nematode delivery.

On the phone earlier today:

Mom: Oh, hang on a sec, I have to check the other line in case it is the lady from Grouse Mountain calling me back.
Me: Okay.
-flash-
Mom: Hello.
Me: Was it the Grouse Mountain Lady?
Mom: Nope, my nematodes are in. They wanted to let me know.

Today when I left the Eye Care Centre, I noticed smoke coming out of the little garden at the entrance. Kind of weird. Is it really smoke? Is it just steam? It does smell suspiciously like camp fire out here, but no one seems to worked up. Upon closer investigation, it became apparent that there was indeed smoke. There was smoke because the bark mulch was smoldering, and the bark mulch was smoldering (my detective self thinks) because of the smoldering cigarette butt lying in the middle of it.

There was no one left at the receptionist station inside, so instead of being able to go back in and mention that someone might want to do something about the fact that the garden was on fire, I had to take matters into my own hands, and douse the blaze with not one, but TWO Nalgene bottles of water. The drama. I know, I know - with keen awareness and safety know-how like that - I just might find myself in the 'more-than-just-a-pretty-face' club.

And, if the rhododendron on Willow and 10th grows ovaries, we'll know this BPA stuff is for real.

joy!

Eight more sleeps until I AM GOING TO CAMP!

I had to fill out an online application for my volunteer position. One of the questions asked what brought me joy. Here is my list (in progress).


My family. My Kyle. My friends. My patients. Interacting in general. Sunny mornings. Fresh air. Running in the rain. Learning. Being with children. Swedish Berries. Tea. Snail mail. Quiet Time. Working with a team. Growing stuff. Hugs…

ninth and tenth first days - prologue.

My most recent two rotations (orthopedics and anesthesiology) were back at Royal Columbian Hospital. I hadn't had any work at RCH since my Internal Medicine Rotation, which was the very first rotation of my entire year and seemed like a long, long time ago even though less than one year had passed.

Returning to the to the same skytrain stop, same uphill walk, same locker, same smells of RCH provided a strong reminder of my first, first day, and how strikingly different it was, and I found myself reflecting on how much had happened between then and my ninth first day of the year. I have learned SO MUCH since then - about medicine, and myself, and the combination of these things. That first morning in September was one of the most anxiety-filled times of maybe my whole life - I had absolutely no idea what to expect, what my role would be, how to talk to patients, how the hospital worked, how to read a chart, or find a lab value or how to find anything for that matter. Perhaps most significantly, I had no idea why I even wanted to be doing this whole medicine thing in the first place - and whether I would make it through to even my second first day. It seems dramatic to say that now, but I don't think I am embellishing the fact that I was lost in more ways than one.

Fast forward ten months, six rotations, seven hospitals, and many a call shift, break-down and break through. I am now a pro at first days. I found the place and the person, asked the right questions to get the right information. I knew how to find the OR, and how the get scrubs, and the difference between the blue things for your shoes and the ones for your head. I knew how to find the slate (and what it was), and what room I should go to, how to introduce myself to the nurses, and what gloves size I was. I didn't know how to find the surgeon I was working with - but I knew how to figure that out, and how to answer questions, and how not to cry (on the outside or even the inside) when I felt stupid - which was inevitable. I could 'scrub in' and even suture if someone asked me. I got asked to do a consult - and I knew what that meant too! I knew how to find out where the patient was and how to find out where their chart was, and what to ask, and what my staff would ask me, and how to talk to the ER doc that saw them.

I also knew that even though I didn't want to be an orthopedic surgeon, that I would still learn very useful things by participating fully in my rotation, I knew I enjoy meeting patients, and trying to make them as comfortable as possible. I knew that I love the operating room, but not enough to spend my life there, and, I knew that even if my ninth first day was disasterous, I would survive, and then there would be a tenth first day... and then hundreds more.

Lastly, I knew that I am going to enjoy a career in medicine. Good.

just do it.

It's been awhile (again) and lots has happened (again) - updates are to follow. The first update gets its own post.

Kyle and I are getting married!

In our usual style, our decision resulted from many in-depth, analytical, lengthy, honest and wonderful dialogues, and became official when we shared the news with our families last weekend. No romantic proposal or engagement ring (you know me) just plans for a celebration next April/May/June. I am excited, and certain and contented.

My conversations with my mom for the last week and a half have mostly consisted of her trying to get me to articulate what kind of space we envision, and how many people... and what kind of food, and WHAT DAY; and me trying to convince her that wearing flip-flops with a wedding dress is entirely legitimate (as long as they are white of course). I think we are going to be an effective planning team. But seriously, I am lucky that she is willing to put a bunch of time into researching for two very picky and relatively indecisive lovers.

Oh, and I'm not pregnant - that seems to be high on the the FAQs.