These are completely unrelated topics, despite what you may think. One medical, one less so. Can you guess which is which?
First up: I am still coughing. After hacking for a couple weeks, I finally dragged my stubborn self to the non-husband, actual MD-having doctor, who proceeded to tell me that I have exactly what my actual-husband, not yet MD-having Dr. D told me I have. I am equal parts annoyed and impressed.
Mr. RealMD did, however, offer up the hypothesis that perhaps the aggravated coughing symptoms I encounter frequently when I get colds may have to do with me being asthmatic, to which my reply was "Aw, maaaaaaan... I thought I grew out of that geeky inhaler crapola!"
Turns out, probably not. I am now the proud owner of two new inhalers, which I plan to bedazzle with rhinestones in defiance of their innate dweeby-kid connotation. It'll catch on, just you wait... dweeb/diva chic. Dweeva.
It took all of my willpower not to make some quip to Mr. RealMD about how I obviously didn't drink enough urine as an embryo. (Confused? Read this.)
In other news, allow me to share with you a snippet from my evening at home with Dr. D:
Cuddling in front of the kitchen sink after dinner dishes, as we are often prone to do, I noticed a faint but distinctly smoky smell on my husband's clothes.
"Were you hanging out with a smoker today?" I said accusingly, appalled by the notion that the physician Dr. D is assigned to for his current rotation might actually be crazy enough to puff on the ol' cancer stick.
Dr. D leaned back from me slightly, looking confused. "No...," he said, trailing off and obviously thinking back on his day.
And then his face fell into a half smile, half grimace. "Oh. Gross."
It took me a few seconds longer, but finally the part of our dinner conversation when we shared what we did that day came rushing back to me. More notably, the part where Dr. D told me all about the procedures he got to assist today... mainly, the one where they cauterized flesh repeatedly.
Yeah, gross.
Showing posts with label gross. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gross. Show all posts
Monday, September 13, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Stanky
Sitting in Starbucks this afternoon, salivating over inspiring pictures on wedding and fashion blogs, my daydream of bow-ties and peonies was interrupted when Dr. D (who is a hostage of Step 1 Boards cramming--but more on that later) leaned over with his pathology textbook and pointed at a diagram.
Here comes another lesson in med cred, I thought, preparing myself for something either very bizarre or very gross. It was the latter:
Today I learned that when a person has cirrhosis (or severe scarring) of the liver, one of the signs is fetor hepaticus. What might that be, you ask? Well, according to the textbook's description, fetor hepaticus--which already doesn't sound too good--is a particular odor on the patient's breath. Oh, but not just any odor...
"The smell of a freshly opened corpse."
Aw, HECK NO.
First of all, bummer for whoever already knows what that smells like and is consequently capable of identifying that smell on someone's breath. Second of all, why are we talking about corpses like they're a can of caviar? Freshly opened, seriously? Third of all, what unfortunate soul has been dealt the extremely ill-fated hand of being the person who decides how to categorize the odors of sick people's breaths? "Ah yes, in this one I get notes of sweetness, perhaps honey-like... this one has more of an acidic hint... and thi---OH EM GEE YOUR BREATH SMELLS LIKE DEATH. THE FRESHLY DECAPITATED KIND."
I think I'll be less self-conscious about garlic breath from now on... at least now I know it can always be worse.
Here comes another lesson in med cred, I thought, preparing myself for something either very bizarre or very gross. It was the latter:
Today I learned that when a person has cirrhosis (or severe scarring) of the liver, one of the signs is fetor hepaticus. What might that be, you ask? Well, according to the textbook's description, fetor hepaticus--which already doesn't sound too good--is a particular odor on the patient's breath. Oh, but not just any odor...
"The smell of a freshly opened corpse."
Aw, HECK NO.
First of all, bummer for whoever already knows what that smells like and is consequently capable of identifying that smell on someone's breath. Second of all, why are we talking about corpses like they're a can of caviar? Freshly opened, seriously? Third of all, what unfortunate soul has been dealt the extremely ill-fated hand of being the person who decides how to categorize the odors of sick people's breaths? "Ah yes, in this one I get notes of sweetness, perhaps honey-like... this one has more of an acidic hint... and thi---OH EM GEE YOUR BREATH SMELLS LIKE DEATH. THE FRESHLY DECAPITATED KIND."
I think I'll be less self-conscious about garlic breath from now on... at least now I know it can always be worse.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Drink it up
This is going to be a short one today, not because I don't have a lot to say (as I carefully eye the mounting list of blog topics I've been amassing), but because I think that this topic deserves a glaring spotlight to highlight how astounding it truly is. Excess words would diminish its impact, so I'm just going to jump right in to what I learned last night...
Huddled around a small table at one of our favorite malty, hoppy beverage establishments with a group of friends from med school and its program-cousins (MD/PhD and Vet Med), this gem of knowledge regarding the miracle of life was shared with me:
In order to develop a healthy set of lungs, among other vital organs, fetuses must drink a sufficient amount of amniotic fluid. Okay, whatever... even pre-babies have to get their drink on somehow, I guess, I mean they probably get pretty thirsty because it's got to be really warm in--WAIT, amniotic fluid is FETUS PEE?!
...and here you were thinking that the first time in your life you'd be faced with drinking your own urine would be when you got stranded on some desert island. No such luck.
I'm now weirdly comforted by the fact that I have a lower-than-normal lung capacity. Even in the womb, I must have realized that what I was doing was gross.
Huddled around a small table at one of our favorite malty, hoppy beverage establishments with a group of friends from med school and its program-cousins (MD/PhD and Vet Med), this gem of knowledge regarding the miracle of life was shared with me:
In order to develop a healthy set of lungs, among other vital organs, fetuses must drink a sufficient amount of amniotic fluid. Okay, whatever... even pre-babies have to get their drink on somehow, I guess, I mean they probably get pretty thirsty because it's got to be really warm in--WAIT, amniotic fluid is FETUS PEE?!
...and here you were thinking that the first time in your life you'd be faced with drinking your own urine would be when you got stranded on some desert island. No such luck.
I'm now weirdly comforted by the fact that I have a lower-than-normal lung capacity. Even in the womb, I must have realized that what I was doing was gross.
