April 8th, 2004

White Coat

Don't judge a book by its cover...

Item the first: I don't post AIM conversations normally. But I had to post this, because it made me laugh so hard....
Random Boy messages me on Yahoo!, which I think is the only medium I don't have limited to people I know. He asks how things are going. I tell him I'm studying. He asks if I live in FW random_boyhe's read my Yahoo! profile, which says I'm married). I say sometimes, sometimes Indy. The conversation continues; he's obviously looking for a good time either in person or online. I'm frankly not interested in the conversation from the get-go, and particularly not when he uses 'oic' in the conversation. But I give him one-word answers, hoping he'll take the hint. Then he asks the 'I've read your profile and don't know what world you live in' question:
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And on to more - or, in this case, less - mundane things.
I forgot my pager this morning. To be more specific, I lost my pager this morning. I couldn't find it in my car or my room; I even paged it my secret pager code - 123 - and it failed to go off. Finally, realizing that I was (a) late when I left the first time and (b) doubly late now that I'd turned around and gone back to the house to find my pager, I gave up and resigned myself to a short-call night with no pager. I drove to the hospital in silence.

The day was interminable, O Best Beloved. Neuroradiology conference at 0800; I couldn't keep my eyes open through half of it. Cerebral Palsy clinic at 09:30. R, our senior resident - the man who's doing a combined neurology-psychology residency, looks like a burlier version of Robin Williams, and has decided that my nickname will be "Kitty" completely unaware of the fact that I've been called "Cat" off and on since seventh grade - R took Brendan and I to CP clinic while PGY-2 L took Lindy to the ER.
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We met up with Branden at 8. No pages. I paged Rod. He told us to go home.
I walked out to my car, got in, turned it on, and there was a beep. A familiar beep. A "you missed a page" beep.
My pager was on the passenger's seat, in plain sight. It had been there all along, but I hadn't seen it - nor had I heard its once-minutely beep on my drive to the hospital this morning. And because of that I had a wonderful evening and didn't resent being on call at all.
Whenever I pause and open my eyes, I find there the subtle orchestrations of a power greater than I. Things happen, O Best Beloved, for a reason. All things happen for a reason.
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