Turns Out I'm A Big Crybaby

What.... a turn of the lazy-susan. 

After years and years and years of being an lacrimal-duct-challenged robot, I have evidently turned into a bottomless pit of raging tears.  Okay, well not so much raging tears per say. Raging rage with the presence of tears is a more accurate description.  But whatever. Point being - I'm a teary faced little toad.

Do you want to know what really threw a lit-match onto this fuel-soaked-pile-of-suppressed-shit?
Being awake for 29hrs straight then getting home into bed and watching the saddest episode of Army Wives -- that's what.  (side note: yes. I am completely, 100% emotionally, committed to Army Wives. A show with a fan base consisting of menopausal house-wives and me. I'm not ashamed to admit this.)

Me, post call. Probably the ugliest side of me.  I get all curled up in bed, resume watching an episode, and one of my favorite characters dies!!! *Normal* me would be all, 'aw that's to bad'.  *Post-call* me was freaking hysterical.  Face half covered with blankets as I sob! You know what I mean? The 'ugly-cry'.  Through broken heaves and sobs I'm crying out in a deep manly voice - NOOOOOHOHOHO!! WWWWWWHY!?!? NOoooohohoNoo! Wwwwhy!!  Not. *choke on tears* Jer-e-my *choke on tears*  My eyes quickly became swollen from the fast escape of tears, which is when I finally had some voice of reason say "what is happening to you right now!? stop this! sleep!"
So I listened.  I passed out instantly.  Woke up 6hrs later - it was 3pm.  I got up to eat, and resumed watching more of the episode.  Started bawling again.  Turned it off at 5pm.  Then woke up next to my alarm at 5am to go back to work.  That's right. Do the math - I slept 18hrs. 

One would think this amount of sleep would cure any illogical, unreasonably excessive emotion.

One would think.

However, add a dash of effed-up hormones to the mix and a dollop or heap of misery while in Ob-Gyn rotation...


You get me.

An unpredictable basket-case.

...Doing more than just dipping my toes into the sea-of-mental-break-down.

My Mother Is Cray Cray Awesome

After hearing their daughter vent about how some bitchy OR nurse ruined their already crap-filled day... *some* mothers may say things such as, 'oh sweetie - that doesn't sound pleasant, but maybe you have to think about your own attitude toward things like these as well." or "oh honey -you can't let those little things bother you".
Instead my mother sends me the following to keep me laughing and lift my spirits all day long. What. a great lady.


 






The woman knows me well.


And this pretty much sums up my life right now.
http://whatshouldwecallmedschool.tumblr.com/post/48282906110/every-day-since-the-start-of-medschool

I May Need An Intervention Soon.

Okay. I know. I totally went overboard on the last post...

The general feedback from the last post was more along the line of pure disgust, to which, at first I was all “what are you talking about – it wasn’t that bad”.  Then I realized the line of ‘disgusting’ has been crossed so far that the line is now a dot to me, and sometimes my social graces forget that not everyone tolerates such mental imagery like some of us sick-folk.

I actually don't have anything to say right now... I just want to write to tell you that I am well aware of the fact that I have totally fallen off the deep end. And I mean deep deep deep end.  I have so many stories that come to mind when I'm driving, or falling asleep, then I get busy or forget or get complete mental block and can't summon the energy to write it out.

Then I feel like I get too far behind and start forgetting particular highlight-worthy moments!  This is where you can come in... did I have a great conversation with you over text during a particular ridiculous med school/life moment that you can remember!? Send ME a message and relay it back to me!! I need to be reminded!

I was just looking at some of the earlier times I wrote on here and was shocked!  Firstly, by the fact that I started this in 2011 and we are already well into 2013.  Shit.
Secondly, at how many times I posted in a friggin month back then!! What the hell happened you guys!? Now it's like 4 months in between stupid stories.  My first thought was, 'wow girl! you were so diligent and really on top of your shit with balancing school and blog crap!'.  This was quickly followed by, 'wow girl. you really had no friends. you really didn't get out much. you really had no outlet source whatsoever.  I'm surprised you didn't write more! sad sad little girl'.
Actually I know what happened... I got back to North America and got a phone where you are now at my fingertips! And facetime. and skype.  Thanks a lot imessage. you totally screwed my goal of medschool documentation.

Reality: I still don't have many friends in school.  I still don't get out much. I should be writing more. but alas. I suck right now.

Eugh.  Seriously I'm so pathetic right now.  I finished pediatrics, and I can confidently say - I will not be a pediatrician.  Now I'm in ob/gyn.  Finished week 2/6.  Aaaaaaand already I can strongly say - I will not be an obstetrician or gynecologist.  Eugh. Not. For. Me.  No. Nono. No no no no. No.

On a different note. I totes wanted to bitch slap an OR nurse today. I also had the pleasure of dealing with a twat-faced bitch of an attending.  She's the kind that hates students (I'm sorry I wasn't aware there was a school you could go to where you went straight into being an effing attending!); doesn't want you to scrub in on cases so you are stuck standing in a corner with the trash and can't see for shit; doesn't acknowledge your existence as a human-friggin-being (I shit you not. Today she did the hand gesture to say "I need a pen stat", so as I was right beside her and had my pen handy, I pull it out of my pocket and hold it out for her... the bitch doesn't take my pen.  Just stands there, looking through me as I stand with my pathetic pen-in-hand floating in the air, and waits for the resident to go across the room to get his pen.)
 Some of my favorite ecards came to mind - particularly today - as I was hidden behind my surgical gown and mask...

To the OR nurse today.


To majority of my classmates



and a very important prayer to me



Okay seriously you guys (you know who you are!!), send me a message telling me YOUR favourite story I have shared with you so far!! Help a pathetic girl out!

Surgery In A Nut-Sack-Shell

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The world of surgery was a whirlwind of awesome and shit.  Sometimes it was pure awesome. Sometimes it was pure shit.  Sometimes it was awesome shit. 

I would leave my apartment at 4:00am, walk 5 blocks to the subway, arrive at 5:15am, and walk 8mins to the hospital.  We had lecture at 5:30am given by the Godfather of surgery – sure, he was partially deaf, had an 87-year-old-man limp in his gait, and yelled at the group for being dumbasses from time-to-time, but damn…he was sharp.  Beyond brilliant. 

630am morning rounds would begin with all the students (I think there were around 20 of us), interns, and residents.  For an hour-and-a-half, the huge effing flock of us would go floor to floor, room-to-room, discussing the management of every patient surgery had.  Students had the additional job of being in charge of wound changes on patients, and it is this wound-change duty where I had my first taste of the surgery rotation.  Day 1. 6:31am.  First patient room in the CCU.  Fornier Gangrene – which is a fancy way of saying: flesh-eating disease of the perineum (the area between ones’ legs). Are you reading this and crossing your legs in protection of your perineum?  You should be. 

There is no way to describe the smell of this kind of wound.  It overwhelms you as you walk into the room.  Keep in mind I literally have no clue what I’m doing and really have not seen any “true wounds” in my life.  So I follow into the room and take notice of what the interns and residents are doing and just blindly do as they do.  Gown up. Gloves on. Grab onto patient’s hips and start rolling him.  ‘oh my gosh. We are rolling him over. What the hell is going on here!?! Holy sweet baby Jesus what is that smell!!?! Oh Lord. Oh no. WHAT THE FRACK STACK! This man has no flesh on his ass left! Welp. His inner thighs are gone too.  Oh wow.  That’s an edematous scrotum there.’

My approximate inner thought process as I am half draped over this man’s hips, holding them up as the rest of the team pulls out all the packing material and bandages from this man’s ass/perineum.  An added treat to this flesh eating disease’s ravenous appetite is the fact that essentially all the tissue surrounding the rectum has been debrided away – so it’s like a dangling rectum now – and there’s no bowel control in the slightest.  In simple terms, every morning we had to partake in this huge process there was always a pile of diarrhea.  Whaaaaat. A great way to start the day.

Not only will I never forget this man for the sheer fact of the extent of/location of his gangrene, but he also was the first case I scrubbed in for in surgery.  He came in a few days before I started with a few odd looking spots on his scrotum… this RAPIDLY turned into a surgical emergency of necrotizing fasciitis. He was taken into the OR for debridement, after which he was at risk for renal failure due to so much muscle tissue necrosis.  He was on his way for dialysis when he coded for 45mins.  Now he is ‘alive’ but with ‘minimal brain activity’.  His family refused to look at his wound, and refused to let go.  At the end of my first week in surgery, I went into the OR for this man’s: suprapubic catheter (pee out the belly into a bag), colostomy (poop out the belly into a bag), and more debridement.

 The debridement part:

·      Legs in stirrups.  In lithotomy position.

·      Bed raised as high as it can possibly go

·      Legs raised as high as they will go

·      It’s just me and the chief resident up close and personal.  Chief resident pulls out the rectal tube previously inserted and we both jump back as liquid shit sprays – super soaker style. 

·      As chief resident cuts away more and more and more necrotic tissue I have to stand beside him, cupping this patients freely exposed testicles.  That’s right. There was literally no scrotum left.  It was a tragic case of not-so-eazy-breezy-city.

And that about sums up the first surgical case I ever scrubbed in on.

I have a few more stories left to tell.
If I happened to tell one to you in the moment back when it happened and you found it particularly entertaining or fascinating.  Or just ridiculous.  Email me and remind me of it!

Miss you all! More than you know!

xoxo

Thanks To That Bitch - Hurricane Sandy - Putting Me Under Apartment Arrest... You Finally Get An Update.

It is a little pathetic and slightly sad that it takes a hurricane to force me to stay home and give me time to sit down (lie. I've totally been in bed all day long) and update this damn blog.  Last update was June 12th?!?!? really girl? really? 
Pathetic. 

Since June 12th... 

Finished 5th semester in Miami on August 5th.  Thank you sweet-baby-jesus.  I really never want to look back on that semester. gag. 
In typical ridiculous-me fashion, I left the final exam and headed straight to the airport to high-tail my Canadian ass back home.  
Finishing yet another semester and arriving home was, however, anti-climactic as my family wasn't even there.  Although it was actually the perfect situation, since I had to isolate myself and go into crazy self-absorbed, intensely focused study mode for Step 1.  I went slightly insane for the next 15 days, but I successfully took Step 1 on August 21st.  
August 22nd - to Kelowna for a ridiculously amazing reunion with family. 
August 23rd - fabulous surprise 60th birthday party for the world's best dad. successfully planned and executed by the world's best mom. 

September long weekend - whirlwind of a time with the bestest-best-friend a girl like me could ever dream up.  
Back to red deer. 
12 hour road trip alone to Williston to visit niece, nephew, sister, bro-in-law... What. a great week that was.  I'm sure sis/B-I-L had days worth of laughter as they saw me - young, fit, non-stop-working, go-getter - struggle to make it through a day keeping up with an almost 3 year old and 5 month old. I swear, what I do (some of what you read about, and some you don't) is *nothing* in comparison to being a parent like them.  I hope I made that abundantly clear to B&C.  For shiznit. 

12 hours back home. 

Then shit hit the fan as I started all the preparation for starting rotations in New York.  Just all that miniscule paper work bullshit of scanning, submitting, getting messages back that you actually need this-that-or-the-other-thing.  So while I was doing well with dealing with all those little things and complying with the ongoing changes, I ran into some issues trying to find a place to live in the area close to the hospital.  As it turns out, no place will rent to you without a social security number.  Not even if you pay 6 months up front. For shits and giggles we even asked about paying 12 months rent up front. Still a big fat no. Then I find out from someone who rotated at this hospital that it would be in my best interest to not live in that area anyway as it is… shall we say  - “shady”.  

[Note. Looking back on this now... what a blessing in disguise. Because the area I was trying to live in just got destroyed by the hurricane. And the area I actually ended up living in was barely touched. More than just coincidence.  I'm well looked out for.]

 

So that at least opened my search up to other areas.  Which didn’t help with the SSN issue.  After many emails and phone calls, a lot of dead ends, a baby sized hand full of mental breakdowns, I finally was able to go through an agency for foreigners.  A nice place in a nice area in Brooklyn.  Albeit, over an hour commute on the metro x2 everyday. 

After countless hours of submitting all MY paper work for my visa, I was forced to play the waiting game… I submit all my shit. Wait for school to send me official letter, which states: I’m a student with them.  Where in my education I am. What I’m doing in the states.  What I’m doing at an American hospital.

Then the school sends that same letter to the hospital, and they send me a similar letter from them: I’m a student completing medical clerkship rotations with them on behalf of my school for specific dates etc etc.

My mom and I were literally just sitting around waiting to receive this final letter from the hospital so that we could book our flights to NYC.  Once I got the email it was like ‘all systems go… GO’

We were all set to fly out at 6am the next morning.  Bags already packed. Drive to the airport in the middle of the night. Calgary to Toronto. Once we landed in Toronto and got our bags to go through customs we were already pressed for time to make our connecting flight. We weren’t overly concerned, as the customs line seemed to be moving at a generous pace, and, after all, I had my paper work and documentation printed, organized, and in a special folder. I’m what immigration officers’ dreams are made of, yes? 

My mom and I decided to go through customs separately.  No problem. We will meet up in like 15 mins on the other side.

I stated my need for visa at customs, so off into the back I go into ‘immigration’ area.  There were only 2 officers working back there – one man, one woman, neither English as first language speaking.  Both were busy so I take a seat and wait around 10 mins before I get called up by the woman, who at this point has already read all my letters/paper work.

If ever going through customs/immigration… you don’t want the woman.  For the love of all that is good in this world, if you can, avoid the woman.

So I get up there, she gets me to state exactly what I will be doing at this hospital in New York.  Now, you have to understand, I have been prepped a lot from the Canadian advisors from my school on what to say and what NOT to say.  So I make sure to absolutely NOT say anything like “rotations” and course emphasize that I am NOT being paid for my work (something also stated in the letters).  She seems to be following along with what I’m saying as she continues to read over the letters… ‘mmhmm. Mmhmm’ says ImmiHagBag… “No.”

My little eyes suddenly go wide.

“No” she says again.  “This isn’t going to work. We have a problem.”

My feel my stomach, small intestine, large intestine, and probably uterus, all drop.  I can literally feel my blood pressure start to rise but continually tell my self to remain calm and go into crisis-dealing-mode.

“Okay, so what do you mean? What is the problem?”

“Well this letter from this school just says you are going to one of its ‘affiliates’, and this letter from the hospital just says they are taking you on from this school.”

“Yes ma’am. So, again, what is the problem?”

“Well I’m just supposed to take your word that they are associated?”

“Well there’s no way this letter from the director of the hospital could have been sent with my information and schedule attached had they not been in contact and associated/affiliated with this school…” uncomfortable. Disbelieving. Breath holding pause.

Exasperation and annoyance from ImmiHagBag – “NO!! You aren’t understanding!”

“I’m sorry ma’am. But I do understand and I feel like maybe you’re not understanding what I’m explaining.  Both of these letters have offered these numbers to call if you had any further questions if that would help?”

“I do NOT make any phone calls. You should have had all your affairs sorted out before you came here!”

How does one prepare to have an argument with an incompetent, pissed off, bitch over the semantics and cause-and-effect type relationship between letters?

We go in circles for a few more minutes. 

“Okay ma’am, I need you to tell me where we go from here?  What happens now?”

“Well I turn you away and you come back in a few days when you have your paperwork sorted out.”

“Okay well here’s an issue – my mother is on the other side already as she has come with me to help me move.”

Even more pissed off, “well I really wish you didn’t do that.”

Trust me bitch. There’s a lot I wish right now too. That wasn’t one of them.

“Okay.  Can I try and make some phone calls and see if there is anyone I can get ahold of to make a couple of word changes in these letters to satisfy you?”

Big sigh.  “fine. But you have to go back out into main terminal.”

So ImmiHagBag escorts me back out through customs and back into the main terminal as a huge line of people look at me like I’m a friggin’ terrorist being turned away. 

I start stripping off all my layers at this point as my sympathetic nervous system is in hyperdrive and sweat is starting to pour off of me. I’m madly going through every email I have on my phone searching for any number to call.  To add more cow dung to this shitshow, it was Saturday so trying to reach anyone at the office numbers listed = impossible.  Of course that didn’t stop me from calling every number and leaving messages of urgency.  Then, by some miracle I had an email from the director of hospital relations from my school… and he just happened to have listed his cell number. 

He answers.  I explain the situation I’m in.  He is dumbfounded.  Basically there is nothing “official” that can be done until Monday.  I start picturing mom in NYC alone with me in a hotel alone in Toronto for 2 days at best.

Then he’s all, “I am literally out doing errands in town right now, but what I could do is head into the office and write out a detailed explanation of the affiliation between hospital/school on email with the letter head and my credentials.  Do you think the officer would accept that?”

Honestly I thought no effing way.  This bitch wants official letter shit. But I need to still ask. 

He’s all “okay go ask her if she will accept reading the email from your phone.  And if she will, call me back, and I will go ahead with it.”

So I head back in.  First having to wait in the customs line again. Go through customs again.  And walk back into immigration office past the 3 police man guarding the way.

I’m all “I’m baaaaaaack!”  Big ridiculous smile.

This pleases the policemen as they smile back and are all “good luck in there!”

I figured being on good terms with the police couldn’t hurt in this situation.

I sheepishly go up to ImmiHagBag and explain.  Much to my surprise she agrees to accept an email from my phone.  So then I every so gently ask, “okay so now is it okay if I call this man back in here and tell him that you agree to this?”

Well shit. If ever I poked a bear…

“I TOLD YOU TO MAKE ALL YOUR PHONE CALLS ALREADY!”

“Ma’am I had to ask you if you would even accept this before he drove 45 mins into the office to write this email!”

“Fine. Go sit down over there and sort out your business.”

Like a scolded little child heading to the corner for her time out, I obey and sit in the corner and make my phone call.  Thankfully my mom had just messaged me to inform me that we were set to get on the next flight 5 hours away.  So at least I wasn’t having a heart attack over time constraints anymore. 

After 30mins of sitting in silence later, ImmiHagBag yells over at me – “did you get the email yet!?”

Whaaat a great question.  Yes. Yes I got the email but continue to sit here because I’m just soooo comfortable and don’t want this dream to end quite yet.

Dumbass.

“No ma’am.  He should be at the office soon though.”

2 mins later.  ImmiHagBag turns to male officer and is all “okay I’m going to go take my lunch break”.  Throws on her sweater. Starts to walk away.  Stops. Turns back to ImmiMan and is all – “uuuuggghhh. I quit smoking 2 weeks ago and I’m craving a cigarette sooooooooo bad.”

I.

Die.

This bitch put me through hell because she is in nicotine withdrawal!!!

I stare in disbelief as she walks away.

I’m sure not even 30 seconds later… ImmiMan – “hey you. Come up here.”

Thinking he’s going to give me shit now, I walk up cautiously like an abused little shelter puppy.

He’s all, “what is her problem??”

I quickly give the big picture explanation of what I tried telling ImmiHagBag.

He looks at me and says, “I know exactly what you are talking about and I don’t know what her problem is. I will stamp you through but we need to hurry before she gets back!”

I.

Die.

Again.

Completely shocked, my fight-or-flight mode (ironic?) kicks into super-duper-hyperdrive. 

ImmiMan is all, “you need to run back to terminal and get new boarding pass and new bag tags for your new later flight…don’t wait in line for customs, just tell them I told you to come straight back. Got it? Hurry!”

I take off running with all my bags. Fly past the police again and turn back smiling and declaring “I’LL BE BAAAAACK!     Again!!”

They just laugh and are all “we believe you!”

I didn’t just run through the terminal. I sprinted.  Find the westjet check-in and through heaves of catching my breath state “I. Need. New. Ticket.  New.  Bag.   Tag.  Fast.”

The lady looked at me like I was 8 shades of crazy, seeing as the flight I’m on is at 7pm and it was currently 245pm at best.  I’m just acting like the flight is boarding in 15mins.  Little does she know.  Little. Does. She. Know.

I get what I need from her and take off sprinting again through the terminal. 

Run back through customs.

Run past my policemen friends. “I’m baaaack!”  “Go girl go!” (they may have not acutally said that, but in my head they did).

Back into immigration holding area.  Big sigh of relief as I see ImmiHagBag has not returned yet.  I fill out the visa form as fast as humanly possibly.  ImmiMan stamps the shit out of it.  Hands it back to me, looks straight at me and says – “run.  Run as fast as you can.”

And I do.

I get the hell out of immigration holding. Run to security screening on the other side – once again out of breath.  The guy was all “looks like you’re in a hurry!”

I’m all, “no sir. Just excited!”

I get through to the other side and take off running to find my mother.  Finally I spot her.  I run up to her and see her face filled with complete shock – matching mine – and we both burst into laughter.

We spend the next couple hours going over and over every ridiculous detail of what just happened.  Swinging from laughter to stunned silence, then back to laughter. 

We calmly board that later flight.  Fly into NYC at night taking in the surreal birds-eye-view of the city lights. 

Check into hotel. Go for much deserved drinks.

End scene.

True story.

Much more to come.

Xoxo

Little Latina. Vents.

I've been in a post-COMP slump.  One would think I would still be riding the high from comp-scores, but that elated feeling lasted all of... oooo I don't know... a day? maybe two? It's like my brain and body were all "awesome! we did our job. namaste-and-peace-out-muthaf****aaaa".  And the one gyri of my brain that I have left is all "please noooo come baaaaack!!!! We aren't done!! that was just the freakin dress rehearsal!!!! doooon't leeeeeave!"

and you know how the rest of my brain has responded to that desperate plea?

With silence and abandonment. That's how.  

What. An A-hole. 


So you know how the people in my class suck? and for some reason don't see me for the bright-shining-star that I am? Well, it turns out that 5th semester has way too much free time, and seeing as I have no friends here and my own brain/personality is on a *temporary* hiatus, it consequently turns out that an American-portion size of loneliness follows suit.  So while I may have a shell made of many-many types of bulletproof material, I have discovered my shell free zone...

Zumba.

I went for the first time here a few weeks ago.  I show up early, and already it was packed.  But I found myself a lovely spot and quietly stood there, minding my own business as everyone else had their spanish social fest.  [have I noted before that I live in an area where 99.9% of everything is spanish? well now I have.]  But then the music started.  o.m.g.  1 hour of non-stop intense shimmy-ing, salsa-ing, cha-cha-ing, and letting these hips go wild.  I. die.  I have a perma smile on the whole time and reach my socializing maximum by smiling at my dance neighbor and use gestures that say "wow I'm sweaty" [*wipe sweat from brow and fan face with hands] and "this is fun!!" [*2 thumbs up + big smile].  I totally become one of those sexy latinas.  I *totally* fit in.  Before I know it I'm shouting "ARRRRIBA" with them and chanting for "meringue la proxima".  I can "para bajar" like nobody's business.  And at the end I was clapping and saying "gracias! gracias! gracias!"


Now let me tell you a little bit about my living situation right now.  While there are wonderful aspects to the arrangement, such as nice/safe area, I'm going to bypass talking about that - because that's boring. So here's the situation: this is Candice's Great-Aunt's apartment.  Great-Aunt is like, 80, and still runs a newspaper in the Bahamas, and even when she does come to Miami she stays in a hotel because it's not worth opening up this condo for her 1-2night stay.  Great-Aunt has a son. Candice's 2nd cousin.  Let's call him douchenozzle.  He also lives/works in Bahamas for the newspaper.  He is the epitome of a spoiled brat.  So he knows Candice is going to stay in the condo, knows I'm going to stay as well.  All is fine. However, then he has a hissy-fit because he doesn't want anyone to use his room.  Um yea, it's a 2-bedroom condo.  He assumed Candice and I would share a room.  Um yea, he's in his 40s.   Comes to the condo all of 2-3 times a year.  But God-forbid someone use his room.  So, greataunt informs Candice of this objection from douchenozzle, but even she knows hes an effing brat so she's all "your friend can use the room and if douchenozzle does end up coming I'll give you a heads-up and she can move her stuff into your room". 

"My" room has 2 single beds. like the ones you had when you were 6 and had to share a room with a sister.  Whatever, I can deal with a single bed.  But, I can't use the bathroom or closet in the room. Instead I have the hallway coat closet for all my clothes.  and the foyer-ish bathroom. Still.  whatever.  I can handle it.
In the 4 weeks that I have been here, effing douchenozzle has said he was coming 5 different times.  so 5 times I have had to pack up the shit that I did have in the room, and be ready to move my bags into Candice's room (king bed). Each time, he never ended up coming.  He was supposed arrive yesterday, but greataunt calls and is all "he decided to stay for dinner in london (UK), but he says he will for sure arrive tomorrow".  So Candice is all "okay he for sure has ticket". 

I pack up my shit today. Move my bags into Candice's room and she's all "what are you doing!?" I'm like, what does it look like. duuurrrr.
She laughs and is all 'he might not even stop by the apartment now".
I'm all "well this is a fun game".

*SO* from fun-game to fun-fact, he has gone from poking-the-bear to waking-the-bear. and she is effing pissed.

Dear spoiled-bratty-prince-douche-of-doucenozzleland.  should you ever meet me.  watch your 40-something-year-old-balls.  they are about to get kicked in by this QUEENbitch.


latina. out.

xoxo

Dear Comp. Suck It.

5th Semester so far...
I will begin by stating the obvious - life/school off the island is a completely different experience.  They are dichotomous worlds.

Since my last over enthusiastic and sleep deprived entry I have gone from Alberta to North Dakota to California to Florida.

Start at my arrival at home in Alberta.
J-bird picked me up and the airport, which could have been a scene from a RomCom movie (if they ever made a movie on the love of best-friends-and-happen-to-be-cousins). I busted through those final arrival doors, turned the corner, eyes locked with my J-bird, and started running towards my darling cousin.  Bags dropped.  I lept into her open arms as she steadied herself with a wide-based-stance, prepared for the fullness of my weight.  Nailed it. 
Let's just say it was a beautiful moment.  Did we turn some heads and get some suspicious looks? Sure did.  And did we stay arm-linked together as we got my bags and walked out? Sure did. 

Live out movie scene.  Check.


The next morning - when I woke up at 445am because I was so excited to be home - I saw the email telling me I now had a nephew!!  Brodie Mitchell.
Chelsa is a friggin superstar.  She does all the work, and I still get to share in the high of endorphins at the news of his arrival.  Awesome.

My time at homehome was spent studying all day then going to hot-yoga with J-bird when she got off work.  We would sweat our lives away as we opened our hips, cleared the fog from our third eye, aligned our chakras, and did whatever else is supposed to happen in yoga.  Personally, I focus so hard on not falling over or passing out, such that yoga has become the only time when my mind will STFU for a wonderful-torturous hour.
 
In addition to sweating it out at hot-yoga with J, we practiced some 'free-style' yoga at home.  This picture is self-explanatory. 




Doubles Yoga.  Check.

Nailed it again.

Of course once I got settled into my routine at home it was time to pack up and head to North Dakota.  I spent a short 3 days there with my sweet, "preth-ous" (A's form of 'precious'), beautiful nephew and niece.  Chelsa rocked my world when she decided to join me and the parents in PS with Aubrey and Brodie.


We all spent a wonderful week in PS, even though I struggled with trying to find a sliver of balance between studying and soaking up the family time.  I mostly was isolated in my office-cave doing countless practice questions/studying for the upcoming COMP exam (comprehensive of all 4 semester. which equals the first 2 years of med school). 

My cave of scieneee-wonders

Finally, I made the trek to Miami.  There was a bit of apprehension and dread going on in me because the comp exam was getting *that* much closer, but even more than that, the idea of seeing people from the island again was super unsettling.  Eugh. 


Okay, so since I got here on May 9th... moved in with the one friend I have in my class - Candice.  We studied out asses off until we finally took the comp exam May 18th.  The exam was a horrific experience.  I really felt like I was prepared enough and sat down confidently at the beginning of it.  That was quickly sucked out of me as I hit the middle of the exam, where it seemed almost every question I read and stared at and thought 'WTF ARE YOU ASKING OF ME!?!?!?'
or it was a type of question where I knew what they were talking about in the question stem, but then what they were asking you to extrapolate from it and answer in a very specific way made my brain cry and say 'wwwwhhhhhy are you doing this to me you A-HOLE!?!?'

To top off the ulcer inducing experience was the issue of time management.  This has never been an issue for me.  I have always been a relatively fast test-taker.  On average for all the exams on the island, I finished with 30-40mins left over. 
BUT. O.M.F.  I have found out when you are thinking SOOO hard and trying REALLY hard to get to the answer in your brain... time speeds up. and when this happens a lot... those 4 hours are over before you know it.  I kept looking at the clock. Panic set in when I knew I would not finish if I was to actually read the questions fully.  So I shit you not, the last 30 questions at least, my eyes would take in the last 3 words of the first sentence and last sentence then go straight to the answer choices. make a quick judgement on what the question was asking based on the answer choices. pick one. and move the hell on. 
I was shaking. I was circling in the very last question and finished Lit-cher-ally as the proctor called "pencils down".  I almost shat myself.  I had a tremor for a solid hour after the exam.  I walked around in a zombie-like daze trying to process what had happened. 

The next 10 days were a combination of bliss and torture.  (The comp was on a Friday) and 8am Saturday I was in the group that had all weekend training for ACLS (advanced cardiac life support).  However, once I got that out of the way, I really perfected my slothness/ability to watch countless episodes of movies and shows. Netflix really knows the way to my heart. 
How much are you envisioning me watching as you read that? Well, whatever it is. Double it.  I am truly amazing like that.


Okay, fast forward to Tuesday May 29th.  Release of scores day. Anxiety filled.

When I clicked on the grade page and saw that not only did I pass, but did beyond my expectations, I just sat there staring at the screen making sure I was reading it correctly.  My heart was pounding so hard and fast that every beat was palpable. That moment was probably the best so far of my schooling. 

Bascially what passing the comp means, is that I can now sign up to take the exam that actually matters - Step 1 - which is the first board exam.

So without going into more detail and boring you, I'll just leave it at that for now.

I'll leave you with some of my favorite tumblr posts.  A site that was a great source of tear-inducing-laughter.

So obnoxious. 

Pretty much universally true.

Truly my greatest fear.

Going through my med school class book.

Kids these days.

I realize this and I'm sorry. Thanks for still loving me. 

xoxo