Quilts by Ramona(tm)

Anybody who’s anybody in the medical blogosphere knows that Dr. Ramona Bates, besides being a plastic surgeon, is a master quilter of the first order. It’s also no secret that she’s a great person and supports so many bloggers with kind words and commentary.  However, her kindness totally went to the next level when she offered to make my daughter a “crazy quilt” from leftover fabric that had fun animals, bright colors, etc. that would be great for kids to relate.  

Here is the gallery where the quilt pictures are (plus some more from the same few days). I got an account on SmugMug a couple of months back because that’s where I really felt my “good” photos should live because I’d have control over the design, layout, etc. unlike Flickr. That said, I’m still moving stuff over slowly (read: barely) but feel free to bookmark the main gallery and check back as photos will be populating regularly. 

Ramona sent a nice card with the package, but one thing that stuck out was that she wanted the quilt to actually be used, not (I assume) tacked on a wall–or worse yet, left in a drawer. To that end I made a small video of my daughter with the new quilt that very evening. It’s nothing fancy, the lighting was off (it was almost bedtime, so only indoor light) and I overlooked correcting for WB or gain in the camera, but that’s not the point–the point was to show Ramona that her gift was received with the same care and affection with which it was sent, used immediately and often, and treasured forever.

Thanks Ramona!

Dolly was a rude guest (placeholder)

Post coming later tonight or tomorrow morning with full story and link to pictures (and hopefully video, too) if I can not have Aperture fight me tooth and nail with every adjustment.  My computer is showing its age (read: ancient) and Apple is making things harder on us G5-owning folk with each passing upgrade.

I know fighting with a photo management program shouldn’t be a good excuse to delay an otherwise-completed blog post, but I’m a perfectionist that way.  I just wanted to make sure everyone knew that things are fine, both in person and overall with house, etc.  It struck me that although I said “check the twitter status on the right,” 1) not everyone will, 2) ppl read this through feeds and don’t have “a right” sidebar with my updates, and 3) ever since yesterday afternoon, the last tweets have long scrolled off with my personal status, so it wouldn’t help much unless you went to see for yourself.

It’s for you, dear reader, that I put up this placeholder, so please don’t be too hard on me for taking an extra day to make things “just so” for ya.   Thanks for checking in!

Hospitalia: Bowel Run

So at long last, this series continues. We left off with a negative EGD and an extremely low Hgb/HCT that was dropping even within these 48 hours. Well, what’s an eager GI doc to do if an EGD is negative? Of course: the colonoscopy. Aside from the unpleasant idea of having a metal snake going against traffic, I was pretty calm, knowing enough from recent experiences that I wouldn’t know any better.

Even though I’ve never had one, I know a few who have, and I knew that a “bowel prep” was involved. This is a nice term that means being forced to take some substance(s) that make you go to the bathroom so much that nothing is left. Literally. As long as you haven’t eaten recently, the upper GI is empty after a few hours unless you have a problem (eg, stricture), so this prep is unique to the lower GI where visualization would obviously be a problem without it.

I already spoke of the less-than-optimal bedside manner of my GI doc, but he outdid himself this day. The sadistic asshole ordered–and I shit thee not:

• 4 doculace (Colace): This is a mild laxative/stool softener. Harmless enough, but why 4?
• 1 bottle (~10oz) magnesium citrate: This is some nasty stuff. It’s fizzy salt water with a metallic-limestone aftertaste. Alone, this would make most people regret they drank it. Cramps and disomfort are par for the course here.
• 10mg x 3 lactulose: OK, here’s where Dr. Fecophilia has just jumped the shark. This order alone would have at least resulted in some violent events. The problem with lactulose is that gas/cramping is massive. Oh, and I was supposed to have already had mag citrate above. When my dad was in end-stage liver failure before his transplant they’d use this stuff for hepatic encephalopathy; it’s a different mechanism for why but the end result GI-wise is the same. I saw what ONE would do to him; I don’t want to imagine 3. Ah, but the best is yet to come…
• 1 gallon Golytely: Perhaps the most ridiculously inappopriately-named product in medicine, one does not “go lightly” at all. No, one does not go gentle–one rages, rages against the power of the ‘lyte. This stuff also has a relative called “NuLitely,” probably because one says, “Nooo! Nooo!” after knowing what it is. It’s not enough you are drinking a laxative in the first place; you are essentially chasing it with a gallon of water. Oh, and you can’t nurse this stuff over hours since the water would be gradually absorbed in the small intestine, enter circulation, and would eventually be peed out instead. No, this stuff has to be imbibed as if one were a pledge at a frat party, slamming one small glass after the other without mercy. This is often used all by itself for surgical bowel preps. What I did to this sadistic bastard to make him use this in concert with the others in his terrible arse-anal is beyond me.

To make this long story short, I refused the Doculace and the lactulose. I had been on a combination of clear liquids and NPO for over 48 hours; this was overkill on a normal day, much less when lime Jell-O was the closest thing to solid food I’d had. The next morning in the GI lab, the doctor came by and asked why I “refused his orders.” I said I thought it was overkill and that I promised I was adequately prepped on what I took. He then lectured me patronizingly on the need to follow directions but stopped short of cancelling the study (as if I’d let that happen w/o a fight).

The actual in-room experience was even more pleasant this time than the EGD: no foul throat spray, no mouthpiece/bridle (to keep from biting the scope) being fitted, just lying on my side when all of a sudden I was sleepy, then I was in the recovery area. That propofol is some dreamy stuff.

[Un]fortunately, the colonoscopy was negative, no signs of bleeding, polyps, erosions, or anything suspicious. Now what?!

Well, that’s for the next post.

Like last time, here are some more tidbits to share:

• I wanted to know all the values of my bloodwork, so I asked to see my chart rather than nickel-and-diming the nurses for individual values (which is all they’d be willing to do). I had to sign a release form authorizing myself to view my chart. My signature had to be witnessed that it was indeed me signing it. For me. And I had to fill in exactly what I would “allow” myself to access (labs only, h/p, etc.) Does this not strike anyone as the height of the absurd? I’d understand if I had to sign something putting a request in writing to appease the hypermeticulous records people, but an authorization?
• Said chart review had to take place with a chaperone. I can understand this–not everyone has a “big picture” view of this document’s importance, and some malcontent nutzoid could have bad intentions. I had 30 minutes with which I could view what I wanted (or what I “allowed” myself earlier, heh), and while I knew someone from cubicle-land would be there, I didn’t expect the Eye of Mordor watching me, just standing there, making sure I didn’t harm The Precious. Never a word, always watching. I would have liked to have browsed more at leisure, but I think it was the whole point was to be made to feel like a voyeur to your own data.
• Nurse: “So they tell me you’re studying to be a doctor.” Me: “Yes, that’s true.” Nurse: “So what’s your major?”
• What’s with medical staff of all varieties barging into the room while knocking?! If you’re going to invade my room space, as is the right of you to do since this is a hospital and not a hotel, don’t make it seem like you’re “respecting” my privacy when you’re fully in the room, door wide open to the hall on the second knock as I’m walking from the bathroom with my gown open. Knock, wait a second or so (at least don’t open the door fully to the hallway), or don’t bother.
• If techs want to wear white coats and stethoscopes (which, as in respiratory techs can be totally part of the job), receptionists want to wear scrubs when they see no patients, and doctors can wear whatever they want, please don’t blame the poor patient not knowing who is who. I made the mistake of thinking my new, un-introduced nurse was a radiology tech and you think I called her mother a slut. (“Did you hear what he said?!”) Hospitals need to impose some basic standards to avoid confusion, and common sense dictates that unless you work in a peds clinic, My Little Pony scrubs will not foster respect or that one is in good hands by any adult patient still conscious.

Next installment: the even longer metal snakes these GI docs have waiting in black suitcases, [un]informed consent, and the past that comes back to haunt you.

One step forward, two steps back

So the reason I haven’t blogged much of any substance lately is because healthwise, I seem to be regressing from late post-op complications. At first, I was taking good strides forward and hit a setback here and there, which is to be expected. Now, 5 weeks post-op, I’m facing some issues that I thought were well over weeks ago, so much so that I’m seeking medical attention in a few hours. It sucks not being able to continue/finish a wonderful story that I so energetically started, of all things because the story hasn’t even ended! Maybe that’s a pre-requisite to starting a damn personal story in the first place…

Anyway, just wanted to drop a quick note…I’ll see what the doctors say, and hopefully I’ll be back sooner than later. Until then, please don’t lose faith in me and put down the fork–I’m not done yet.

Hospitalia: The Beginning

So, as promised, here is how all my medical melodrama began. I warn in advance this will be long and in several parts, but I do think it makes for interesting reading. I’ve tried to really highlight the whole “medical-person-as-patient” experience because while I’ve had this or that done or tested since starting medical school, this was definitely the first “real” full-on patient experience I’ve had, and I was surprised how different (at times surreal) the whole thing could be sometimes. Anyway, here’s how it went down…

I was sitting on the floor in a bedroom at my father-in-law’s, organizing items from a whirlwind of internal spring-cleaning and moving, fresh from having orchestrated our stuff here from Mexico. It had been decided that “home base” for Claudia and daughter would be my FIL’s, and we were doing the necessary work to get that done. I had gotten up and took a few steps when I found the ground slowly giving way, my rib cage and left shoulder becoming one with a chest of drawers (believe me, the furniture got the raw end of the deal) — I felt no pain, just blackness…

…until I heard Claudia yelling my name over and over. I had no idea how long I was out, but it probably wasn’t more than a minute or three. Funnily enough, Claudia didn’t even hear a thud; she just happened to walk in and freaked out (naturally) seeing me on the floor. In spite of the grogginess not having worn completely off, I was strangely confident that I knew what happened and why.

Syncope is not something to treat lightly because it is not uncommonly an indicator of grave problems. In the case of the heart, an arrhythmia or some other cardiac problem means not enough blood gets to the brain (excuse me while I kiss the floor). Neurologically, any number of seizure types can be at play here, as well as other neuro stuff I’d never pretend to understand, but it’s not a good thing, and thank God that’s not I was dealing with. No, it just so happens that a week earlier, I had some bloodwork done and found that my hemoglobin was at an all-time low of 7.6. For the first time, my MCV (cell size) had dropped into the 50s. For the medical types, this clearly indicates a chronic anemia, but what was alarming was how fast the Hgb/Hct had dropped. I had an EGD in Mexico just 4 months prior and my Hgb was 10.2 — what gives? Because of these results, I had some more tests ordered, but they were still out; I also had an appointment to see a hematologist because of several oddities I’ve made mention of here before, but that appointment was 3 weeks away.

I did wind up in the ER that evening and was admitted that same night (good thing it wasn’t the weekend or a Monday!) My presenting Hgb was 7.4 and my ferritin, ran later, was 4. Yes, FOUR. Over the next 24 hours, I had 3 units of packed RBCs put in and another EGD, just to be sure. Of course, the EGD came back negative as before, which means that even it’s time for the other scope. Yes. That one.

But before we go there, here are some random fluffs from the first 36 hours or so:

• Because this was clearly a bleed from somewhere (other hematologic oddities aside), it was determined that I needed a digital rectal test to see if I was bleeding down there. I reiterated that guiac, etc. tests have always been negative and that I had no other lower GI signs, but I wasn’t getting out of this one. I had a great ER nurse, and she said that it was just par for the course. But was it the nurse who did this? Oh no, it was Bruiser Brody, bald-headed, goateed cage match wrestler. To add insult to injury, as he put on gloves, I saw he had tats on his potato fingers. “You’ll feel some pressure,” he said…yeah, at about T11-T12. Jesus Mary and Joseph…I could have predicted the outcome of that exam right then and there. I told my nurse, the one with lithe fingers and small hands, that he didn’t even take me out to dinner first. Fully expecting that to be the 100th time they’ve heard it, I found out later it was the laugh of the night for them. Who knew?
• When blood arrives, apparently everyone goes into military drill mode. I don’t know if it was blood bank person or the charge nurse, but there was this exchange of patient, blood type, serial number, and other relevant data exchanged to my nurse like a challenge-response nuclear drill. “Serial X73413, do you concur?” “Yes, I concur.” I was waiting for them to load the IV pump and turn the keys at the same time to start the drip.
• By the time I made it on the floor it was midnight. I was NPO from the time I was taken back from the ER waiting room, and I was dying for something to drink, perhaps even a sandwich or something light. “NPO for your EGD tomorrow.” Dammit! “Look I just got here and I know it’s just after midnight, but come on–can’t I get sandwich or some soup/crackers–something!?” After checking with the doctor, I was allowed to have clear liquids until 1:00am. Bastards. Then he walks his happy ass in there and takes what Jello I did have away because it was red. WTF? This is an EGD for Christ’s sake, do you expect Jello to still be there 8 hours from now?!?! I was pissed.
• I reported the anesthesiologist who did my EGD because he was upset over some scheduling problems and kept slamming things around. I asked what he’d be using for sedation out of curiosity, and he looks at me over his glasses with this scornful look of, “I could make up a word and you wouldn’t know any better,” but he wound up saying simply, “Propofol.” “Oh, OK, thanks,” I replied, to which he just chuckled, fully expecting me to have no idea what he said. But when the cursing and slamming of things started, that’s when I got pissed and said, “Do we have a problem? Because I’m not comfortable with your managing my case if you can’t even manage whatever it is that’s wrong here.” Completely flabbergasted, he just said, “No, that’s fine,” (mind you, no admission here, just telling me it’s fine) and proceeded to explain how the nurses royally screwed things up, like that was going to make it OK with me. I don’t give a rat’s ass who pissed in his Cheerios or how–his behavior was out of line and was making everyone in the room–including me–uncomfortable. There’s more to this story, but it’s not worth going into any more. I had three more visits to the GI lab, but thankfully that was the last time I saw him. (the sedation went fine, thankfully)
• The GI lab was FREEZING. There’s no need for this. Radiology has six-figure CT scanners, million+ dollar MRI machines, and whatever environment those babies need, they get. They’re pampered, lubed, polished, the GE or Siemens guys coming by to do maintenance just because. Some laptop cart with a fiberoptic snake on it doesn’t need a near-zero environment. You have my asshole GI doc (more on that later) who wants it cold, and the tech whose hand is practically shaking as she’s putting leads on me.
• There is a DEFINITE difference between the day nursing staff and night staff. It’s the A team and the C team. When 7pm rolled around, I dreaded what wicked this way would come. Why a night nurse can’t answer the fucking call button at whatever hour at night when nothing’s going on (and I mean this happened many times, so it wasn’t like that one time another patient was nose-diving) and the day nursing staff was on it almost without exception within a minute? I’d walk a ways down the hall and almost every one of the staff were either gossiping or surfing. One of them was nice and predictably would be surfing on a terminal just outside my door, but he wasn’t my nurse. He always got me whatever little thing I wanted, so I appreciated that and made good with what I had. Whatever works.
• Neurology came by for a consult the morning of my EGD. Neuro doc said he was there because heme doc asked. (my mind can see, “R/O neuro origin” in chart…) Fine. I ask his questions, recognize the mini mental status exam as it was being asked, then he asked me to put my hands in front of me and close my eyes. He did a Romberg with me lying down, how lame is that?! He said he didn’t feel it was neuro in origin, hope things go well for me. Deed done, I think, he got to wet his beak at my trough, happy travels. But no–later that day, someone shows up to take me to do an EEG. Huh?! I asked who ordered it, and it was neuro guy..after saying to me point blank he didn’t think it was neuro in origin. It was a disgusting example of milking it, and I refused unconditionally. For all Happy Hospitalist and others go on ad nauseam about consumers wanting everything for free, providers do their nice bit of raping and pillaging themselves. Dr. Supine Romberg had the audacity to come by the next day and asked why I refused the EEG. That bastard I’m sure billed a patient encounter to come to my room to ask why I challenged his judgment, because he didn’t offer anything else. But it STILL doesn’t end there–two days later, a dietician came by because Neuro Guy ordered it, feeling I needed “weight counseling.” While already on the GI service. What an ass.

Tune in for the next installment in a day or two!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program

I’m back!! I missed blogging tremendously with so many times thinking in my head, “Oh, I gotta write/share that!” but I made a commitment to let things settle down to a dull roar before I started posting again, not wanting to have this start/stop bad mojo on the blog. Thankfully, I think I’m finally at the point where I can say things are calm enough and look like they’ll remain so, at least as much as I can expect. So much to tell, so much I’m glad is in the past, so much to look forward to–all in good time.

For now, here’s a small list of some general comments to catch you up, in no special order (some of which will be expanded on later):

• I got some email wondering if my “Hiatus” post indicated I was going to seek psychiatric care or the like. Funny that, because I did actually call around to see what was available. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything available for “crisis counseling” on an outpatient basis for people who need short-term, more focused help but are functional otherwise. Therapists and psychiatrists are backlogged for weeks or months, so “emergencies” here are handled by inpatient programs akin to the state ward where you get to use crayons and clay for art therapy and ice cream snacks are used as rewards for good behavior. Um, no thanks.
• Instead of mental health care, I got treated to some hard-core health care: 2 hospitalizations with a sum total of 15 days inpatient stay involving multiple scopes, surgery and blood transfusions–oh my! (definitely much more on this later) I’m still on pain meds as I heal, so pardon the grammer and mispellingses for now.
• Shortly after I arrived in TX, I treated myself to a Blackberry Curve 8320 now that I was stateside and my cell contract had long expired, ripe for cheap equipment renewal. No more living in the Mexican data desert! (Actually GDL is totally wired for 3G–it’s just that there, the “3″ means you have to pay 3x as much!) Having mobile email and browser is schweeeeeet.
• In just the span of a couple of months, my daughter seems to have grown up so much, yet she’ll barely be two next month. It’s awesome seeing her slowly develop every day into her own person. It’s also clear to me that all the trauma we’ve gone through seems totally lost on her–as it should be–as I watch her happy as can be with the simplest of things. I’d go through 100x more just to make sure it stays that way.
• I still haven’t decided what do call my new domain (since Mexico Medical Student is obviously not applicable anymore). I am tending to pick a generic title that has nothing to do with medical school, just because I want to be prepared for anything, and more to the point, keep using it after medical school. I want to be happy with something long-term and not have yet another migration later.
• It’s nice to have TiVo actually doing what it’s supposed to do now that it can actually use US programming data. I watch so little TV anyway, but what I do watch, I’m fiercely addicted to. Right now that means Top Chef and Battlestar Galactica, both new seasons recently started. In Mexico, I used to always download and watch episodes in large chunks after-the-fact; now it’s almost torture waiting week by week like everyone else for what’s next.

Well, that’s pretty much enough to get an idea of what’s going on. Other than the medical stuff that will follow, there’s not been much. I do have to make one very important point to close this post, however. A few friends have asked how school search/applications are going, completely because they cared and wanted to know. On the blog, however, I will not be posting anything about any facet of any applications, status updates, prospects, etc. Medical school application is a rigorous and, frankly, competitive endeavor. There are enough lookie-loos from my school who (for reasons also to be written about) are in the same application pool as I, trying to transfer to other programs. I don’t need to divulge what I’m doing for obvious reasons. If anything is shared, it’s pretty much because something is a done deal well after-the-fact. Since my target is August, that means mum’s the word for a good while. I hope this is easily understood. Thanks.

Hiatus

Hello…thanks for still checking in! It seems odd to have a post entitled “Hiatus” when I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks, but I felt at least y’all deserved to know that it will still be a bit before anything really moves on here. Things have not been settling easily, though. Every significant step forward seems to have at least an equal or greater step backwards. For example, our stuff got through the border–and we saved over $2500 compared to the cheapest quotes we were getting in GDL, all things being said and done. Except things at my parents’ house weren’t working out, so we moved to my father-in-laws. Like I needed any more moving. At least we’re talking the original stuff we had in the cars only–the big stuff went straight into a storage unit until we can figure out what’s going to go on with us.

Which is the point–too much is too unstable to be blogging here about it right now. Either I blog about what’s going on (which part of me would LOVE to do) or I censor myself to the point of losing interest, blogging out of some unspoken forced obligation. The former runs the almost certain consequence of shifting the blog too negative (more than it already has), and I think that’s too high a price to pay. When things calm down (and I thought they would have by about now) and life is more stable, I look forward to writing about many things again, without the seemingly ever-present undertone of doom and gloom.

Speaking of doom and gloom, one of my worst fears has been realized. I promise, that’s what’s not sending me into a non-writing funk, but it’s close.

In the meantime, I have to change the name of this site from mexicomedstudent.com to something else, since it clearly no longer applies. Any suggestions you’d want to leave in the Comments section would be greatly appreciated.

Until later!

Epiphanies, Part 1

Happy New Year!! I missed you all! I’m writing this in a Best Western in Monterrey, Mexico–a small overnight stopover on our way back to Guadalajara. I know in my last post that I said I’d write with a big update of school and all, but honestly, I never could get it together to post. All the stress of being away from home with the little one, worsening family tensions (outside us), and a much more somber tone from everyone it seemed, and we were ready to come home at our leisure shortly after Christmas, pending errands and things of that nature to do.

Then I came down with a rather virulent Man Cold. No sooner than I had started working that bell, Claudia got it as well. Then A got it–her first little cold ever. Knowing I was “Patient Zero” made me feel bad about it, but funny enough, she withstood it better than we did. New Year’s was just a couple of days away, so we figured “what the hell,” and decided to get better before adding more stress of yet another trip. Suddenly, I had a mini-epiphany: I thought to myself, “Why am I trying to hurry home to be there in time for offices, etc. to open (and school to start, but I can’t start with them), when they certainly won’t be in a hurry to help me?” Usually, I’d be stressed arriving before a school start a day or two before with so little time to get settled, recover from trip, etc. (I’m not a spring chicken anymore), but this time I said, “Screw it!” and will be arriving tomorrow, THE DAY OF. How about them apples!!

The title of the post is “Epiphanies,” and wouldn’t you know it, today is the celebration of the Epiphany (which, by the way, is the gift-giving part of the Christmas holiday here in Mexico–something I forgot about when I booked these tickets, reminded quickly by the crowds). I’m not going to go into any spiritual parallels–that would take too much brain power than I have at the moment–but I did have more than a couple of breakthroughs in the way I saw things.

First, like a scripted Zen Hollywood moment, I really did finally understand I am nothing. I am obviously nothing to the medical community, not even being a degreed/licensed anything medically–that was never in doubt. However, I am also a nothing to my school. My ace-in-the-hole in dealing with school was always that they couldn’t possibly stand their ground charging me for that unattended semester when they know they’d lose me as a student and forego 4x that amount in lost tuition. Even my being that cynical and making it all about money I overestimated my importance. What did I miss? The fact that my place can be replaced by any number of wide-eyed, eager, naive 20-somethings just waiting to have their shot at a medical career too. To be kind, UAG isn’t exactly “selective,” so it’s not about supply/demand, it’s just that there’s no shortage of students wanting to be physicians. Many will make good doctors if given the chance; quite a few have no business being anywhere near a white coat, but they all will come, and the school knows that. Losing me or any one student is meaningless. That was a tough lesson.

Second, I have no idea why this is happening to me right now, but one day soon I’ll be able to make some sense of it. Whether one ascribes it to “God’s plan,” or simply a time where lessons were learned, the worst that happens from this doesn’t break up my marriage, doesn’t carry the diagnosis of a terminal illness, or God forbid, the loss of a loved one. I’ve had a few friends and even a couple of doctors simply say, “Well, can you just go back to your old job? Or perhaps even turn this around and get a clinically relevant IT position somewhere?” (ie, medical informatics) At the time I heard that I was insulted, even though I knew they honestly, truly had my best interests at heart being people that I love and have known me for years. “I am not a quitter!” kept telling myself. But you get beat down so much, you start questioning yourself and wondering if the lesson that needs to be learned is “Enough is enough!” There have been precious few months of peace and tranquility in my life in the last 3-4 years, especially so since I started medical school. Nothing seems to come easy, without drama, without struggle. I’ve never expected things to just fall in my lap, but damn if I didn’t keep asking myself, “Is it supposed to be this hard?” I’ve been thinking lately of this Demotivators poster (and then saw this new one when getting the previous link…heh) and wondering if that’s me. It’s not about the academics, but academics isn’t the only player here. I am not willing to let it all go just yet, but I did have a “light bulb” moment that perhaps this isn’t supposed to be for me, which is a huge step for me to admit with seriousness, even if I’m nowhere close to accepting it should things go that way.

We have to be at the airport at 7:15am and I just saw it’s almost 2am, so I better finish this once I get back home. It’s weird having the juxtaposition of wanting to home so badly so you can settle back in, etc. but not know if you’ll have the home in a matter of weeks.

Quick update before travels

Sorry to all about working things up to a frenzy and not posting an update. It’s not because I was too busy or certainly that nothing was happening day-to-day. I thought it best not to exacerbate a potentially volatile situation with my school by lying low and reporting what happened after-the-fact. We have a plane to catch in about 8 hours, so I need to make this short: the school, in its infinite depths of new and creative ways to frustrate, has seen fit to not do anything. That’s right folks–seven days of “tomorrow, and maybe Tuesday; wait, no, maybe Thursday, well, if I don’t email you before Friday 5:00, then it’ll have to wait until January.” Did the “secret” committee meet? Who knows. My “contact” only has another “contact” which only tells her results, not schedules. So, as I said openly, no decision is a “no” decision because administrative offices (at least the ones I need) open here on the same day as my first potential day of class, imagine that! There’s no “getting ready” here, it seems.

It took serious fighting from Claudia and my mom to convince me that going back to Texas for a week or two was the best thing. I really don’t want to go home. Oh, I certainly was going to send the girls on their way and have mom and in-laws enjoy their granddaughter/niece, but being that I’ve been such a shit magnet and all-around grouch (when I’m not in a fetal position on the floor), I felt just “getting things done” in the way of packing, organizing, whatever was more for me. I can’t help feel like I’m going home a failure, even though this wasn’t my fault, obviously. (though I know there are those out there that say to yourselves, “Pfft, whatever….I wonder what really happened.” All I can say is that I’d be pretty f*cking stupid to have said all this publicly with my career on the line if I wasn’t truly this desparate and not able to back up 100% every claim I’ve made.) I don’t want to have to rehash the story, the agony, etc., no matter how well intentioned my family–which I’m lucky to have–will be. Financially, I don’t have the money to move anything except drive back the two cars, since there’s not much middle ground–either you get a big-ass moving rig or you don’t. There’s no “UHaul” here where I can pick my size and price. Rent is paid until Jan 15th. As long as we are going to lose 80-90% of what we own, what’s a a few more hundred dollars to fly back and have a family Christmas back home, right? It’s like a social engagement your obligated to attend, don’t want to go to, but still have a bit of hope that maybe you’ll loosen up and have a bit of fun once you get there. That’s the plan, anyway.

So, as usual, I’m way behind in getting things ready, especially since the travel plans were made just days ago. I’ll update everyone on what options I’m facing, point by point, and solicit opinions from the peanut gallery my dear loyal readers. (and I’m serious too, because nobody wants to read this crap during the holidays, I know. But it’s the only medium I have aside from suffering in solitary silence)

To all those traveling this weekend, be safe, be patient, and be happy. Nature demands equilibrium, and that means there are a couple of giddy-pee-pants happy people out there on my tab– “Merry Christmas!” I say to them and hope they don’t use it up all at once. More in a day or two from the good ‘ol USA!

Last night’s show/What’s next with school

Thanks to all who showed up last night for the live broadcast! Dr.A. would have to confirm this for sure, but I think that the chatroom peaked to its highest number so far for the show…that’s awesome! For those that didn’t get to tune in, the archive is #18 and is available at Dr.A.’s BTR site (until the next show, this episode starts playing automatically from a widget on the right, but you can always download the .mp3 file to listen offline as well).

I listened to most of the show already, and I’m slightly embarrassed of the times that it seems that I’m ignoring Dr.A’s quick questions. As was brought up in the chat room after the show, Dr.A was using a new headset, and apparently the mic volume wasn’t turned up enough. (This can be heard in the difference between our respective volumes on the archive.) However, when I was talking in real-time on the call, I swear I couldn’t hear most of the attempts when Dr. A. would make a quick 1-second question. On the archive, one can hear it objectively (ie, not talking at the time), and it sounds like I’m bulldozing over what he was saying. I promise that wasn’t the case. :/ I hope Dr. A. understands.

The universal advice I’ve received before, during, and after regarding my situation is, to be polite, “Do whatever it takes to get things fixed.” I agree, and I never intended to do otherwise. It’s also why I never complained online until the other day even though I’ve been going through this for 6 weeks now. I don’t want to get into specifics, but there is a very real chance that this will not be resolved to my benefit, and I have to start down the road of a “Plan B,” even though I can’t say for sure what that is yet.

Even though absolutely nothing has changed with school, I already feel SO much better having put all of this out there. The consequences/implications/etc. have been shouldered in private for too long and have gotten me absolutely nowhere. Things can’t get worse with school–they simply could say that all of this online shenanigans “prevented” them from giving me their Holy Dispensation, but that’s yet another abusive tactic because one can never know if that were true. The intended effect is drive a student into despair over “what could have been;” in my case, I simply go on the alternative course I’m already pursuing. The default answers have never changed from “no,” and “no.”

I’m not above groveling, but how can I grovel to a person that refuses to meet with me, that tells a “superior” at the hospital that I’ll be seen, then 10 minutes later tell me (through the inept secretary) that there’s no point in seeing me? I’ve never been able to break through this, so what do I do, kneel in supplication from the hallway and hope they see me on the way to a bathroom break? Video myself begging and send a YouTube clip to their email address? If this turns out to be about “Well, we’re offended that you didn’t do XYZ in person,” then their hypocrisy is one for the record books.

I have to work, and time spent sitting in a hallway on the off-chance said dictator may/may not be coming to the office that afternoon, combined with may/may not be willing to see me is time I’m not billing, money I’m not making to support my family in the absence of loans to fall back on. Every dollar in my bank account is because I worked for it this semester. Talk about responsibility–what respect is there for that? They seem to think I’m at their complete convenience (and sport), and as a lowly student, that’s true–to a point. They know I’m working, they know I have a family to support, they just “forget” (or don’t care) that it’s not all about me. If they’re going to be insulted because I make a phone call to check if they’ll be in before I waste hours (read: earned money) going to and from, waiting, etc. and make that a daily habit, they can do something “creatively promiscuous” with their expectations.

UAG may be trying to teach me a lesson, beat me down, whatever, but to what end? I’m playing for keeps, and here’s why:

I don’t have the luxury of wasting time. I am willing to sacrifice whatever of myself, but there’s a limit to what I’m willing to put them through. This isn’t about principle vs. pride. Steeped in old Mexican medical school traditions at the core (primarily dealing with 18-year-olds), UAG feels it’s their job to “teach” me humility, maturity and responsibility with their tactics.

Those two above teach me more about those in one day than any amount of passive-agressive bullshit by administration. The two above is where my faith, my hope, and my pride lie, not my school. If I’m going to sacrifice any part of myself further, it’s for them, not for the whims of UAG. My school is a replaceable commodity; they are not. If this constitutes my “bad attitude,” then so be it. Regardless of my financial debt, I will always remain far richer than UAG could ever be.