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It was supposed to be a short post... - Nobody wears a white coat any more... — LiveJournal
...a tribute to becoming a doctor.
It was supposed to be a short post...
So I misspoke my first entry today or the last one last night. It should've been Why is it called a pair of underwear? Hopefully that makes more sense to people.

"Thirteen patients. I want everyone out of here by 11 tomorrow." Yes, sir. If I'm out at 11, and I only have 2 patients, and it's a Monday...
Would it be bad of me to go home and do my laundry and see my Angel again?

I'm randomly flipping through LJ's, using the Random button. I automatically exclude any journal that doesn't use at least fifth-grade grammar and spelling accuracy. There go about half of them. I have yet to find one that holds my interest and has been updated recently.
I think, if your journal is friends only and you want to say "I don't want people reading this unless I know them" then you should say that. If you want to say "I don't want people reading this unless I personally approve them first" you should have a writing sample available so that people can evaluate whether they want to be approved by you. No, really. Why should I ask to be friended otherwise?

Hyperkalemia girl, once we got the arterial gas back and the art K, turned out to be much better. I would feel bad about not getting her stick, but the RT didn't either - he had to call the big bad chief RT, who had to go all the way to the elbow to get it. And I got the second art stick I did today on the very second try, and the nurse complimented my technique. She was a very nice nurse, took her time and let me take mine. The first nurse, the one who showed me, was nice but harried - and I hate wasting nurses' time.
Art sticks, check. Now I need to place two NG tubes and figure out where my missing rectal exam went. Should just have Sabrina sign on one, I know I did one she didn't sign on. And the NG tubes...well, suppose I'll have to sign on for an SBO or something, or hang around an ED for a while. Got one in Anaesthesia and never got it signed off on.

You know, reading back through my Recent page suggests to me that I'm spammy as all heck. It must be a burden to read through all of this verbal diarrhea when I'm on a call night or a lot has happened. Once upon a time someone came across my journal just when I'd had two long hard days in a row, and said something about my depth of conviction and all that. I wonder, does that still hold up in the day-to-day doldrums of what I'm doing?
I write, not so much to entertain, although you know, O Best Beloved, that I compose sometimes, little essays that strive to convey truths - I write because, as I said so long ago, I have to. All of this, all these things - thoughts and events and people and places and non sequiturs that flow through my mind - it's write them down or they stay there, locked in my head, becoming nonsensical with time and battering at my mind. Sometimes it's prose, sometimes it's poetry, sometimes, when it gets really bad, it goes onto paper in a notebook of things to write about someday.
Those are the things I never write about. I have one poem and a short story reserved for those who understand the fine line between short story and mental reality - two things and a hundred first paragraphs about the morning when I was molested on the way to the bus stop. I have never written about my grandmother dying, nor more than a sentence about my grandfather's second wife wasting away into nothing and dying from cancer while I was in France. I have never tried to turn my words to so many things - the things that left me numb at the time, that now I cannot find a beginning to write on - because they've been there too long.
When it's dark, and you come up behind me in the darkness on a sidewalk, I will turn to look back at you before I move off to the side, and I will slow down and tighten my hands into fists - thumb on top - until you pass by. Do not startle me. Do not cover my eyes. Do not - as my sister learned, in Chicago, in the middle of the holiday crowds - cover my mouth.
These are the things I don't write about. I allude to them, in the metaphors of my poetry, the things that are uniquely mine; I touch on them and shy away. These are the things that clutter my mind, shape my fears and dull the tarnish of my dreams. And I write, O Best Beloved, because I must.

Do not feel obligated to read.

now feeling:: thoughtful thoughtful

8 whispers echo . o O ( ... ) O o . whisper a word
nessers From: nessers Date: February 22nd, 2004 07:12 pm (UTC) (etched in stone)
Oh, well. That's a horse of a different colour. I dunno. We have pairs of pants, too. Who knows? Maybe they used to come in pairs.
ayradyss From: ayradyss Date: February 22nd, 2004 07:41 pm (UTC) (etched in stone)


It just really bugs me...it has for a logn time.
loonyatcbh From: loonyatcbh Date: February 22nd, 2004 09:47 pm (UTC) (etched in stone)


A pair of pants and a pair of spectacles/glasses I can understand. Two legs as opposed to two thingies you tie on your legs, two lenses instead of a monacle or two. And a pair of scissors has two blades, though why the name scissor(s) isn't enough to distinguish it from a knife or other blade, I don't know. This is one tricky thing about German when you learn. They're singular: eine Brille (glasses), eine Hose (pants/trousers), eine Schere (shears/scissors). But socks are plural, but stockings/nylons are one Strumpfhose due to the Hose root. What's it like in French? And where's Gamerchick with her linguistics when we need her? :)
samila From: samila Date: February 22nd, 2004 07:17 pm (UTC) (etched in stone)
I don't find your entries burdensome. In fact, yours are the ones I always look forward to when I fire up my friends page. The subject matter is usually fascinating... but even when it's the more mundane stuff, your turns of phrase are enough to keep me eagerly reading. :)
quinby From: quinby Date: February 22nd, 2004 07:36 pm (UTC) (etched in stone)
I love reading what you have to say. For me, it's a viewbox into a world that I know very little about. I do read, everything, even if I dont' comment, or show my nose. Much love to the Nykki :)
unrequitedangst From: unrequitedangst Date: February 22nd, 2004 08:31 pm (UTC) (etched in stone)
I meant to tell you (sorry if you already saw this, was LJ-cut on my LJ) -- I was looking up Latin mottos for people a few days ago, and "Non est vivere sed valere vita est" (Life is not being alive, but being well.) made me think of you.

I love the way you write -- you have a way of conveying things that would probably sound terribly mundane from anyone else, yet making it all sound very real and relevant. And I respect what it is you do -- all the more, I think, because I spent a large part of my childhood growing up among children and teenagers who knew that they would be doctors because their parents before them were and some extra zeroes on a paycheck; doctors-to-be who, even before they knew what the field demands, already saw patient files and not people.

It's a rare thing for me to encounter someone who remembers that being a doctor is, above all else, about healing.
turnberryknkn From: turnberryknkn Date: February 22nd, 2004 08:45 pm (UTC) (etched in stone)
Once upon a time someone came across my journal just when I'd had two long hard days in a row, and said something about my depth of conviction and all that. I wonder, does that still hold up in the day-to-day doldrums of what I'm doing?

It does, I think, even *more*.
piccolopixie From: piccolopixie Date: February 22nd, 2004 10:14 pm (UTC) (etched in stone)
*hugs* I've always found your journal entries to be very interesting. Even if it's just the mundane everyday stuff I always end up reading it all, and not out of some sense of commitment. You're never a burden. :)
8 whispers echo . o O ( ... ) O o . whisper a word