The past three nights I haven't been able to sleep well. The sliding door to the balcony is a MUST to leave open, since SF has been having a heat wave (not as bad as a few weeks ago), and otherwise the air just stagnates. Apparently, somewhere on the property I live, mosquitos are breeding.
There is absolutely nothing more obnoxious than waking up with one of them whining in your ear. I don't care if it's on the river, or an urban mosquito, I don't like them. In fact, the Dalai Lama has even admitted to killing a few himself.
I don't feel so bad about the few I squished last night.
Sleep is a precious commodity, mostly because we're absorbing so much or studying early to late. On Wednesday there's this wonderful feeling of the week being over with, but then the reality that one has to get up at 5am (it keeps getting later every morning I have to do this) and be on the floor, ready to go by about 6:40, if you're lucky, is a stark reminder that oh yeah, I'm fighting for my sleep time. Some of us have to be ready at 6, in Palo Alto (not me, not yet).
We're 1/3 done with our first quarter, and have one more "first test" on Monday. It's been a nonstop onslaught of homework, testing, learning, practicing. It's awesome, definitely, but intense. They're not kidding. I think that the more hands-on patient care one has had, the easier it is to do this program - just being comfortable touching a patient is a skill that one learns by having to do it, constantly. And that's what we're here to do. To learn how to interact with patients, Do No Harm, and hopefully, do some good here and there.
Little victories mean a lot.
It's that intense. We're just constantly DOING.
I really like this MEPN program. I mean REALLY like it. Nothing academically has spoken to me like this before, and it really is perfect.
Last week during clinicals I got to watch a liver biopsy on a 37 year old transplant patient. His cousin had given him part of his liver. His family was super cool, and I enjoyed talking to them; however the biopsy nearly made me faint. I can watch someone bleeding out all orofices, but show me a 6-8 inch long needle (I'm not kidding, and I was told that was the small one), and I'm not okay. It's why I'm not a surgeon.
Speaking of surgeons... they're incredibly busy, and there are a few residents and attendings who will say hi or good morning, but for the most part, I have a joke to share:
Do you know what the difference between God and a doctor is?
God knows he's not a Doctor.
I'll leave you with that. I have to get going for another day of clinicals. We're still observing mostly, and today we have to pick one patient and know their history, diagnosis, discharge prognosis and care plan. No meds yet.
Words from Transitional Times.
- ► 2009 (28)