One thing I forgot to mention last night, as I was exhausted: Dad paged me yesterday morning to tell me my baby sister Erin had gone into labour. She delivered at 6:40 something, 7#3oz baby girl. I'm an aunt, O Best Beloved. I wanted to go see her yesterday but by the time I got done at the dealer's it was too late.
Rounds are in a few minutes, but Charm (if I can figure out how to get out of vi without losing my entry) means I'll be able to continue this later. My notes are alll done.
--- 14:00 ---
Notes are all done, discharge summaries are all tucked away, and I page my resident to find that the patient down in Detention who came in the other night with chest pain has decided he's not sticking around here any longer, just to get a stress echocardiogram.
So it's a good thing I finished his discharge summary - as now we're cool to get him gone. He doesn't really need to be here anyway - he can get a stress echo as an outpatient. And Nuclear Med said they might not get to him today, so why keep him and spend the county's money? No point at all.
My charming lady with the stroke is going to rehab as soon as we can make Cards and Vascular happy. She's gotten MRIs, MRAs, CTs and dopplers. She's a cute but nutty old woman with the personality gestalt of a child. And all she's concerned about is getting to go home.
I'm tired, now, and I have nothing to do. But I'm on call - so along with getting to wear comfy scrubs, I have to sit around and amuse myself for a while. O will page me when we start getting admits, around 1500. The goal is to fill up our quota of 9 in waves of 3 every 2 hours from 1500 on. Then we can sleep well. I think we admitted 2 already today, even better.
If this had happened yesterday, I might have gone on a self-deprecatory rant about how I feel like nobody trusts me enough to criticize me, and talked about the things that make me feel that way...the fact that Dash is the only person who will reliably tell me when I'm being stupid, the feeling that I could trample all over people with good intentions and never once be chided for it, the empty disconnect between the life I live here and the one I live at home - I miss everyone, so very much, and I don't think I ever spend enough time talking to them. When the only time you have to talk is so very very short, you don't spend it all bringing up the little problems. That I need to learn yet. I would have explained contritely that the overbearing sound of my comments about Quin was a case of bad construction rather than the arrogance I am so prone to - that my mother wanted me to know she felt I'd done well in letting Q live her life without mothering her, that I see her more confident and more willing to decide things on her own than she was when she came, that it feels good to see that and to feel like I've been in some way helpful. I would have explained all that, O Best Beloved, and it would have been through my tears because the criticism that had been alluded to came from someone I dearly love - and the people I love are the people I most want to hear these things from, but the people I take it most seriously from as well.
But today it's more in perspective - I have my father's cyclothymia, I think, a sort of very mild bipolar disorder. Angel bears the brunt of it in mercurial moods that can change in the blink of an eye from buoyant to hysterical, in duck-and-cover screaming fits that invariably end either in my breaking down in tears or my screaming obscenities at him and storming out of the house, later to break down in tears. Angel sees that - those who've lived with us or spent long times at our house have seen it - I'll go from cheerful and contented to borderline psychotic in moments. And I can swing just as quickly back the other way. It's worse when I'm stressed; when I'm not, when I'm on an even keel and enjoying what I'm doing, you'd never know.
He says he keeps waiting for me to flip out, I've been so happy and so upbeat this last week and a half. That worries me, that he's gotten so used to my mercurial temperament that he isn't completely willing to forget it's possible. But he has reason to.
This month is a good month; next month will be better because I'll be at home. Both months I'm doing what I love to do. I don't feel as stressed, as brittle and unstable. I can believe in my good moods, and given a little time I think Angel will get used to it. After all, he's known me long before medical school, from back in the days when the mood swings were far rarer and further between. I don't think they're gone. And today, it's in more perspective than yesterday, buoyed by the wild thrill of Erin's baby and the new car.
And it'll all work out.
Speaking of the car:
The bank won't let me sign the loan papers via fax. They're going to overnight them to S's, where I'll get them tomorrow after lectures. I'll then sign them, take them to UPS, and overnight them right back out to Angel at work. He should get them Thursday, will take them to the bank and get the check, go in Thursday evening and pick up the new car. Then Friday I'll drive up, ditch Michel-Ange at my mom's house, and meet Angel and my car. Then I can get down to the business of naming it.
Daddy says all stick-shift cars are male. But it's such an organic car that it just feels feminine. I'm leaning toward Misaki, as that name is fascinatingly pretty to me (yes I know, it's all over the place in my stuff right now, sort of like Alexandra was years ago), but I'm looking for good Japanese boys' names to compare. And no, piccolopixie, I'm not going to call it Rurouni or Kenshin. One of my residents was Akihiro, which is kind of pretty. Shininichiro was another, but now that I've got an NPC built with that name I can't dissociate it from the warrior figure he is, and this car is not a warrior car. So, to those out there who've made it this far and speak a hint of Japanese, any ideas? I'm trying to avoid blatant anime names, but subtle ones wouldn't be necessarily bad. Does anyone remember the names of the boys in Weiss Kreuz?
I've probably a few more things I should mention about the weekend and the last few days, but I've exhausted my mind and I'm thinking I'll walk down to the ED and see what the admit list looks like. Wish me luck for the evening, O Best Beloved.