As you may have noticed, many moons have passed since our last post. Due to a mind-boggling lapse in (Kevin’s) judgment, our previous intertube oasis at iddxblog.com has been seized by web squatters. Still, in an effort to better the world (and stop Amanda from crying), we will soldier on at this address until Kevin can undo his folly.
Meanwhile, Kevin and I have narrowly avoided board failure and transitioned to the world of white coats, SOAP notes, and Jesse’s iatrogenesis. For Kevin, this has meant a fantastic voyage of babies and bad smells, while on Surgery, I’ve realized I was never truly tired at any point in my life until now. To illustrate, here’s a quick running diary of a recent call night.
0400: Mmmm, a fresh new day! Only 30-plus hours until next we meet, bed. I’ll think of you fondly while I’m gone.
0505: Pre-rounds and dressing changes. Note to self: Try not to do heroin.
1015: OR, first case. I don’t even know what you’re asking, but I’m going to go with “atelectasis.” Please don’t take my suture scissors away; they’re all I have…
1400: Second case. Pros: I’m actually touching a beating heart. Cons: I can’t feel my legs.
1600: Back on the floor. Are those my bowel sounds or the patient’s? Will he see if I eat some of his pudding?
1830: ED: Hmm, so that’s the most common orifice to hide drugs and drug-related paraphernalia...
1945: I didn’t realize so many people are allergic to "everything but 'Dah-lowd-ee.'” Must be an epidemic.
2100: If I crawled into the scanner and acted somnolent, would the nap be worth the repercussions while they imaged my head? Tough call.
This is the dream…
0020: If only I had some No Doze…
0200: Boo-yah, there’s my second wind. This isn’t so bad. That stapler wasn’t an awful pillow and that guy waiting in the hall stopped giving me the stink-eye.
0600: Rounds II: Son of Rounds. I don’t even remember life on the outside. This must’ve been what Brooks felt like in Shawshank Redemption. I hope the sun is as bright as it is in my dreams. I hope…
It’s OK, Brooks. I understand.
0945: Clinic. Can you turn your head and cough, please?
1215: Off. If I don’t make it home alive, at least I touched a heart.