March 13th, 2004

White Coat

Too many thoughts to count...

Okay, entries do get long. The majority of you whose opinions I respect don't think I need to cut them or don't care, but a few people whose opinions I respect think I should. Whether that means you don't want to read them or you don't like the scroll length doesn't really matter...what matters is that opinion is not unanimous. So I think I'll come out somewhere in the middle, and cut anything that gets too long, but leave a fair-sized opening and/or closing. Because then I don't wind up scrolling through my own entries searching for something. :P

Followed Dr. W around. I want to be her when I grow up. She's a no-frills, tell-it-like-it-is doctor whose patients adore her and sometimes do what she tells them to. And she's pretty and she's fun and she refers to going to see patients as "playing." She walked up to one of her colleagues one day and asked for a moment of his time. He gave it. "I'm getting numb," she whined. "I just want to take this woman and admit her to the hospital even though she doesn't need to be there." She did, too. Came and found me. "I'm so mad at myself I could spit," she says. "I wussed out."

Last patient of the day, one day, was a mildly mentally retarded woman. Very mildly, note. Comes from an abusive family. Her mother was abused. She was abused. She's married to a schizophrenic man who was put into a hospital after he took an axe to the house. They have a daughter who's been taken into foster care and the court is suing for termination of parental rights. No visitation, no contact, no legal right to even call her their daughter. They tried to get her to divorce him. It takes $200 to divorce him. She didn't have the money. Nobody helped her.
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Outside the room the doctor turns to me. "God," she says, and it's part epithet, part evocation, part wish - all these things in her voice with its soft New York accent. "I just want to take her home and make her safe."

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Two days at the end of my week and one at the beginning - the internal medicine doctors, patient, willing to sacrifice time in their schedules - I make them run late, O Best Beloved - to teach me. To let me walk into a room and get to know the patient and then explain it to the doctor. And every day, every patient, every time I walk into a room and do something, it brings me a little closer.
In one year and two months, O Best Beloved, I will be a doctor.
  • Current Mood
    distressed distressed
Nescafe rabbit

Not how I planned on today...

I got up this morning around 9ish, or maybe it was 10. Probably more like 10. I meant to go to Curves, so I called my dad to see when he was planning to be there to talk about the bookshelves in the study.
"I'm in your driveway."
Oh.
So we talked about the shelves and we planned things out and he said "how about I build them today?"
Oh.
So he went for lumber and I went for Curves, despite nearly talking myself out of going, since I'd told Dad I was going to go work out. And when I got back I played Playstation and I snuggled with Angel, who was feeling a little sulky since I kept changing weekend plans on him, and I hung out and didn't study until 2 or so, when Dad showed up with lumber and all that jazz. And then we built floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the wall of the study and started unpacking boxes. We have more lumber to put shelves into the computer room closet with, and I have a plethora of small clear plastic shoeboxes to fill with computer things.
Also, while I was standing outside looking at the lamppost and explaining to Dad that it didn't work, he told me to try a different bulb in it anyway. The bulb was burnt out when we moved in. I replaced it. Apparently with a burnt-out bulb. We disassembled the glass casing, washed the glass, put it back together right, and it works much better. Plus, the lamp turns on now.

And then Quin came in. "K broke up with Z." Well that settles it, she's coming here to cry and to try and gather her pieces, and we have cake and ice cream if she wants it. And she is indeed welcome. She got here about the time we got tired of unpacking boxes of books (probably only 10 or 12 to go, but the bookshelves are getting full; perhaps we should devote them to science-fiction/fantasy only. Maybe then there'd be enough room) and had a bit of time before she apparently fell asleep.

It's been a productive, if strange, day. And I feel good about it, overall. But tomorrow, O Best Beloved, tomorrow Quin and I sing "Awesome God" at church and then I have to study. Really truly truly.