I had taco salad instead.
Came in this morning, 0730, checked in on my baby. She's still seizing. Wrote a note, reviewed the chart, settled in for the day's haul. Fourth-year-resident R and I stare at each other across the table. He tells me he's going to have me do the LP on my baby today or tomorrow. I agree, calmly. Inside, I'm leaping for joy. I get to do the LP, how exciting. We stare at each other a while longer, I colour in my neuroanatomy colouring book.
Finally, he cracks. "Want a bunny?" A what? A bunny, he explains, is an easy patient that counts for my patient load and means I don't have to go see another patient later, 'cause I'll have two. Sure. I'll take a bunny.
She's sixteen, anorexic. I could wrap my fingers around her legs. I'll talk about T later, O Best Beloved; the discomfort and disbelief that swept over me on seeing her deserve time, and time is something I am short on.
I saw her, came back, presented her. "Why is she on our service?" Second-year L is indignant. "There's nothing neuro about her." Never is. But we get consulted. And now I have two patients.
We sit around the batcave (it's a batcave here, just like everywhere else) and talk through the plans. Staff has clinic this morning; rounds are after noon. We get a consult over the phone. R looks at me. "Behold, the bunny principle."
"What's the bunny principle?" Brendan asks, looking bewildered. R shakes his head. "You are not yet wise in the ways of the Jedi."
Tell me, Obi-Wan."
Brendan and Lindy play rock-paper-scissors to see who's going to get the consult. Brendan wins; he gets his papers and heads out to see a little girl with intractible seizures who's starting on a ketogenic diet. No more pizza and ice cream for K.
R erases all the old consults from the chalkboard. "Time for Neurology Pictionary," he announces. "Me and Kitty" (he calls me Kitty, O Best Beloved, and it's sort of grown on me) "against Lindy and L."
We play three rounds - corpus callosum, Sylvian fissure, fornix, dentate nucleus, third ventricle, and one more - and then decide to go see patients. Why not, there's nothing else to do.
And now it's lunch, and lunch is almost done. It's quiet here, but now I've uttered the words and things will be busy. Maybe.