Life in the big house ain’t so bad. All of my patients are lactating, but hey, you got to do what you got to do. Last week was interesting, to say the very least. I spent most of my time in computer training, it was my own personal hell. I like to think that I am well above average when it comes to using computers and I was right. It was mandatory and so whatever. At first glance my patients seem rather normal, and then you read their charts. Oh, that’s why they are locked in, I get it now. I already have my own personal stalker, he’s neat. As soon as I walk onto the ward there he is, making a bee line towards me offering me bubble gum and asking me if I like reptiles. He has a very intense gaze and I was warned to kind of stay away from him, he’s in a manic phase. I am seeing more patients for medical issues rather than the psych stuff, which is good because that’s not my area of expertise. As I hear it, many of the psych patients hone in on problems regarding their genitalia, I have already seen one scrotum and heard of a vaginal bleeding issue. My classmate was confronted by a woman demanding a pap smear in the elevator on like his first day (I don’t know if she wanted the pap done in the elevator or if that was circumstantial). Tomorrow they are mine all mine. Every medical complaint will be sent to me for evaluation. Yea. I stayed late on Friday, chatting up my preceptor for a bit when we got word that a patient was bitten by a squirrel while on grounds privileges. I googled the CDC all quick like and saw that out of 1100 cases of rabies, only one was transmitted via squirrel. Huh, I said, I am not sure. Then we saw the bite, it was big. I interviewed bite victim about said squirrel and was told that squirrel was messed up, all skinny and cut up and I guess it had rubbed its face on the fence? Consider the source who also told me that the squirrels wink at him, okay? He was sent for rabies prophylaxis, that was pretty much my call having had a former intimate history with rodents. Meanwhile, another patient had gone unconscious on the floor for about five minutes, my first emergency. That was kind of cool. I got to linger around the squad that was poking and prodding patient, yelling for this and that. Both of these incidents occurred at the same time, my first chaos. A week of firsts. I am enjoying myself, I think. So far.
I got the long weekend off and I am due back at my parents soon. Living with mom and dad is pretty alright. Mom has dinner ready when I get home and we watch American Idol and the Jane Austen marathon on PBS yelling at the television the entire time. Especially the Jane Austen stuff. I have read all of the books and seen a few of the movies, mom has, too. But we can’t keep the stories straight, I mean come on, they all end the fucking same. Sad Girl gets the Ugly Guy. So we are like, is this the one where they go to Bath and…oh wait, that’s all of them. Okay okay, no, it’s the one where she runs through the field and gets all wet and then they set her to dry in front of the fire. No wait, that’s the other one. Oh! I know, so and so gets the letter from the uncle and…no, maybe that’s next week. All we know is that there is supposed to be a big fucking party with dancing and someone plays the pianoforte. So we yell, “Where’s the party? Fuck, where is the fucking party!” My mom swears, too. Good times. And then dad yells at us to shut up, he can’t hear his Western. I feel like I am reverting back to childhood a little bit. My bedroom is an icebox, I forgot all about that. No heat. Three blankets, a quilt, my old sleeping bag, and flannel pjs. The covers are so heavy I don’t move all night long. I missed that. I also went sledding (or sliding as we used to call it) down the unplowed street on Monday morning. I was all alone out there, where are the damned kids these days? My old sled was still in the cellar, it’s a plastic orange toboggan and I guess it’s almost thirty years old. Still fast. My parents live on top of two major hills, it is not uncommon to see cars stuck at the bottom or going down sideways. Well, I have to get going. The cookies my mother has been buying in bulk for me aren’t going to eat themselves.
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