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afreakforjc
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Name: anDrew
Gender: Male
Interests: Currently I'm interested in not becoming jaded, embittered and generally dissatisfied with my life as an surgical resident. Many times I fail. Once in awhile, I appear marginally compassionate. Oh, the heights I've fallen.
Expertise: Discharge summaries, electrolyte replacement.
Occupation: Scut-recipient
Industry: Medical
Message: message me
AIM:  jcfreakout
Member Since:
7/16/2006
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| The unflattering profile of my gutThe other day I donned some khaki pants. I forget why. I so rarely wear khakis. I think I was going to some semi-nice restaurant where jeans or shorts wouldn't cut it.
Pretty much all the pants I own I bought in high school, and I've never replaced them. Resultantly, many are threadbare or have holes. But hey, I figured so long as I fit into them, why buy new ones?
Apparently it's been quite some time since I've worn anything besides my one pair of comfy jeans and my scrubs. The khaki waist was rather tight.
Tight. My pants are tight. Behold, my first step into the "apple" body habitus of which I despise in my own patients, all the more so when I have to operate on them
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| Everything will always be alright when we go shoppingThe past several weeks have been hard for me, emotionally and physically draining.
I suppose most guys, when anxious, stressed, or depressed, do something to release their pent-up frustrations. Perhaps they go for a run, or lift weights, or have sex.
I do none of the above. Instead, I go shopping.
It's odd. I despise shopping. I once knew a girl(s) who would go shopping whenever she was having a bad day. The momentary high of purchasing an expensive (or a good-bargain) item was quickly washed out by the reality of a difficult situation necessitating her attention.
Nevertheless, I've noticed my credit card bill skyrocket in the past few weeks, corresponding to my general ill temper and foul moods.
What have I bought? Oh, the usual guy toys -- sporty, expensive, manly items which may or may not receive action that I think they will.
Oh well. At least they're not clothes. That would be super girly.
Hmm...well, actually...
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| The unflattering profile of scrubsI love scrubs. I wear them during the day, during the night, on call, in the OR, in bed, lancing boils, stapling gut, cooking spaghetti, all the time and everywhere. I even went to today's Ben & Jerry's Free Cone Day in my scrubs.
I think I actually look pretty good in scrubs. It's arrogant, I know, but they sort of give me a tall, sleek look. Or perhaps it's just faulty logic of my narcissistic imagination. (I.e., I want to look tall and sleek, and I like scrubs, ergo, scrubs make me look tall and sleek.)
A mostly unrelated point: There has been a little wave of babies being born to various doctors and nurses in the hospital. I suppose babies are being born all the time, but I just happen to notice now that I'm beginning to finally recognize and remember people in the hospital. Usually it happens that I notice a female doctor or nurse come back after a 3-month hiatus -- oh, she just had a baby. Well, actually, she had the baby three months ago, and I just happened to figure it out now. Consequentially, I've been trying to be more aware of ongoing pregnancies and imminent births, if only to strike up a conversation whilst awaiting an operation to begin.
The thing about scrubs is that -- on some people -- it makes them look pregnant. I'm not sure what it is -- the cut of the pants, or the bagginess of the shirt, or the knot in the drawstring. At any rate, there are quite a number of women who look rather pregnant in their scrubs. The obvious problem is that I'm not sure if they're really pregnant or if the scrubs just don't fit them well. On the one hand, I don't want to seem like an oblivious oaf who doesn't even care to inquire about an expected leave of absence for an anticipatorily happy occasion. On the other hand...well, nobody wants to be that guy who makes that mistake.
It seems then that I've started to receive the reputation of being an oblivious oaf. I guess I'll just have to live with it. But henceforth let it be known that my oft quietness is not due to timidity, fear, or rudeness, but merely the security of erring on the opposite side of humiliation.
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| I heart Charlie Brown | | |
| EMRFour days ago, my hospital went to an electronic medical record. The death of paper charts had arrived -- everything is now on the computer.
Now in theory, I think EMR is the wave of the future. No more figuring out doctor's scribbles or nursing check-marks: everything will be typed out in crystal clear Times New Roman font. Orders are processed immediately, transfers occur instantaneously, discharge paperwork is condensed and computerized.
In reality, my life sucks. I want to pull my hair out and take a bullet to as many computers as I can. Dozens of people with "EMR Staff" shirts walk around the hospital, pretending to be helpful but ultimately knowing less about the computer system than I do. For every order I place, I get three phone calls saying I placed the order wrong in the computer. For every prescription I write, I get six phone calls telling me likewise.
I know it will eventually be good. I know it will eventually be good. I know it will eventually be good. I know...
But right now, it's a disaster, a mine field, more frustratingly complex than the International Space Station.
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