There are two things that drive me absolutely bonkers when dealing with doctors from other specialties. Numero uno: I HATE it when they TELL me what to do when they are REQUESTING a consult. Numero dos: I HATE it when they tell the PATIENT what they think I should do.
Why the hell consult me then? Just do the damn thing yourself, if you know so much.
I mainly get it from the ER. The fastest, best, easiest way to bring out the raging bitch in me is to say to me when I answer a page, "You need to come down and do surgery on this patient." I'll tell you EXACTLY what YOU need to do. It involves you eating your fecal words. And perhaps a satisfying kick in the perineum, or as the high class folk call it, 'taint. Seriously. I am the gynecologic specialist. I decide who I take to surgery. I am THE 'taint specialist, aren't I? That's why you called.
Here's a tutorial for all you ER doctors who aren't reading this blog on what to say to a physician you are consulting, "Hello Lu, this is Jose. I think I have a patient here with a ruptured ectopic. Will you please come and evaluate her?" I will be halfway to the hospital by the time you finished saying "ruptured ectopic." You do not have to order me to do surgery. Because, half of the time, you are wrong, and she's just on her period and having the motherload of all menstrual cramping (or she's just really wanting to take a pregnancy test but didn't have $10 and a ride to Walgreen, so she call an ambulance at 2am to bring her to the ER instead. Happens all the time. For reals.) And half of those times, you've already told the patient that I, the gyn specialist who as yet to even LAY EYES ON HER, will be taking her back for surgery. Arghhh.
I was recently double teamed. I answered a page, basically one of my general surgery colleagues was calling to inform me that I was to take a particular patient to surgery . OK, I thought. This weird. I and several of my partners had been following her and deemed her issue non-gynecologic. So, no, I will not be taking her to surgery. His argument was, another doctor and he have decided that this WAS a gyn issue, so I HAVE to take her to surgery. Silly me, I thought I was the specialist in this field. I suppose if two psychiatrists, one dermatologist, and Joe Smoe on the corner of 8th street SAY its gyn, then it MUST be. Hand me the scalpel!
My answer to him was No, I am not taking this poor woman for unneccesary gyn surgery. I almost laughed when he sputtered, So you aren't going to take her to the OR? What are you going to tell the patient?
I was thinking in my head, YOU go talk to the patient. You made the mess.
Of course, at the end of the day, all this is B.S. What really matters is the patient and her health. My partner did go and explain everything to the patient and offered to help in anyway. She offered a myriad of medical treatments for the possible diagnoses on the differential. She offered the patient that someone from our practice would be willing to participate in the operation as a consult, should surgery decide to operate. And general surgery did end up taking her to the OR, and surprise! surprise! there were no gyn abnormalities, just general surgerical issues.
So I win. I may look young and inexperienced. I maybe short. Very, very short. I am woman practicing medicine in a good ole boy's club. But ain't nobody's gonna bully me into practicing bad medicine. So SUCK IT, BOYS!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Why I Do Not Sleep Even Though I Desperately Need To
This is ridiculous.
I am on call tonight. It's late. I am sick. I have a low grade temp, annoying cough, and phelgm is various colors of camouflage. I have a headache. My eyelids are soooooo heavy. My brain is confused. I know, Super Sexy.
But I refuse to go to bed.
It's a disease I was born with. I remember getting in so much trouble as a kid because me parents would find me sleeping secretly in the hallway with my head just peeking into the living room. I just KNEW there was something exciting ABOUT TO HAPPEN! Wait, just wait, it'll come! Mom and Dad don't REALLY just sit on the couch reading the paper. So I am just going to laying on this uncomfortable hard floor and keep my eye open and be rewarded when SOMETHING happens! And then I would fall asleep.
Now that I am thirty-two years old, I KNOW that nothing exciting is going to happen while I am asleep. But yet, I resist going to bed. My eyelids could feel like they are magnetized and my body could be aching to just lay on a soft, soft mattress, but NO. I MUST STAY AWAKE LEST SOMETHING EXCITING! AND WONDERFUL! HAPPEN WITHOUT ME!
Funny that I should marry someone just like me. I hate that about him.
I am going to sleep.
I am on call tonight. It's late. I am sick. I have a low grade temp, annoying cough, and phelgm is various colors of camouflage. I have a headache. My eyelids are soooooo heavy. My brain is confused. I know, Super Sexy.
But I refuse to go to bed.
It's a disease I was born with. I remember getting in so much trouble as a kid because me parents would find me sleeping secretly in the hallway with my head just peeking into the living room. I just KNEW there was something exciting ABOUT TO HAPPEN! Wait, just wait, it'll come! Mom and Dad don't REALLY just sit on the couch reading the paper. So I am just going to laying on this uncomfortable hard floor and keep my eye open and be rewarded when SOMETHING happens! And then I would fall asleep.
Now that I am thirty-two years old, I KNOW that nothing exciting is going to happen while I am asleep. But yet, I resist going to bed. My eyelids could feel like they are magnetized and my body could be aching to just lay on a soft, soft mattress, but NO. I MUST STAY AWAKE LEST SOMETHING EXCITING! AND WONDERFUL! HAPPEN WITHOUT ME!
Funny that I should marry someone just like me. I hate that about him.
I am going to sleep.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Precious Moments
When Meat Ball turned one year old, I was consumed with guilt. It seemed like I missed the first year of his life completely. Between working, trying to be a good wife, being a mother to a toddler, I realized that I lost the joy and privilege of savoring many of Meat Ball's milestones.
He is almost thirteen months now, and I have been playing catch up the past three weeks. He's an early sleeper, so usually he's so tired, I just throw him into bed and play with Ninja until it's her bedtime. Now I start the bedtime routine EARLY for the both of them so now I can spend a good 20-30 minutes cuddling and reading to Meat Ball before he's too sleepy.
And man, is he adorable!
My sister says that he looks like a precious moments kid. And he does. He has such sad emo eyes, a button nose, rosebud mouth. And three big rabbit teeth. And he is so sweet. I mean so sweet that your insides just melt and puddle around your toes and all you can do is drool and say, awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.... He will flirt with you, bat his lashes, he will hide in your shoulder, peek up shyly and offer the sweetest toothy smile and when you melt on the floor in response, he will duck his head down again to hide and peek up with just one big soulful eye to see if you saw that. And of course you saw that, but you are already a messy puddle on the floor and there is just no where to go. While you are holding him, he will grab your neck with his chubby hands and find the perfect, most comfortable fit for his big round head in the crook of your jaw and he will just hug you the sweetest, most heavenly hug for an amazing 10 seconds. He'll then look up at you, give you a wet kiss with a hearty "MMMMMMMMMM MAAAAAAHHHH" and hug your neck again.
Meat Ball loves water. If a substance is in liquid form, he's all over it. While take a bath, he like to dunk his face in the water. At first I thought he was losing his balance. But his butt is so big and stable, so I thought that was weird. I watched him very slowly and purposefully lean over, put his face in the water, and then come up sputtering and laughing his head off. He hears water running and he's there. I am pretty sure that he'll be a surfer like his father. And I'll squander away many years of my life worrying about him drowning or getting eaten by sharks. Now I am just reducing my lifespan by my panic attacks when I find him playing in the toilet. Especially since Ninja is a recent potty-trained graduate, but doesn't like the flushing part.
So I am going to be better about remembering Meat Ball. It is a well known fact that children grow up too soon. My wish is so do everything to slow down time. Not look forward to every naptime, bedtime so I can get stuff done. I am going to consciously treasure all the moments, good and bad, with my children. And try my best to record what I can. I can easily see me in twenty years angry at myself now for not making more of an effort to remember these precious moments.
He is almost thirteen months now, and I have been playing catch up the past three weeks. He's an early sleeper, so usually he's so tired, I just throw him into bed and play with Ninja until it's her bedtime. Now I start the bedtime routine EARLY for the both of them so now I can spend a good 20-30 minutes cuddling and reading to Meat Ball before he's too sleepy.
And man, is he adorable!
My sister says that he looks like a precious moments kid. And he does. He has such sad emo eyes, a button nose, rosebud mouth. And three big rabbit teeth. And he is so sweet. I mean so sweet that your insides just melt and puddle around your toes and all you can do is drool and say, awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.... He will flirt with you, bat his lashes, he will hide in your shoulder, peek up shyly and offer the sweetest toothy smile and when you melt on the floor in response, he will duck his head down again to hide and peek up with just one big soulful eye to see if you saw that. And of course you saw that, but you are already a messy puddle on the floor and there is just no where to go. While you are holding him, he will grab your neck with his chubby hands and find the perfect, most comfortable fit for his big round head in the crook of your jaw and he will just hug you the sweetest, most heavenly hug for an amazing 10 seconds. He'll then look up at you, give you a wet kiss with a hearty "MMMMMMMMMM MAAAAAAHHHH" and hug your neck again.
Meat Ball loves water. If a substance is in liquid form, he's all over it. While take a bath, he like to dunk his face in the water. At first I thought he was losing his balance. But his butt is so big and stable, so I thought that was weird. I watched him very slowly and purposefully lean over, put his face in the water, and then come up sputtering and laughing his head off. He hears water running and he's there. I am pretty sure that he'll be a surfer like his father. And I'll squander away many years of my life worrying about him drowning or getting eaten by sharks. Now I am just reducing my lifespan by my panic attacks when I find him playing in the toilet. Especially since Ninja is a recent potty-trained graduate, but doesn't like the flushing part.
So I am going to be better about remembering Meat Ball. It is a well known fact that children grow up too soon. My wish is so do everything to slow down time. Not look forward to every naptime, bedtime so I can get stuff done. I am going to consciously treasure all the moments, good and bad, with my children. And try my best to record what I can. I can easily see me in twenty years angry at myself now for not making more of an effort to remember these precious moments.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Who am I?
I just got home from the hospital and its 4am. The reason I am not snuggled in my bed is because I got thinking about how I portray myself to others. There was a time, a loooooong time, when I really cared about how others perceived me. Mostly like a moron, I know, but the point is that it bothered me that many people thought I was a moron.
Now that I am where I am, I don't care. I really don't. But I wonder if I should. I think I am part 12 year old boy and it's trying really hard to come out. There is a new show on Discovery Health about three female OB/GYNs who trained together and now practice together in LA. I have watched a couple of the episodes and thought, "That's totally me!!! They stole me and my partners! We were them first!" Except not really. All of the them are articulate and put together. I am not. I can sound pretty smart if I really really try. The thing is, I AM pretty smart. But when I am relaxed and talking without thinking I sound like a 12 year old boy. From the hood.
Example: coming out of the a patient's room, I was holding a glass slide a heading towards the microscope to examine it. The charge nurse looked up and asked me what I was holding. Immediately I said, "Cooter Juice."
Whyyyyyy??????
Easily could have said, "ruling out rupture of membranes" or "checking for ferning" or something professional. But nooooooooooo. I said "Cooter Juice." And yes. With capital letters, like it was an official medical term.
I feel..... not bad at all. But, I know that I have shamed my family (by family, I mean husband who works in the same hospital)
I routinely go to work with no make up and in scrubs. On the one or two occasions that I see my husband at work, he always tells me I look a mess. He never goes to the hospital without dressing in at least business casuals, even on weekends or ungodly hours of the night.... just in case. I think that I have run to the office in my pajamas to grab paperwork.
Professionalism is important. As a doctor, I know how important it is for my patients to have confidence in my abilities. I will never show up to work in ripped jeans with a hot pink thong peeking out from my plumber's crack. I will never use dirty curse words in front of my patients. I will never consciously walk around with my fly open and boogers on my face. But I suppose I need to find a balance between the pimple faced adolescent and the specialty trained surgeon in me. So next time my answer to the charge nurse will be, "I am checking for presence of amniotic fluid in this Cooter Juice."
Now that I am where I am, I don't care. I really don't. But I wonder if I should. I think I am part 12 year old boy and it's trying really hard to come out. There is a new show on Discovery Health about three female OB/GYNs who trained together and now practice together in LA. I have watched a couple of the episodes and thought, "That's totally me!!! They stole me and my partners! We were them first!" Except not really. All of the them are articulate and put together. I am not. I can sound pretty smart if I really really try. The thing is, I AM pretty smart. But when I am relaxed and talking without thinking I sound like a 12 year old boy. From the hood.
Example: coming out of the a patient's room, I was holding a glass slide a heading towards the microscope to examine it. The charge nurse looked up and asked me what I was holding. Immediately I said, "Cooter Juice."
Whyyyyyy??????
Easily could have said, "ruling out rupture of membranes" or "checking for ferning" or something professional. But nooooooooooo. I said "Cooter Juice." And yes. With capital letters, like it was an official medical term.
I feel..... not bad at all. But, I know that I have shamed my family (by family, I mean husband who works in the same hospital)
I routinely go to work with no make up and in scrubs. On the one or two occasions that I see my husband at work, he always tells me I look a mess. He never goes to the hospital without dressing in at least business casuals, even on weekends or ungodly hours of the night.... just in case. I think that I have run to the office in my pajamas to grab paperwork.
Professionalism is important. As a doctor, I know how important it is for my patients to have confidence in my abilities. I will never show up to work in ripped jeans with a hot pink thong peeking out from my plumber's crack. I will never use dirty curse words in front of my patients. I will never consciously walk around with my fly open and boogers on my face. But I suppose I need to find a balance between the pimple faced adolescent and the specialty trained surgeon in me. So next time my answer to the charge nurse will be, "I am checking for presence of amniotic fluid in this Cooter Juice."
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Blog Bog
Part of my dilemma with this blogging thing is that I really don't know what I am doing. Am I writing a personal journal for myself? Do I wish to have an audience? What is this blog about? Family? Parenting? My medical practice? Should I remain anonymous, or should I share this with my family and a few close friends?
The heck if I know.
So half the stuff I usually write in a personal journal, I don't write. Too painful, and too dramatic, and biased. Complain, bitch, moan, yuck. It's like the armpit of my thoughts. And more times than not I end up reading it and puking. Why would I risk revealing my self-absorbed stupidity on a blog?
I definately am not a great writer in that I do not have witty thoughts, comments, and observations about my life. However, I do like to write. Crap. Yes, I like to write crap. But dammit, it's MY crap. And I really want to remember a bit about my life now, while it is so crazy and hectic and I feel like I am one step from it all getting away from me. I am afraid that these days will slip away from me, as if it never happened. If I record anything on paper in a journal, I will lose it. Or Husband will throw it away. Perhaps this is an attempt to salvage a little part of who I am now and what my life is now.
I suppose I'll see where this takes me.
The heck if I know.
So half the stuff I usually write in a personal journal, I don't write. Too painful, and too dramatic, and biased. Complain, bitch, moan, yuck. It's like the armpit of my thoughts. And more times than not I end up reading it and puking. Why would I risk revealing my self-absorbed stupidity on a blog?
I definately am not a great writer in that I do not have witty thoughts, comments, and observations about my life. However, I do like to write. Crap. Yes, I like to write crap. But dammit, it's MY crap. And I really want to remember a bit about my life now, while it is so crazy and hectic and I feel like I am one step from it all getting away from me. I am afraid that these days will slip away from me, as if it never happened. If I record anything on paper in a journal, I will lose it. Or Husband will throw it away. Perhaps this is an attempt to salvage a little part of who I am now and what my life is now.
I suppose I'll see where this takes me.
Potty Mouth
The following are frequent comments made by my three-year-old daughter during and after certain bodily functions:
"OMIGOD! That's a lot of poo-poo!"
"My poo-poo is squiggly today."
"I peeped! (as in past tense for pee)"
"Moooommmmy.... I'm dooooooonnnnnee. No wait! There's more coming out! Goooooooo awaaaaaay. Close the door!"
"Mommy, can you help me get it out?"
"OMIGOD! That's a lot of poo-poo!"
"My poo-poo is squiggly today."
"I peeped! (as in past tense for pee)"
"Moooommmmy.... I'm dooooooonnnnnee. No wait! There's more coming out! Goooooooo awaaaaaay. Close the door!"
"Mommy, can you help me get it out?"
Sunday, January 20, 2008
The Dilemma Part 2
Yeah, I suck. Big Time. My last entry shows how retarded I am. I do feel better after writing it, which I always do after journaling. I am just so glad that nobody reads this blog. What parent with small children wouldn't give their right eye for my in-laws? So what about Husband. To quote him whenever I complain to him about something, "Well at least I don't do drink, do drugs, gamble, and murder people."
True, true. The makings of the perfect husband.
So, we are actually on this trip, with the in-laws. It's really not bad. They are so easy that you feel like Hitler for ever NOT wanting them to come.
Sometimes I am just glad that I didn't marry myself.
True, true. The makings of the perfect husband.
So, we are actually on this trip, with the in-laws. It's really not bad. They are so easy that you feel like Hitler for ever NOT wanting them to come.
Sometimes I am just glad that I didn't marry myself.
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