Unwillingly Nocturnal

For the second half of this month, I have been on the night shift in the Cardiovascular ICU: 5PM until 7AM Mon- Fri. I don't like it. I am by design a morning person. I love the early morning hours when no one else is awake, and I can do stuff without too many people around, but have the energy from a good night's sleep. I love the morning dew. I love watching the sunrise. I love breakfast. Despite my terrible fear of birds, I actually like to hear them chirp early in the morning, as long as they are outside. This rotation has ruined all that. My first few nights were straight out of an episode of ER (or Grey's Anatomy, these days, I guess): blood everywhere, dropping pulsox, hearts racing (ours, not the patient). Not only am I not sleeping, I am also working my a** off trying to keep my patients alive. Once my shift is over, I can barely keep my eyes open to find my way out of the hospital.

Apparently, it is not usually this busy. For some reason, I have been labeled a "black cloud," for all the business I seem to bring in. Not that I am personally responsible for causing all these patients to come in, but it just seems that my call nights are always the bad ones. I actually had one attending tell me that she didn't want to have call with me anymore because I am a black cloud. One of the cardiothoracic fellows said the same thing about me. I must re-iterate that I do not cause these things to happen; it is not my incompetence or lack of skill that brings this on. I mean, I can't help it if half of the metro's pregnant women go into labor at the same time, can I? Or if a dozen people come in with appendicitis that needs to be treated right now? Or if all the post-op patients stop breathing at the same time? Or if the local gangs decide that TONIGHT is the THE NIGHT. I say not. Some people think it is Karma, and ask me what I have done wrong. Hmmm. That would make for a great conversation, wouldn't it?

I look forward to the end of this week, as it marks the temporary end of my night shift rotation. I will still have my regular call nights, but not the graveyard shift every night. Unfortunately, my body is getting used to being nocturnal, making next week's regular day hours potentially difficult to get used to. Just this evening, I was lying in bed in the call room, happy to have the chance to sleep, and I just couldn't. So here I am writing to share with all (2) of you who read my blog. Thank you for reading.

Segregation in Reality

Reality TV is all over the waves these days. I have had my share of, "Oh, it's Tuesday night . . . can't miss the next 'The Bachelor.' Will he pick Gwen? I think he should pick Gwen. She is so nice. They are PERFECT for each other," as if these two people were personal friends of mine. Let's see- I watched the first few seasons of the "Real World" (New York, LA, San Fran, Miami, Seattle -hmm that's more than a few, eh?), one season of "Road Rules," the first season of "Survivor" (overdue pregnancy in late August lends itself to lounging around on the couch), the second season of "The Bachelor" (our son's babysitter's friend's sister was one of the top 4 , so of course we HAD to watch it!), the first "Joe Millionaire," "the Bacholerette" (no excuses for those), the first season of "Dancing with the Stars" (my personal favorite), and an occasional episode of "Extreme Makover: Home Edition." One thing I have observed is that reality shows have had more of an endpoint than they used to, more of a take- home message. "The Real World" was just short of voyeurism. Their later seasons had projects on which the roommates worked, but the drama was still focused on the personal interactions of the participants. "Survivor" seemed to be a step up by resembling "Battle of the Network Stars," or "Laffolympics," but still, they weren't REALLY stranded on a dessert island, and again, the more interesting aspect was along the lines of, "Is Kelly really forming an alliance or will she screw over the truck driver?" Then there were the dating shows. Totally unrealistic mode of dating, but another fun way of exposing one's true self to all of America (and whatever other countries in which they broadcast). Some of the ones that I never watched like, "American Idol," and "The Great Race," actually had a purpose -they were more straightforward competitions; maybe a little drama, but mostly about who was the best entertainer or athlete. The only reason I avoided them was because I knew I would be hooked, and quite frankly, I was becoming more stingy with my time. But I succumbed to the temptation of "Dancing with the Stars," mostly because Kelly Monaco was in it, and I am a huge fan of ABC soaps. And I love to watch ballroom dancing. "Extreme Makover: Home Edition," doesn't require quite the same time commitment. Each episode is self-contained, and is such a feel-good kind of show. They find a family in need, who have had some real hardships, who are portrayed as pretty good, deserving people, and they build them an amzing, life-improving house. I cry every time I watch, but at the end I often wonder how the families are able to deal with their new heating and electric bills, landscape maintenance, and cleaning several months after the show airs.

More recently, fictional shows like, "Lost," "Desperate Housewives," and "Grey's Anatomy," seem to be surpassing reality shows by offering much of the drama that the reality shows offer without the pretense of reality or the slow plot development. I like, "Desperate Housewives," but haven't watched the other two. They both sound like great shows, but I missed the beginning of "Lost." And I don't find the idea of watching over-worked surgical residents performing non-surgical work to save ALL the patients in the hospital, whilst having sex with each other in between cases, the best way to spend my own free time. That's how I really feel.

Just when we thought that reality TV shows were becoming less interesting than fiction, "Survivor " is back with a new controversial twist. They have announced that the particpants will be divided by race: Whites versus Blacks versus Hispanics versus Asians. They're kidding, right? In this day and age of political correctness, the powers that be would never allow this to air, would they? Well, so far they have. But not without protests, which seem to be all over the news.

Personally, I plan on watching this season if it proceeds. I think it will be very intersting to watch. So they are divided by race. Do people really think that all the Whites are going to get along with each other, bake apple pies for each other, and shout racial slurs to the other groups? Are each of Blacks going to be angry and from the hood and play loud rap music? Are the Hispanics going to bring all their family members and cook food and be awesome lovers? What about the Asians? Books, calculators, espionage, and martial arts? Please. The reality is that within each race is a wide variety of personalities and values. For example, a person from the deep South may not neccesarily get along with the bleeding heart liberal from NYC, regardless of what his/her race is. Will a Filipino necessarily get along with a Japanese participant? There's a lot of history there. What about a Cuban and a Puerto Rican? I remember Oprah responding to accusations that she wasn't "truly black." What does that mean? Race is not the only dividing line between people. I think what we will see is that within each racial group, the same issues that have proven to be testing points for Survivors in the past will rear their ugly heads once again -self versus team preservation, lust, fear, pride. It may turn out that later in the season, re-shuffling of teams will result in mixed racial groups that have more in common than the original racial teams. The producers probably picked the participants to make this the take home lesson. Can't wait to watch.

In My Daughter's Eyes

Yes, it has been a long time. I had told myself at one point that I would try to keep my complaining in the blog to a minimum and write mostly about good things, and as a result, I found myself finding very little to write about. I had wanted to write about more positive things, rather than using this as merely an outlet for my anger and frustration. I figured if I write about the positive things, then overall, I would focus on the positive things, and focus less on the things that frustrate me. That said, I hadn't been focusing on the good things, which is why I haven't written in a long time. Specifically, work has gotten to me. I find being an anesthesia resident to be a consuming, exhausting, thankless, degrading job. The details of how I am going to deal with this have yet to be determined. For now, I have resigned myself to focus on the good things in my life, particularly my family. So now things are better . . . because I am resolving to see things that way. And so begins a lengthy post . . .

In my daughter's eyes, I am a hero.
I am strong and wise, and I know no fear.
But the truth is plain to see:
She was sent to rescue me.
I see who I want to be
In my daughter's eyes.

About one and a half years ago, I was watching Oprah (don't laugh), and Martina McBride (yes, the country singer, and yes, you can laugh) sang her song, "In My Daughter's Eyes." My daughter was about 1 year old, and was sitting with me. As I listened to the lyrics, my eyes welled up, and tears starting rolling down my cheeks. My daughter looked up at me with her beautiful brown eyes, bottom lip curled down, and said, "Oh Mommy," and proceeded to wipe the tears from my face. Then the tears really started to pour. This is one image that will flash before my eyes every time I look back on my daughter's childhood -maybe the night of her first date, on prom night, her wedding day, the birth of her child.

My children are celebrating their birthdays these next few weeks. My son started 1st Grade today. As they are getting older, I am seeing how different each phase of parenting is. The late night feedings, the breastfeeding, the sleepless nights, the dirty diapers were all challenging. Then there was the picky eating, and the temper tantrums, and playing nicely with other children. Now that they are leaving the baby stage, I am seeing how difficult it is to be a decent role model. I am more cognizant of how my behavior affects theirs. If I yell, they yell. If I whine, they whine. If I don't listen, they don't listen. And it becomes a vicious circle. It truly is as simple as that. And yet so difficult. Everything I do or say is being watched and often imitated by my kids. Some of it good, some of it not so good. So I am trying with all my might (I may be small, but I am mighty) to make everything I do and say be something that I wouldn't mind my son or daughter doing or saying. In doing so, I find myself going through a metamorphosis, becoming a better person. Being rescued by my children.