Healthcare professionals make the worst patients

So after the heady delight of yesterday's clear liquid diet and colonoscopy prep (read the details here, if you're inclined--it included 1) a grand total of 17 trips to the bathroom, 2) the drinking of 2 liters of a substance whose foulness could probably be approximated by mixing together 2 liters unsweetened lemonade, a cup of salt, and a few tablespoons of rancid butter, 3) my internal organs producing rumblings and gurgles more commonly associated with active volcanoes and hot springs)--came the event itself. The things I remember, after the glorious sedative/miracle that is Versed:

1) The anesthesiologist was kind of a jerk. Not mean; just not real heavy on the people skills. Example: "Did you eat or drink anything today?" "Yes, some diet coke. A few ounces." "When?" "To take my Synthroid this morning..." (interruption) "I said when, not why." Maybe I'm hypersensitive, but slow your roll there, Dr. Feelgood. I flushed a little bit at this--because hey, I'm here in a 2-ply paper gown about to have someone spelunking in my colon; I'm worried about my own asshole, so I don't want to worry about what you've got wedged up yours right now. "You've got a sort of rash on your chest. Have you noticed that?" Poking my chest, checking to see if it blanches...poke, poke, poke. Hey, why not ask before you start prodding? Just a thought. And I'm flushed because I'm pissed off but I'm not good at verbalizing anger.

2) The nurses were awesome, as nurses usually are. Warm blankets, and this hose that essentially blew warm air through the blankets I had on to keep me toasty while I waited. Someday I'm going to make friends with a medical supply rep and get one of those for my house. Or, you know, an electric blanket. Probably cheaper.
There was one bit of an awkward moment--the nurse was explaining things to me in that reassuring way that nurses have, while I was looking at the pulse oximetry reading and trying to consciously lower my heart rate to sub-tachycardic levels (have I mentioned I'm kind of tightly wound? And that I've been obsessed with controlling my heart rate and blood pressure since I read an article on biofeedback in sixth grade?). "And you can just relax--we'll have machines to keep track of your heart and your breathing, and the doctor will give you some medicine to make you nice and sleepy...now what grade did you say you were in?" (I'd mentioned being a student.) "I'm a second year medical student."

3)Apparently the doctor came into the recovery room and explained everything, but damned if I remember anything. Thanks again, Versed!

Things'll be different, baby. Promise.

So the new school year starts on Monday, and tomorrow we have our one and a half-hour 'second year orientation,' which the class ahead of us has said is basically 90 minutes of having the fear of God put into us...ie, this year we have real grades, this year even more is expected of us, no more messing around, no more procrastinating and trying to cram everything in two days before the exams, etc. A sort of preemptive strike against laziness; a preventive spanking.
Problem is: this is what I have going through my head 24/7, in stereo and at a volume setting of 11 (out of 10). Do I really need to have the shit scared out of me to do a good job? Especially when I'm already, so to speak, flowing in that direction? Now we have Honors, High Pass, Pass and...*Not a Pass* as grading options, rather than the previous Pass/Fail. Of course, I'm going to shoot for all Honors, but do I need to go to Gunner Attitude Boot Camp tomorrow to get ready for the coming year? Maybe I'll have a little Xanax before I go... Am I high strung? Pas de tout.

And this year it'll be different. Not so much with the studying (I studied a fair amount last year, and didn't generally put things off...just tried to stay on track, rather than trying to learn a semester's worth of material in three days like some people I know...who shall of course remain nameless), but with life. A balance. Social activities, studying, exercising, and perhaps most pertinent for those reading this: blogging. I'm going to update this site, if not daily, then at least 4x a week. Hopefully there will be hilarious hijinks to recount, poignant moments to share, and my strange mix of hippy-dippy idealism and cynical misanthropy to vent. Join the fun!

This first 'block' of courses includes
Pathology, ie: 'When stuff goes wrong,' or 'Looking at the process of disease' or 'The Microscope's Revenge: The Return of Histology--this time it's nasty.'

Pharmacology, or 'Yes, we can make even DRUGS monumentally un-fun. Who remembers what gets processed using Phytochrome 450? Or perhaps more trickily, what doesn't? Hands? Tell me the difference between adrenergics and cholinergics and be smart about it!'

and Otolaryngology, or "The only lecture you're really going to remember is the one about things kids have stuffed up their noses."

quitting, and the placenta.

One of my classmates was able to witness the miracle of birth today ("Not as much screaming as I expected" was the general jist). What really freaked her out was not the birth itself, but the afterbirth--that's right, the placenta. "It was just this big...thing," she said, her eyes wide. "This mush. It was this big--" she spread her hands, as if demonstrating the size of a prize catch--"And just purple-y and huge and..." Obviously a terrifying thing.

I discussed this with my roommate, a NICU nurse, who concurred. "They aren't pretty. They never show it in movies, either," she said, her brows furrowed. "It's always just, yay, a pretty baby. No placenta. Sometimes when there's something wrong with the baby or the mother, they send it along to the NICU in a bag," she added. "Usually they're nice about it and put it in a black bag so we don't have to look at it. When the fellows come they're always really excited about it, too, because then they can send it to pathology." She shuddered.

The word itself comes from the Greek for "plate" via the Latin for "cake," both emphasizing the fact that the placenta's pretty flat. I've tried several times to link an image, but screw it. Look it up on Wikipedia; there are several images, some gorier than others.

I am updating in part to fill the time I would ordinarily be spending smoking. Also because I have been relentlessly badgered by a certain person whose name starts with a G and ends with an inder. Oh! So, a random recap of today's events, which may be elaborated in a later post:

Today we had the only dental lecture we will ever get in med school. Saw many images of periodontal disease, thrush, malocclusion and canker sores. Take home message: Brush. Floss. Use fluoride rinse if you have to. Just because you're smoking meth every five minutes doesn't mean you can't maintain a basic oral hygeine regime (although admittedly there are other factors at play in the development of 'meth mouth.' If you've never had the pleasure of seeing manifestations of that malady, please do google it, though not if you are eating, have recently eaten, or are planning on eating again, ever). Other take-home message: don't be afraid to get a dental consult, because as a physician one of the few areas of the body you are NOT required to know jack shit about = teeth (Note how I used the equal sign to avoid making a mistake in subject-verb agreement in the previous sentence. Is? Are? Is 'teeth' the antecedent or is 'one'? Because teeth are, but one is. Sorry. Grammar Gestapo.)

I wore my lucky turtle socks today, a gift from a college roommate, and subsequently discovered I'd gotten an honorable mention in the William Carlos Williams Poetry contest (a poetry competition for medical students). Now I just have to get the registrar to affirm that I am, in fact, a student at Wash-U med--because, according to the woman I spoke to on the phone, there was an 'unfortunate incident' several years ago. Erm. Go lucky turtle socks! My precious...

As far as quitting goes, I have my patch on. I have been chewing gum like crazy. Sugarless gum. The gum that warns you that "excessive consumption may have a laxative effect on susceptible individuals." Apparently I am a susceptible individual. Apparently I have also been consuming excessively. And now I am doing other things excessively as well. So that's fun.

Honestly, I think the patch is giving me a bigger dose of nicotine than I got when I was smoking, because I feel really revved up. For instance, I'm not tired right now at all, and I'm normally positively geriatric when it comes to bedtime (at least since I started taking Seroquel, the only thing that has EVER worked to KO my chronic insomnia...though I know one person in my class is achieving similar feats with codeine cough syrup. Meh. There have to be SOME benefits to being sick; I say ride the gravy train as far as you can if you're unfortunate enough to come down with something nasty). Also. Since the PI I wrote to earlier this month hasn't emailed me back, I am now expanding my horizons and sending out my CV to other PIs (that's 'principal investigators,' or 'people who are kind and generous enough to let me come work in their lab for the summer'). Also. I have been cunningly crafting Valentines all week and will spring them on the unsuspecting in the days to come.

Yesterday I had another MRI, of my ankle this time. Stress fracture. Big fun. Hopefully all will be healed in time for the marathon in April. If not, I may have to do the half instead, and I will be disappointed. Sad face.