MM 101, Lesson 5: Almost

My husband is a lot of things.

Witty, charming, handsome. Disciplined, motivated, intelligent. A force to be reckoned with in the kitchen. A converted dog person. A Mac person.

One thing Dr. D is not, however, is a doctor. Not yet, anyway.

That's right, my affinity for alliteration (see what I did there?) led me to create for him a pseudonym that he has yet to fully grow in to. But "Dr. D" just rolls off the computer screen so much easier than "Medical Student D." It's kind of like buying shoes for a baby---you might as well buy them a couple sizes too big, because you know they'll grow in to them eventually.

Dr. D is an almost-doctor. And having a partner in medical school has taught me that the concept of "almost" can be two very different things.

In the "not quite there yet" sense of the word, this is what "almost" looks like for us:

• Him: Knowing he has the knowledge and skills to do doctor-like things, but having to put up with being the bottom-feeder in the clinical pecking-order. For example, just the other night when we were out with some friends, we were introduced to someone who is a nurse at a local hospital. Upon finding out that Dr. D was a medical student, she wrinkled her nose and said, "We hate med students, no offense." None taken, I'm sure.
  

• Me: Living in a weird world of homemaker limbo (I'm gonna give you a second to realize that I'm not talking about the cruise-ship/party kind of limbo so you can shake away that mental image of a lady in an apron shimmying under a bar... okay, ready?) where I avoid home decorating and big-kid purchases like furniture because I know we'll be moving, so I might as well wait.
  

But on the other hand, "almost" can also mean "close enough," which results in:

• Him: Getting cornered by family and friends at parties or during vacations, and being asked his "professional opinion" about a variety of ailments and maladies. Listening politely and sympathetically as people (over)share, and then watching faces fall and dodging eye-daggers when he replies with, "Yeah, you should definitely have that checked out by your primary care physician." {gulp drink, make b-line for finger food}

• Me: Doing things like whining "fiiiiiiiiiiix meeeeeee" at Dr. D when I'm sick, fantasizing about the scholarship fund that I want us to create when we eventually don't have to spend our entire income every month on this little ol' thing called living, entertaining the idea of starting a family someday (without hyperventilating), and... well, referring to my husband as "Dr. D."

I think we're both looking forward to a time in the near future (14 months, to be precise) when we can put this "almost" phase of our life behind us. But at least we're having some good times along the way.

Fall back into productivity

So I realize that all of you got an additional hour today as we waved goodbye to Daylight Savings Time, but something tells me that I may have been sneakily gifted another few hours under the table. Very hush-hush.

I was too productive today to have only been given one extra hour. It had to have been at least three... maybe four.

One measly additional hour wouldn't have allowed me to do all of this:

• Hit snooze. Twice.

• Crawl back into bed after breakfast for a post-cereal nap with the hubster.

• Brush J-dog's hair---believe me, this is a long and arduous process consisting of equal parts push, play, and perspiration. I really can't tell if homedog loves it or hates it, all I know is he always comes out on the other end of it looking like he belongs on top of Diana Ross' head.

• Go grocery shopping. On a Sunday. When EVERYONE AND ALL OF THEIR CHILDREN AND GRANDPARENTS are also shopping.

• Bake cookies.

Want a recipe? This is to go-to favorite in our house, and the one that Dr. D asks me to make whenever he needs to bring cookies into work (which apparently, on a side note, is fairly frequently when you work with nurses). Here you go:

Chocolate Cherry Chunk Cookies

1 cup butter (or margarine), softened
1 cup packed light brown sugar
2 eggs (or 2/3 cup applesauce)
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 1/2 cups quick-cooking oats
1 cup dried cherries
1 cup chocolate chunks

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In large bowl, cream together butter and brown sugar until smooth. Beat in eggs one at a time (or substitute with unsweetened applesauce like I do), then stir in vanilla. Combine flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon in separate bowl, then stir into creamed mixture until blended. Mix in oats, then chocolate chips and cherries. Drop by spoonfuls onto ungreased baking sheets. Bake for 13 minutes in preheated oven. Yields approximately 42 cookies.

Father's Day & An Ode to Nurses

Everything was going according to plan. Dropped J-dog off with the dog sitters (who planned to use him as chick-bait all weekend), got to the airport with that typically-elusive "time to spare", flew non-stop across the country with no delays, spent a couple wonderful evenings with good friends, attended a beautiful wedding... and then got the phone call on Saturday afternoon.

Let's just say the subject of the call was medical in nature, and the news was not good. It was the kind of news that punches you in the stomach. And it involved a man who we planned to celebrate the next day, on Father's Day. He had fallen very quickly, seriously, and unexpectedly ill. We immediately changed our plans, said rushed goodbyes to our friends, and sped off in the rental car to our hometown where he was in the hospital.

But this post isn't about him, our dear patient (I'll call him ODP in the continued spirit of pseudonyms), because it's a personal matter that affects more than just myself and Dr. D and I'd like to respect the privacy of the other family members involved. Suffice it to say that ODP was very, very ill and had to spend many days in the hospital. No, this post is not to go into the complicated medical details, the emotional roller-coaster, the play-by-play of treatment. This post is to record observations from my first trip to a hospital in over a decade, and to express my awe for the nursing staff.

First, some hospital observations:

• Step-Down Units are both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it's best to avoid being admitted into this unit because it means you're in some pretty serious medical distress. But on the other hand, you've got roughly 5 million medical personnel looking after you (slight exaggeration, but still), AND a private room. Also, your visitors benefit from a private bathroom, reclining chairs, and complimentary coffee. It's basically the Four Seasons of misery.
• There is no other setting (or at least I've yet to find one) as capable of making those of us who are not medically-inclined feel more useless and "durr"-worthy as a hospital. I mostly just sat there, wringing my hands and trying to think of witty/cheery things to say. My two moments of shining glory: quickly grabbing the larger of two pinkish-mauve container thingies (why is everything in the hospital that color?) when we thought ODP might puke, and suggesting that we ask the nurse for a popsicle when ODP was lamenting that he had a craving for a snow cone. Which brings me to my next point of observation...
• Those of us in the know (and you are now one of them) can get popsicles in the hospital at any time upon request. This particular hospital must have caught on to the fact that the best, most worthy flavor for sick people is cherry, because that's all they had. I'd like to shake the hand of whoever made that decision. Good call.
• Whoever plans hospital meals must hate sick people. That turkey with apple compote topping was lurking maliciously on its tray in the corner, just waiting to finish off any patient delirious enough to think it might actually taste good. And the popsicle flavor-decider person seriously needs to assert power over the choice of Jello flavors, because green? Really?
  
• Being on the same floor where inmates are treated (which was crawling with uniformed officers) has a way of making you feel simultaneously safe and nervous. One wrong turn down a hallway, and you're in Shawshank Redemption.
  
• I don't make it a habit of making excuses for people who wear Crocs because they are hideous, but nurses have my Croc-wearing blessing because they never stop moving. Great googly moogly, those are some hard-working folks. Not to mention all of the bodily fluids/accidental privates-flashing/thanklessness they encounter throughout the day. If I ever wore hats, they would be all off to you, nurses. They made this whole ordeal bearable, and they even took the time to answer some of the more intricate questions that Dr. D had for them. I was so impressed with their service (and I also had some time on my hands in the hospital) that I would like to honor them in one of the best ways I know how: in haiku form. Here it goes...
  

You stay behind to
translate doctor-gibberish.
We are so grateful.
...
How can you nurses
all talk about poop straight-faced?
I'm so immature.
...
Starting your shift with
stressed, un-showered visitors
has to suck. Sorry.
...
I don't understand.
So chipper at 2am.
Are you on drugs, too?

At any rate, ODP has been discharged and we will all sleep a little better tonight. A belated Father's Day gift, indeed.