100 & 11

Before we get started, I just want to say that this is my 100th post.  Whaaaaat?  Okay, back to your regularly scheduled programming:

Out of the past five months, Dr. D has only been able to spend about two of them here at home with me, so you better believe I had to do something cute for him when he came home from his last away rotation.

I baked his favorite cookies, which was a given.  But I wanted to do more.  You see, Dr. D has always been the more creative partner when it comes to romance.  I honestly have no idea where this man gets all of his ideas, but I've told him on multiple occasions that he could start a romance consulting business and people would pay good money to buy his ideas.  He is THAT good.  His momma raised him right.

But it kinda puts the pressure on when I try to come up with romantic gestures of my own, know what I mean?  So I decided to look for inspiration in things that have been meaningful to us both since the beginning of our relationship---you know, back when we were 15 and sickeningly adorable and awkward.*  And then it hit me: love notes.

That's how this whole thing started, 11 years ago.  That day set the tone, and from then on we were always writing love notes and poems and drawings of stick figures on napkins to each other.  But then at some point life got busy, text messaging happened, and the notes dwindled in frequency.  So I decided it was time to bring them back.

For Dr. D's homecoming, I put a bunch of little notes for him all over the house---some punny, some with quotes from our favorite movies, some with inside jokes.  He didn't notice most of them when he first got back, which I'd like to attribute to my dazzling presence being an obvious distraction, but with a little prodding he finally began to see them all over the house.  I'd have to say the best part was hearing him laugh randomly each time he would find one.

*I'd like to think we're still as adorable now, just less awkward.  Maybe.  Thank goodness our 15-year-old awkwardness is forever immortalized in pictures, like this one which is framed and sitting in our living room.  It was taken exactly 11 years ago from today, the day after we started dating.

Love is.

I know you haven't heard from me in a little bit, but it's because I'm on that that cloud up there.  Yep, that ninth one from the bottom.  I'm just sittin' pretty up here, enjoying the view.

Ladies and gents, there is a Dr. D in the house.  And he's done with away rotations.  Donezo.  Even better yet, he's a fourth year medical student and---today?  Well, today he got to come home from the hospital at 3:30pm.  It was still light outside.

That's what's up.

We are currently cozied-up in a booth at my favorite coffee shop, and as I bask in the glow of our rediscovered togetherness, I decided to compose a list of what love is to me, based on the past few days.

That's my two cents, anyway.  It evolves daily.  How about you?

The Perfect Date

We all have our own ideas about romance---some like it simple and low-key, others like it outlandishly extravagant with all the bells and whistles.

I'd like to think that I'm somewhere in the middle.  I do so enjoy the occasional fancy French restaurant outing, bottle of red wine, and an accompanying long-stemmed red rose.  On the other hand, my ideal romantic evening tends to be one in which I can dress in cute and comfortable clothes (there is no true comfort in a French restaurant, as far as I've witnessed), laugh loudly, obnoxiously, and uninhibitedly at my husband's jokes, and not have to worry about embarrassing myself by using the dessert fork for my salad.

How horribly gauche...

Dr. D and I have found many local establishments over these past few years that fit the bill for a perfect date night.  For me, a perfect date night is a night in which we can share lots of unique and delicious food without breaking the bank (tapas fit the bill nicely), indulge in adult beverages at an environment that is conducive to conversation (no loud club music or belligerent undergrads!), and have the option of doing something fun or competitive to pass the moments in between our brilliantly witty banter.  (Yes, we do think rather highly of each others' hilarity... it's one of the most healthy aspects of our marriage.)

Before Dr. D set out for his most recent away rotation, we made it a point to have one of our "ideal" date nights, and I'm happy to say it was exactly that.  Good food, plenty of laughs, and some playful competition at the dart board.




I'm also happy to report that the evening went so well that we didn't have to call Elvis for a good time.

What are some of your favorite ways to spend date night?

Good Fortune

Dr. D is now officially 1/3 of the way through with his core rotations. That's two rotations down, ladies and gents!

He was really fortunate with this rotation. First off, he loved it (who knew?). I think it had something to do with the fact that he got to---

Now don't read this next part if you're squeamish, y'all.

---staple a woman closed after an emergency c-section on his first day. Yes, in the strange and twisted world of medical matrimony, this is something that the medically-inclined partner celebrates and the non-medical partner simply tries to smile and nod without setting off a gag reflex. The other great thing about this rotation was that Dr. D pretty much never had to serve on overnight call. That's a total anomaly for the Ob/Gyn rotation because, I'm not sure if you're aware, but babies come into this world whenever the heck they feel like it, completely ignoring business hours/common decency. Rude babies.

Ah, but I did just say Dr. D was "pretty much" never on call, because unfortunately the doc he was shadowing decided to cash-in yesterday, of course, on Dr. D's very. last. day. So anyway, he helped bring 5 babies into the world yesterday. They finally started wrapping up the baby-catchin' around 4:30 this morning, so needless to say, today was a day of naps for my darling husband. Tomorrow, he takes his Ob/Gyn shelf exam, and then it's on to surgery rotation next week. He's basically chomping at the bit for this next rotation...

You know, there should really be a better saying for that in this context. Itchin' at the scalpel finger? Scrubbed to the elbows? Cinched at the scrubs bottoms? I dunno. He's ready. That's all.

In other news, we just had a wonderful dinner from one of our favorite take-out places (I'd like to think of it as brain food for the shelf exam tomorrow morning), and I found this during our traditional post-meal fortune reporting:

"All decisions you make today will be most fortunate."

Yep. That's the same fortune Dr. D found in his fortune cookie on the day he proposed! How strange, I feel like I was talking about that only last week...

Oh, Life. You amuse me.

The Avalanche

Before Dr. D and I were married two years ago, I had only been to one other wedding that I can remember, and that was when I was 13. I think I attended some others as a child, but I have difficulty recalling them; only the vaguest memories of learning to dance the Macarena.

However, since our wedding, we have been to four weddings and have been invited to at least four others. Unfortunately our thinning wallets have kept us from being able to fly out for all of them, but seeing so many of our friends get married over the past couple of years has confirmed two suspicions I had after our own wedding: (1) The excitement I feel about anything wedding-related has not faded in the afterglow of my own planning and I am, in fact, in love with weddings & (2) Dr. D and I started an avalanche. An avalanche of love and marriage. If you are unmarried and hope to remain so, you may not want to befriend us because I think we may be giving off some sort of "get married now!" vapors. Breathe at your own risk.

Last weekend was particularly awesome for me because I got to harness all of my spastic wedding love and adoration and put it to good use. Two of our good friends (one of whom we have known since we were 12) got married back in our home state, and we spent the whole week prior helping them put together the final touches of their very personal, do-it-yourself style wedding. I had so much fun! I toted around my camera the whole time, snapping pictures, taking in the ocean air, and marveling at how stressful but totally worth it weddings are. The bride even trusted me enough to let me help with coordination on the day of the wedding. Man, what a blast. And what a party... but some stories are not for telling in such a public forum ;)

Here are a few photos I took of some of the details:

Congratulations, N&E. Thanks for letting us be a part of your amazing day, and thanks for giving me a creative outlet again!

Anniversary of the "r"

Exactly two years ago, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror in a swank hotel suite, leaned forward, and looked for it: some sort of sign, or maybe a tag or bar-code revealing the newest part of my identity that had been created by the events of the day before.

Wife.

I turned my head a couple times, scrunched my nose and forehead, made a few more faces. No sign of it. I found no visible mark giving away the fact that I was now the proud owner of a new and shiny title, that I had finally achieved a relationship status worthy of cramming that "r" in between the two letters of "Ms." But wow, did I feel different. I was giddy and at peace all at once. It was like I had just received a lifetime guarantee on... well, life.

And as far as I've been able to tell over the past two years, that guarantee was basically that life will be awesome. Yes, awesome really is the best word for it. I thought about saying "perfect," but that's not really true. Things still can (and do) go wrong, but we're able to get through and grow from the struggles, and are usually filled with awe when we see how everything comes together in the end. Life is awesome. And my husband is an awesome gift...

Homeboy makes me laugh like no other. He's the perfect extroverted balance to my touch-and-go introversion. He makes a mean crock-pot of beans, and he trained himself to like olives and pickles because I love them on the Subway sandwiches we split. He's spent the past twelve years or so learning to interpret my nonverbal language, so now when I'm too upset or annoyed or sad to put things into the proper words, he can do it for me. He makes flying on planes less scary. He understands my need for chocolate and the occasional rap music binge when scanning through radio stations, and he judges neither. He is a man of science and faith, and he's learning to heal people. I love him for these reasons and for countless others.

Happy anniversary, Dr. D. Thanks for the "r."

The Pressure/Puppy Paradox

Getting a dog of my own was always something I threatened to do. It began the week after I left home and settled into the residence halls for undergrad. I remember telling my boyfriend (aka Dr. D) that I'd found a loophole in the university's pet policy, which only allowed pets that were fully submerged in water: "I'll just, you know... throw the dog in a bucket of water whenever the RA comes by." As you can see, my threats to get a dog were always fairly empty. My puppy lust usually correlated with my stress level, so I would typically go through a couple days of intense longing for puppy breath on my face, and then when my exam was over or my paper was finished, I could get back to living my normal, dog obsession-less life.

Fast forward five years. Past graduation, past the proposal, past Dr. D getting notified that he was accepted to med school, past the wedding aaaaaand... about half-way through our cross country move. Just Dr. D and me, together in our gas-guzzling (but oh-so-free) mom-mobile for three days straight with nothing to do but eat MSG-licious gas station snacks, listen to Order of the Phoenix on audiobook, and, oh yeah, talk about this thing we got ourselves in to called marriage.

At some point over those three days of conversation--which ranged from "what the heck is 85 octane?" to "yeah, 'Thor' is pretty awesome, but what about girl baby names?"--I felt compelled to casually bring up the possibility of getting a dog.

"Okay, so no kids for a while. How about a dog?"

"Yeah!"

Upon first reading, I know that looks like an emphatic heck-yes-let's-get-a-dog-right-NOW! kind of response from Dr. D. But here's what doesn't translate to writing: another thing I've learned that Dr. D does (which he will deny to the grave, I imagine) is when he doesn't really want to do something or agree with something but he also doesn't want the other person to know that he doesn't, his voice gets really high-pitched. Just shy of shrill, really. So read the above exchange again, keeping that in mind.

Hmm.

I don't remember exactly where the conversation turned from there, but I do remember mentally filing the dog issue into my "keep talking about it occasionally to warm him up to the idea" category (also in this category: buying shoes that aren't from Aldo, the tv show Weeds, Lilith Fair, and cheese).

But then something odd happened. We got settled in to our new place, I started my job, Dr. D started classes, and then he started hounding (hah!) me about getting a dog. Apparently without making the conscious effort to do so, I had started talking so much about dog ownership and being on the fence about it that Dr. D practically had to wrestle me over the edge. I was so stressed about being in a new place in a new job with a new husband who had all this new pressure that my puppy lust came back in full force and I didn't even realize it! All the stress was making me crave a dog, but I was too stressed to fathom actually getting one. Thank goodness for my husband...

"Seriously! Let's just get a dog. I mean it." Normal pitch and everything, ladies and gents. That's love.

And so, we ended up with the ferociously fluffy, always awkward J-dog. But that's a story and a lesson for another time.

J-dog turned 2 today :]

How do you know?

You know you're married to and/or living with a medical student if...

• You feel the need to let your doctor know that your spouse is in med school—like it's going to earn you a gold star or better service or something—and then you use medically preferred terms (like "urinate" instead of "pee") to prove it.

• Eating dinner next to a textbook with a graphic picture of a skin disease (pemphigus vulgaris, anyone?) not only doesn't bother you, it's a jumping off point for the meal's conversation.

• You don't find out until about half-way through the semester that your husband wears the same pair of scrubs every day in the anatomy dissection lab, and oh by the way, can you wash them?

• You know who "Poppie" Goljan is and have heard most of his life story second-hand from your husband in the glowing, admiration-filled praise he normally reserves for rock stars and super-heroes.

• You find yourself making songs out of catchy medical terms because they’re fun to say (i.e. ankylosing spondylitis: “ANG-key-LOHS-ing SPAWN-dee-LIE-tis!”), but you have no idea what they mean.

• There is no longer any mystery at all surrounding the female physical exam because your husband, who was worried that you would freak out because he was forced to practice it on volunteer patients, described every move to you in detail so it wouldn't seem like infidelity. Those poor, poor volunteers…

• Purchases are rationalized with: “Well, we’re thousands of dollars in debt anyway, so in the scheme of things…”

• Your Palahniuk collection on the bookshelf is slowly being overtaken by far more disturbing literary works: Step 1 Boards prep materials and illustrated pathology textbooks.

• You stop biting your fingernails because WOAH. Do you have any idea what kind of stuff can live under there?!

• The Latin names for medical terms and the spells from Harry Potter all start to sound the same, so eventually you both end up waving a pretend wand in the air and exclaiming names of fungi without really thinking about it. "Aspergillus fumigatus!" ...oh, is that just us?

Medical Matrimony 101: Lesson 1

In the scheme of things, my marriage to Dr. D is in its infancy. However, I’d like to think that over the past two years (which, by the way, has anyone read or heard anything recently about time moving roughly 2.54 times faster than usual? Because, hot dang!), I’ve learned quite a bit about being married to a medical student.

I thought it might be fun to share this wisdom with you all, because even if you aren’t a med student/professional, or married to one, you might at least know one… or maybe you will someday? At the very least, if you find yourself in a bar near a hospital and it’s after 10pm, the knowledge I impart to you now may come in handy.

So, first lesson:

Watch Grey’s Anatomy.

Stop rolling your eyes. No really, stop—they might get stuck that way. Okay, not really. Dr. D tells me that’s a lie… unless you're taking anti-psychotics. See how helpful it is to know a med student?

But seriously, folks, for those of you who find yourselves in the midst of a gaggle (it’s a word, look it up) of med students, it may be advantageous to have a six-season arsenal of Grey’s Anatomy plot line knowledge at your disposal, as I do. Why?

• You can (sort of) speak their language. At the very least, you’ll know to make a frowny face when you hear them say that a patient had a “cardiomyopathy,” and you won’t embarrass yourself by casually commenting “Oh yeah? That’s cool” when they tell you they witnessed a patient go asystolic. (<--Not ringing any bells? How about “beeeeeeeeeeeeeep…”? Yeah, now you’ve got it.)

• You’ll understand what they mean when they tell you exactly where they are in their journey from lowly med student to big-shot doctor, because whatever term they use (intern, resident, chief resident, attending, chief of surgery, etc.), you’ll be able to equate it to a character: “Oh, you’re an intern about to take your medical board exam? Man, hope you don’t pull a Karev a bomb that sucker!” Season 2, baby.

Okay, fine. Maybe you just don’t have a stomach for all the romantic storylines and double entendres, or perhaps you can’t suspend disbelief long enough to go along with the fact that all of the doctors’ sleeping around with each other hasn’t given them all some sort of disease—fast forward through those parts and KEEP WATCHING because…

• You can gain some serious “med cred” (how stoked am I that I just came up with that?!) by knowing about some of the more ridiculous conditions that are featured on the show, especially if the med student/doctor you’re talking to doesn’t know that it was a plotline on Grey’s. Because believe it or not, most of the medical cases on the show are based—sometimes more loosely than others—on real medicine. For example, those of you who watch the show might remember the dude who kept eating cotton balls and other medical supplies when the doctors' backs were turned… I dare you to bring up Pica Disorder in casual conversation with a med student. Minds will be blown.

Class dismissed.