to help interpret." But then I realize that made no sense at all, given that both she and the cousin spoke English as a first language. Secondly, the cousin did all the speaking for her. Like we would ask her a question, "What do you envision doing in your position as a nanny with our household?" and the cousin would answer, "Oh, she'll watch the baby, play with him, read him books, do a little light housekeeping..." while the applicant herself just sat there and nodded. Furthermore, during the parts of the interview where Joe and I were getting into the nuts and bolts, talking about salary and hours and vacation time and such--you know, the KEY THINGS that you'd want to know when applying for a job--the applicant didn't seem to be paying attention at all, alternating between smiling sort of vapidly at Cal and drinking her coffee. Her cousin, on the other hand, was nodding excitedly and punctuating our little speech with "Uh huh. She can do that. She has no problem with that." It reminded me in a weird way of that scene in "Of Mice and Men" where George and Lenny are applying for that job at the ranch, and George is all, "Let me do the talking, they'll never hire us once they figure out all you want to do is talk about the rabbits and pet dead mice." Like Lenny, I'm sure that the applicant is a very nice person, I just don't want to come home one day to see Cooper dead in a bale of hay and to find that our nanny has absconded to go hide in the brush somewhere.

So we're still looking. There are a couple of more leads that we have yet to run into the ground, and Mary has certainly afforded us some breathing room so that we don't have to rush into a situation that's wildly inappropriate for us or for Cal. We're down from Code Red to Code Orange. Which, living in New York, we're used to anyway.

It's been a tough week.

Currently Reading: The Irish Echo. One of my senior residents said that he found his nanny from an ad in this publication, and I figured it was as good a lead as any, considering that we're at the point of soliciting nanny references at the playground and asking nurses at work if they know anyone looking for a job. I don't think the people looking for jobs are actually Irish, but who knows, we might find a friendly leprechaun who likes kids.

code red, day one

Thanks for all the comments, people. It's the end of Code Red Day 1 and we're all doing OK. Cal had a nice day with his grandparents (who were babysitting in shifts so that they could go to the office and see patients throughout the day) and Joe and I have yet to manifest any EKG changes or bump our troponins. We're making good headway digging our way out of crisis mode too, having a couple of leads for both short-term and long-term options. What we're probably looking to do right now is create some sort of a patchwork childcare thing just to give us a chance to get our heads on straight and evaluate where we stand before committing to another long-term relationship with a nanny. As after all bad situations, we have certainly learned our lesson, and the last thing we want to do now is jump into another bad situation out of desperation. We have options, we have people lined up, which gives us a little room to breathe. What this probably means, though, is that Cal will have something of a rotating cadre of childcare for at least the next few day--but that's fine. He's adaptable. Babies always are.

With all the stress of these past few days, all the support and advice and offers to help from all you guys out there have been invaluable. It's just such a good feeling for Joe and I to know that even though at times we felt that we were in an impossible bind, that there were so many nice people out there rooting for us. So thank you all. If any of you were ever patients at my hospital and I were doing your anesthesia, I would give you the good stuff. Top shelf. You know, not the cheap meds that I give everyone else.

doomsday scenario

The talk with Georgia today went incredibly badly. Incredibly badly. Even in my fevered imagination, I had not anticipated as unsuccessful a negotiation as the one we had this afternoon. Joe and I talked about it ad nauseum for days, rehearsed our little script, came home together and all sat down for a little "job review" and to discuss the whole issue of The Raise. I honestly don't know where it all went wrong, or what we could have done to avoid having things turn out the way they did, but at the end of it all, we knew that Georgia would no longer be working for us. There was an unpredictability factor and an inability to be reasoned with that, frankly, scared us, and whatever bad feelings she might have towards at me and Joe I became worried that she would going to redirect towards Cal. At first, I thought I might be acting too neurotic about the whole thing--I mean, she wouldn't do anything to hurt Cal, would she? Would she? But then I talked to my dad, and he pointed out that my worries were real, and that lord, if there was one thing that you deserve to be neurotic about, it's your child. Joe agreed.

Georgia no longer will be working for us.

After we made this decision, the remainder of the evening has been spent frantically scrambling for replacements. Setting up interviews with replacement nannies, temorary babysitters, and letting grandparents near and far knowing that we're in a CODE RED SITUATION here, CODE RED.

This is our doomsday scenario. In some ways, honestly, it's a relief. There have been so many things about Georgia that we have had doubts about over the past few months, so many problems that have gotten pushed under the rug in an effort on our part to Make Things Work, concession upon concession upon concession (I can't call them compromises, that would imply effort on the part of the other party)--that it's just a relief to have things settled, at least in one sense. We're getting a new nanny. We're going to find one. He or she is out there. Yoo hoo! E-mail us!

But for chrissake, we're a two-resident household with an eight month old baby and no stable childcare. We're on the high wire with no net, here. And it's terrifying.

Currently writing: My own obituary, from when I have my inevitable coronary event after all this.

"cathy"

I've just let this one go too far. It's my own damn fault.

So there's this really nice Ortho scrub nurse. Super-friendly. Always smiling, always says hi. When I was doing a stint in regional anesthesia back in the fall, we met, and she always greeted me in the locker room in the morning. "Hi Michelle!"

She knew me. She knew my name was Michelle. I got complacent.

Then, sometime around Christmas, this nurse started calling me "Cathy." I think she was getting me confused with another resident that graduated last year--another resident who, I think it probably goes without saying, was an Asian woman named "Cathy." The first time this nurse called me Cathy, I thought I heard wrong, so I just said hi back and continued on my way. The second time she called me Cathy, she was with a bunch of her friends, and I didn't want to embarrass her by being all, "Actually, my name is Michelle," so I just said hi and kept walking. The third, fourth, fifth, twentieth time this happened, I don't know what my excuse was, but the point is, I never corrected her. Because I am dumb.

NOW SHE THINKS MY NAME IS CATHY.

She even calls me by a nickname now. "Hi Cath!" she says brightly in the morning. And I answer to it. I ANSWER TO CATHY. But my friends call me "Cath."

I let it go too far. Now if I tell her, "Actually, my name is Michelle," she's going to be like, "Then why did you let me call you 'Cathy' for three months, fucktard?"

How am I so lame as to get into these situations?

And what's going to happen when she eventually realizes my name is "Michelle?"

Maybe I'll tell her that my middle name is "Cathy" and spare us all the embarrassment.

Damn.

the simple life

So Daylight Savings has robbed me of one precious hour of vacation time. Bastards! I don't know who exactly these Time Bandits are, but I curse them all the same.

I was checking the OR schedule online yesterday, looking at my assignment for Monday, and thought to myself, as I sometimes do, how much easier it would be in so many ways to be a "normal" resident. That is to say, a resident like all the other residents in my class. A resident without a baby.

(Now, I know that every person is different, and just because someone doesn't have a damn baby at home doesn't mean that they're living the Miller High Life, free and clear of all obligations or responsibilities once they leave the hospital. I also know that there are other residents who have kids, though the percentage of family-types really depends on the residency program. But I'm just speaking from the vantage point of someone who, just a few short months ago, was a "normal" resident.)

As a normal resident, life would be easier. I could wake up later in the morning. I could sleep in on the weekends. We would be making twice as much money. I wouldn't have to worry about what was going on at home while I was at work, unless Cooper was sick or something like that. Certainly, I would want to get out on time at the end of the day, as anyone would, but I wouldn't have to worry about getting home by a certain time to avoid paying $15 an hour in overtime childcare, and I wouldn't have to worry about whether or not I should grab something to eat on the way home, because if Joe was trapped in the hospital late and I was flying solo, I might be too busy sit down and eat dinner once I walked in the door. Post-call days I could spend all day between the bed and the couch if I so wanted, just relaxing and reading and watching bad TV and re-charging the old battery. I could go to the movies.

In the olden days (pre-Cal), it wouldn't be a big deal if I got home at 7:00 or 8:00pm. There were certainly months when I was in the PICU that I got home at past 8:00pm every day--that is, if I made it home at all. But it wasn't a big deal. 8:00pm was still early. I could come home, eat dinner, catch up on my e-mail, read the newspaper, watch some bad TV, do lots of little things before I had to go to bed. Time at home was leisurely. It was time for me and Joe to just unwind.

Now I feel like I'm on the clock all day. If I'm not on call, I pray and scramble to get home before 7:00pm. The second I get home, I'm in the bathroom, washing my hands and face so that I don't populate Cal with MRSA or whatever other scourge I'm carrying on my skin, change my clothes, and then rush out to take the baby so that Georgia can get out the door. 7:00pm is dinnertime, 8:00pm is bathtime, 8:30-9:00pm is bedtime, depending on how many naps Cal got in during the day. In between, we try to squash in as much playtime or quality family bonding that we can.

Sometimes I'll check my e-mail with Cal on my lap, and feel guilty because Lord, woman, you can check your e-mail at work, but now's the time you should be paying attention to your son! Sometimes I have the TV on in the background when I'm feeding Cal, be it the news or "King of the Hill" or some Cooking Network crap, and I feel bad because Look, it's the baby that you've been waiting all day to see, right in front of you, and you're distracted by a cartoon about a man who sells propane and propane accessories? It's just straight from one fast-paced demanding job to another, or so it seems. After Cal is down for the count, there's maybe half an hour that I have for myself, but I usually spend that time preparing my lunch for the next day and making sure that my breast pump is fully packed and that the current day's milk is decanted and in the fridge. I'm in bed before 10:00am and, depending on how Chucky-like Cal is being, sometimes I'm up at night dealing with him. The sick thing is that I really don't even mind it when Cal gets me up in the middle of the night. I kind of like it that he still takes a snack at midnight. Because at least then I get to see him.

Things I don't usually have time to do: Study. See friends. Watch TV. ("Hey, do you watch 'Grey's Anatomy'?" is the question I invariably get asked. No, I have never watched "Grey's Anatomy.") Engage in any sort of leisure activity. (Yes, this includes updating this webpage.) I still get some time to read on the days that I take the subway home, though, which is a saving grace. I've tried on multiple occasions to study anesthesia on the train--seems like the only free time I get to do it, since I hate to spend all day at work and then take more time away from Cal when I'm actually home READING ABOUT WORK--but believe you me, after a long day in the hospital, the last thing you want to do when you're headed home is to read about the oxyhemoglobin dissociation curve. Especially if you don't get a seat and have to stand. Then, juggling the textbook in one hand, a cooler in the other, a breast pump on your shoulder and the subway pole between your knees, it's like one of Dante's circles of Hell. (One of the outer ones, though.)

Were things simpler last year when I was a "normal" resident? Well, of course. There was certainly a lot less pressure, fewer obligations and responsibilities, less guilt and more time to spend doing whatever it was I used to waste my time with. Life was easier.

But do I ever have days where I wish I was a "normal" resident again? No. Never. Ever.

May I repeat: never.




Currently watching: "Red Eye." Another DVD loaner from my sister. Cillian Murphy is freaky-looking. And also, A WOMAN.

child's play

Something has happened to Cal since we got back from Florida. Namely, he has become Chucky.




We're blaming it on the fact that his top teeth are coming in, but seriously, he's acting weird at night. Restless sleeping, OK, I don't love it, but at least it's in the realm of normal child behavior. But last night he started sleep-walking (or whatever, sleep crawling) all over the place. He was still asleep--at least his eyes were closed the whole time--but suddenly in the middle of the night, he just started crawling all over the place in bed, flipping over, turning around, finally sitting straight up in the middle of the mattress for a good three seconds before suddenly falling backwards, spread-eagled. The night before that, he woke up at 1:00am (and he never does this either, actually fully wake up at night, I mean), eyes as big as hubcaps in the dark, looked out the window at the red neon sign at the top of One Penn Plaza, and started laughing.

What child sees a red neon sign and starts laughing in the middle of the night? Clearly only a child possessed by SATAN. The power of Christ compels you!

He must also finally be at that separation anxiety phase that's all the rage these days, because he won't let me put him down for a second. Well, maybe one second, but after that, oh, the tears! Why did you walk away from me? Why must you leave me alone? I am at the mercy of a cold, heartless universe! It would actually be kind of cute, except that it intercuts nicely with my whole working-mom guilt, especially given that I have to go back to work on Monday and will be on call five times in the next two weeks.

It is hard not to spoil your kid when you spend a lot of time away from them, I think. At least in my limited experience. On one hand, I don't want to drop everything and run to him when he cries, because, you know, crying ain't poison or anything. And on the other hand, I have this stupid fear that maybe he'll grow up thinking that I don't love him. Where were you, MOM? Taking care of your patients? What about taking care of ME? All I have is this picture and a lock of hair that I RIPPED OUT OF YOUR SCALP to remember you by.

(He likes to pull out my hair, you know. Maybe he is collecting all the loose hair to make a voodoo doll. Which, incidentally, is also very Chucky-like.)


* * *


So we didn't end up going to Baltimore after all. Well, Joe went--he just left an hour ago, as a matter of fact--but Cal and I stayed home, because both Joe's sister and niece are both sick with some sort of nasty viral contagion, and a committee of elders mandated that the baby should stay away from the hot zone. It was a business-only trip anyway as family visits go (Joe's dad is helping his sister renovate the bathroom in their basement, Joe was going along to help screw in the toilet bowl or man the caulking gun, whatever it is that you do when you have to renovate a bathroom) so it's not such a huge deal. Though it would have been nice to see Joe's parents and all. I had even been planning to bring along my sewing machine, because apparently Joe's mom knows how to use such things, and I was going to ask her to show me. It would have been a beautiful intergenerational moment. But we didn't go, and now the sewing machine is still sitting in the corner taunting me with its fancy functions.

So it's just me, Cal and Cooper for the day. Maybe we'll go to the park later, if it doesn't rain. This nice weather isn't fooling me one bit, by the way. This always happens--the weather gets all nice and warm, and all the flowers start blooming, and everyone starts prancing around half-nekkid because IT'S SPRING! And then a week or two later it snows. Always happens. April is the cruelest month. Which is why I don't put away my winter coat until we're well into May.

Currently reading: "The Last Don." I read "The Godfather" recently and found it pretty good (though one of the few instances I can think of where the movie based on the book is superior), so I thought I'd try another from the Mario Puzo opus. Eh, bad choice.