hello, my name is

Loser? Actually it's Kim, not Amelia, and I get that that might be a bit confusing with the blog name but that isn't really the issue. The issue is that I've had this lovely two and a half week break and just the word break, it usually implies all the fun things you'll try to fit into that precious amount of time, activities, seeing people, you know, something to make the transience of it jam packed with fun. And my break has just sort of stung for the most part. I had a couple days that I got to spend with two friends and they were really lovely days. But one friend I had to import from Philly and I wind up sucking the marrow out of my time with them like a starving person because I have so few friends and therein lies the problem. Now I'm not a person that needs to have five hundred close friends, or even fifty, I'd be elated with five people that I could consider true friends, but I'd be lucky if I had half that. My phone hardly ever rings and when it does it's either my Mom or my ex, who's usually calling to speak to the kids. So there's truly only one person who calls me on a regular basis and I love my Mom but I'd sort of like to have someone else calling to see how I'm doing, or want to do something with me. And even my Mom is counting down the days until I graduate so she can leave Pittsburgh because she doesn't like it here and then I won't even have her to go to the diner with on Sundays, which is the extent of my social life. And yes, I'm well aware of how cringe worthy that is. I know that I can be quiet and shy so I'm not one that people naturally gravitate to. In fact I seem to be the type of person that gets reintroduced to people because they just can't remember meeting me. But I have actively tried with some people, to get together for coffee, or a drink (I've extended invitations to my house since I'm a bit of a lightweight with alcohol) or dinner. And 99% of time I get blown off. Which really makes me feel crappy, like I must be incredibly boring or just not worth the time. At the start of this break I asked one Mom for her phone number because Oona loves playing with her daughter, she'll scream her name the way Marlon Brando screamed 'Stella' in Streetcar Named Desire when this girl isn't at the farmhouse to play. The mother wouldn't give me her number, which struck me as odd, but she put my name and number in her cell phone and said she'd get in touch over break. And I never heard from her. I just don't get it. Not only am I not friend-worthy but I'm not even playdate worthy for your child who, ostensibly, could have just been dropped off and it would have given the mom a free afternoon? I mean I don't think I look like a pedophile or otherwise sketchy and I just thought it would be fun for Oona. So I spent my break going to the gym a lot, which isn't out of the ordinary, since that's one way to pass the time. I watched season five of Lost and am almost done with my book, which is sort of petering out of its initial promise but I can't not finish a book. I start school again on Monday and my high from having done well the previous term is long gone, having a break without anyone to really talk to I quickly start feeling that I'm not really nurse material but just what material I am I don't know.

those pesky details

Last week I decided to treat myself to having the interior of my car professionally cleaned and detailed, because the seats, which I've talked about in previous posts, are tan cloth and, impractically enough, get stained with water. The carpet is also tan and was pretty wretched looking and the car had an odor of dirty, sweaty child that always made me want to apologize when I drove other students to the various hospitals that we'd go to on clinical days. So the fellow that did the work on my car was super friendly. He even brought the car to my house when he was done with it, since it was pouring and I didn't want to walk with the kids in the bad weather to pick it up. I tipped him and thanked him and, at first look, everything looked really good, although I immediately saw that the major stains on the passenger seat weren't going to come out. The stains on Owen and Oona's seats, that I yell at them about for getting mud all over, those stains came out fine. But the passenger seat, the stains that I made by using that seat as a makeshift dining tray, were unfortunately permanent, and, also unfortunate, the stain really looks like someone urinates on that seat on regular basis. So I was doing this internal fight of, well it does look better versus maybe there was a better way to have spent $110? Although, to be fair to the detailer, the carpeting really looks amazing, it's just the passenger seat that still looked bad. And the driver's seat, where the right side is stained from my wiping my (coffee or cookie covered hand on the seat, in lieu of napkins, because I feel compelled to expose how filthy I am to you and how someone, my children perhaps? should yell at me). Honestly the amount I eat in the car is saddening and, frankly, disgusting. I've had to ask another student (female, I assure you) in the wee morning hours, heading to the hospital before light has touched the sky, if I have chocolate stains on the ass of my blindingly white scrubs (and how practical is white as a scrub color?) because I eat so many cookies in the car. Fortunately the answer has been no but I seem to have a problem walking in my shoes that causes me to kick back dirt on rainy/snowy days severely enough that I wind up with spots up to my ass, it's like I need mud flaps (chaps?) on my uniform when I'm outside.

But back to my clean, but not clean enough, car. It looked much better, although the seats were still damp from the cleaning. The detailer told me to just leave the car on and blast the heat but I felt really bad doing that on Earth day so I just turned the car off and cracked the windows a bit. I had brought in the car mats to dry in the hallway but after a half hour I realized I couldn't deal with the smell of them in the house. And that's when it dawned on me. The inside of my car reeked from whatever industrial crap he had used to clean the carpet and upholstery, an awful, cloying perfume smell that was ten times worse than the child spunk of before. So for the past week I've been driving around in my Mom's Civic while leaving my car with the windows at various stages of open depending on the weather (and the weather has not been making this easy, what with all the frequent showers) and time of day. I also put a box of baking soda and an odor absorber in the car. And the car still reeks, in a super strong, permeate your clothes, headache & nausea inducing way. Granted, I am really smell sensitive to begin with. Nothing like a bout of hyperemesis gravidarum in pregnancy to give you the nose of a bloodhound. I can't deal with my laundry detergent being scented and the only dish soap I can use is Ivory (Ecover's lemon verbena dishsoap is heavenly smelling, my favorite, but too pricy to justify using and Method's lemon verbena cleanser is horrible smelling, like it's hard to believe they're both aiming for the same scent). When Oona was a month old Toby decided to paint Drylock in part of the basement and the smell was so strong I stayed in a hotel for the night with the kids and then insisted we go to his parents for a long weekend because I was convinced the VOC's were going to permanently damage my children and their vulnerable, developing brains (this became an ongoing joke with Toby's friends that he played video games with online, where they saw the opportunity in it, a cunning way to carve out time for themselves, away from family, by offering to Drylock a basement). Yeah, so I sound more and more like Julianne Moore in Safe and I'm sure you can sort of sympathize with my ex at this point.

teeth

I just went to the dentist and it made me sad. Don't get me wrong, needing a crown, a filing replaced and a new filing made definitely caused me to feel like my mouth might be comparable to Martin Amis's. And, yes, that was a bit disheartening. But the really sad thing is that my dentist retired (due to ongoing back problems) and has been replaced with a new uper-competent woman. There's nothing not to like about the new dentist. She was friendly, liked the title of the book I was reading (White Teeth, I know it seems like a joke that I would bring that to the dentist but I'm smack dab in the middle of it) and was lightning quick to work with me on any payment plan I might need to cover the expenses hemorrhaging from my mouth. No, the problem was that she's redecorated the place. Now my former dentist was in no way a bang up interior designer. His proclivity was to maximize the space of the place by packing as much crap as was possible to fit in it. The waiting area had at least 3 years worth of magazines, and you never have to even wait all that long there. The hallway wall was festooned with various diplomas and awards he had received in his career. The far room, where you got in depth work on your teeth, had professional portraits of him with his dogs. There was an honorary portrait of a cancer stricken dog, now deceased. And, my personal favorite, one of him on a motorcycle with one of his dogs in the sidecar and for some bizarre branding reason, 'Pupperoni Pizza' in a corner, what pizza snacks for canines has to do with motorcycles and sidecars I'm sure I don't know, maybe because I have two cats this photo passion with pets escapes me. But I loved the way his dental practice looked. The fact that it was such a cluttered mess and sort of reminded me of the benign chaos in some establishments I've worked at, people I know, Indian restaurants I love to eat at. There's something wonderful about the so not caring what the interior decoration rules are. And he had a massive wheel that you could spin if you recommended a new patient to the practice and you could win cool stuff, like a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble for $10. The new dentist has made things completely tasteful. The new waiting area has a cork floor with blue leather chairs and actually interesting small paintings of Pittsburgh. The hallway is clear of any clutter and was painted a pale neutral-ish yellow. The dental rooms no longer have tons of crap posted to the walls. I totally get why she did this. If I were her it was the first thing I would have done. But it makes me sad. All the front staff and hygienists wear the same ensemble of black pants and dark grey lab coats, nipped in at the waist. Even the dentist wears the same uniform. I just miss the clashing scrub tops, items I will never ever wear as a nurse but I secretly celebrate that lovely tackiness. Most of the staff stayed but one hygienist left, I think it was the one that dubbed herself 'the small fry' and had her room pretty much wallpapered in newspaper and magazine cutouts referring to small fry related stuff, like 'small is the next big'. I'll keep going to this new dentist, unlike my ex who was really rubbed the wrong way by her, but I so miss my old dentist, the eccentric Dr. Melnick. I can always keep my fingers crossed that he has some great recovery with his back issues and misses practicing dentistry so much he comes out of retirement. Here's hoping.

easter break

This week the kids have had off and the week has pretty much sucked weather wise. One beautiful sunny day yesterday, although a bit chilly, drizzly every other day. So we have gone bike riding twice, gone to see Hop (a big hit with the kids, I liked hearing Hugh Laurie as the paternal bunny, imagining lurid fantasies of Hugh talking dirty to me as both a demeaning House and a bunny that will give me all the candy I want, I'm concerned that I find Hugh the sexiest when he plays an asshole doctor), Oona's made a mess load of Easter cards and drawings, and Owen has begged to go on the computer and watch TV daily, I've had to try and keep both to a minimum, which is no easy task with the crappy weather. During the times Owen isn't pestering me about the TV/computer he has been rereading these Translucent books which he loves (he's read each half a dozen times) and I find it sort of adorable because the books are manga romance. He's also been teasing his sister and refusing to play with her, typical sibling stuff but it drives me crazy because I was an only child and it just seems mean so instead of ignoring it I point out how nasty he's being to Oona. I don't know what to ignore and when to intervene, I don't have history with the sibling rivalry stuff. Elise came out to visit on the mega bus (which I keep calling in my head the magic bus but correct myself before saying it). Oona loooved Elise and was trying to craft a way to enjoy the girls weekend with us. Elise and I both had a religious experience going to Umi, which is the best sushi restaurant I've ever eaten at. It's the only place I want to go for sushi, the toppings they use, looking at their website is like food porn for me just fantasizing about the red snapper, salmon, sawara and tuna. They have really good riesling too. I'd just like to have a lost summer of sushi and riesling, mmmmm.

Elise with a recently converted acolyte, my daughter, just wait until she's old enough to read Elise's book, there'll be no bounds to her admiration.
Owen with his invention, the submafish
One of the bike days, Oona fell and scraped both knees shortly after this picture was taken putting an end to the biking for that day. At least she didn't knock out any teeth. I always see my kids falling off their bikes and knocking their teeth out. It's causes a physical reaction in me, like nails on a chalkboard, when I think of this, my mind is a horrible instrument of self torture.

vacation

I'm done with my critical care term! I not only passed, I got high honors and I got the highest grade on the final! This is one of the advantages of having no social life to speak of, all I did was study, go to the gym, and rent movies. By the way can someone tell me what the end of Inception means? I have a feeling it's sort of like the end of Momento where I'm left wondering about the reliability of the film's narrator. I actually got a really nice final clinical evaluation too, where my instructor was proud of me considering how far I'd come this term what with dealing with my anxiety (she did tell me the first time she was my clinical instructor, way back in week five, that I should take a valium before coming to clinicals). I finally got to a place where I not only didn't cry but actually started feeling comfortable in the ICU setting. I loved the ICU in the not so great neighborhood, commute aside I'd love to work there. The environment with the nurses was really wonderful. I had two nurses thank me profusely for my help, the one I worked with the last week said it would be great if I wanted to work there. Oh and I got to change my patient's surgical dressing last week, she had gone to surgery on Tuesday for removal of a PEG tube due to infection (necrotizing fasciitis). I removed the original dressing, there's a pretty distinct odor that comes with an infected wound, but I felt like Jodi Foster in Silence of the Lambs when her fascination overcomes her initial squeamishness at seeing a dead body fresh from the water. The smell didn't bother me because I was fixated on treating the wound properly. I pulled out the original packing, which was purulent. I saw another piece in the patient and my instructor said, no that's her insides (because, yes, you could see her insides) but it turned out to be more packing, it resembled a shoelace, so I took a hemostat and pulled that out as well. And then I cleansed her wound and repacked it with gauze and an abd pad, using sterile technique. And I absolutely loved doing it, like I could totally see myself enjoying being a wound care nurse. When a wound care nurse came to speak to our class, way back in Basic II almost a year ago, I could never imagine doing that as a job because wound care nurses work quite a bit with ostomy patients which, when I first learned about ostomies, I didn't know how I could handle that, I had a hard enough time bathing patients and not feeling invasive. But after you have cared for a patient that has a urostomy or colostomy, well, it doesn't freak me out at all. And this tough as nails female surgeon once told me I should consider becoming a wound care nurse, that it pays well and you get to establish long term relationships with your patients. I have no idea why she told me this last summer, when I showed interest in an abdominal X-ray of my patient's that she was looking over.

One thing I'm puzzling over is that all my instructors write about how kind and caring I am in my clinical evaluations and I'm always wondering, do they really mean that or is that just the nice thing to say about someone who doesn't seem to have much else going for them in the clinical environment, aside from a propensity for tears? It makes me think of when I wanted to work for a magazine, back when I was twenty-five. I met with Marin Hopper at Elle (somehow my Dad knew her) and she was like 'You seem like a very nice girl, why do you want to work at a magazine? You are too nice for this business.' Sometimes I get that same feeling reading my clinical evaluations and then I'm like 'What the fuck am I suited for?' and, alternately, 'I'm not that nice. Just ask my kids or anyone who pisses me off while driving.' I still want to do psychiatric nursing first and foremost. But for PNR, my practical internship where I shadow a nurse for 120 hours before graduation, I'm not allowed to do psychiatric nursing (or, for that matter, OR or ER nursing ) so I'm thinking of the neuro ICU or possibly the NICU, I'll have to see what that's like this coming term. I'd almost like to work in the ICU just to prove to myself that I am capable of that type of nursing. And it's the best experience if I ever decided I wanted to become a nurse anesthetist (and if I became a nurse anesthetist I might finally be able to stop worrying about money). In terms of critical thinking, ICU nursing is the best specialty out there. Okay, but I'm officially done with thinking nursing school until May 1st. It should be a blissful couple of weeks. Hopefully I can sleep away the bags under my eyes that have been a fixture since October.

So during my 'catching up on chores whilst studying for final' today i decided to put my down comforter in the wash. When I opened the washer there was a horrible smell and pulling out the comforter my basement quickly became a hen house, there were feathers everywhere. Nothing like catching up on chores to put you back in your studies. I think I'm quitting down comforters, the smell of those liberated feathers was too much for me.

The past four days I've been studying for my final, which is tomorrow. I haven't spent every minute of the past four days studying, don't get me wrong. I'd intersperse it with going to the gym, renting movies each night (four! more than I've seen in the past four months) and catching up on errands I neglect while in school but I've looked over all of the eighteen powerpoint lectures I'll be tested on bright and early tomorrow, with such diverse gems as trauma, esophageal cancer, neuromuscular disorders, all things renal and disaster planning (if this last lecture had been given with the same passion that my favorite fire safety lecturer puts towards his work it would have been awesome, alas, he's a tough act to live up to). So today, my day before the final, I get to panic in earnest. To be fair my body is well acquainted with that panicky feeling, in fact it seems to be the mode it operates on most days. But what better way to calm that vertiginous feeling than with a little procrastination by blogging? So my friend Elise turned me on to celebitchy and I have to admit, I agree with her about how refreshing it is to come across a website that totally objectifies men with such gems as hot dong friday. They'll also have very funny posts like Michael Madsen owes $750k in child support, deadbeat Dad or victim of the economy? I am a sucker for a headline like that. It's a very nice place to click over to and indulge in all things insipid and celebrity oriented for a bit. A few weeks ago Elise and I were talking and she asked who my top five guys be. And I seem to be very uncreative because my mind won't even let me imagine random flings with famous hot guys. My fantasy goes poof if I can't realistically (well, really, unrealistically) see myself being able to get along with this person. But so here's my list of the top five famous people I lust after and it seems to show just how bad I am at this game, or perhaps what a geek I am.

No real surprise here given my Hugh wishlist that resides permanently on the right side of this blog. The past couple years of House have disappointed me but I still would rather watch Hugh Laurie in not so great House episodes than basically anything else on TV. If Hugh could just talk dirty to me with that British accent I'd swoon.

The real life doctor I fantasize about. Atul Gawande is my hero; he is just so smart and such an amazing writer and he's actually interested in making the world a better place. I mean he's a surgeon, he could just rake in the money and live some nice upper income life and not be bothered (trust me I see enough doctors like that at the gym I go to). But he wants to do more with his life and it makes him infinitely cool to me.

My dirty little late night secret. I do not get to see enough of Craig Ferguson because I can't stay up that late and I don't have Tivo (I don't even have cable, I just have basic access to get my public channels in clearly). But this man is so sexy with how funny he is. He's unbelievably clever and he has a good heart (this clip of him discussing his alcoholism is great) and I love how he flirts with the camera when he talks.

I don't know if Ralph Fiennes is clever or funny (hell, just pronouncing his first and last name properly is questionable) but he's sexy in spades. He is great at playing evil characters but equally good at playing tragic heroes. He is even sexy bald, noseless and snake-like as Voldemort. I might need to rent something with him in it soon.

Michael Chabon is the nice jewish boy I wish I married but Ayelet Waldman got him instead. I can't even fault her for it because their marriage seems so enviably beautiful I can't imagine wrecking it. Just thinking of Michael Chabon makes me smile. His writing is so exuberant and if you listen to him that exuberance comes across with every word he says.

team kathleen

I don't have many friends in Pittsburgh. It's my own fault, I'm pathologically shy. But one person I am friends with is, Kathleen. Kathleen has a whole slew of friends. She is just one of those people that has a way about them that people gravitate towards. I think it's because she is one of the easiest people to talk to. She's smart, funny and incredibly creative but she never takes herself too seriously. It's a modesty that's baffling when I see some of the artwork she just tosses out so easily. Kathleen was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer this past summer. She's gone through a masectomy, chemo and radiation with a spirit and humor that is unlike anything I could imagine being capable of. She will make numerous jokes (very funny, very dark) in reference to what she's going through, but I never hear her complain. I honestly don't know how she does it. I mean look at the poster she made in an hour of goofing around on photoshop, it brings me to tears when I look at it and think of what she's been through but, at the same time, it's funny. It has an unsinkable spirit and that's Kathleen in a nutshell. She has one particular friend, Karen, that has gone above and beyond what one might expect in terms of help from a friend, Kathleen no longer considers her a friend as much as family because that's just what she's been to Kathleen. But there are others, so many others, that have helped her throughout the past nine months. When I see the love people have for Kathleen, it makes me think of Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life. She truly is rich with the friends she has. And her family is pretty great too, I love her parents. There is a group of us that is running for Kathleen this Mother's Day. I loathe hitting people up for donations, where you click on everyone in your email address box and send the prewritten spiel. And, honestly, I'd rather raise money to give directly to Kathleen than to Susan G. Komen race for the cure, not that I don't think they deserve money, they do, and I know it helps with research and all that, I get it. But I want to help my friend because she's incurred a lot of financial costs (those co-pays add up quickly) in addition to the personal costs she's faced with this health crisis.

So, if you are so inclined you can either donate here or contact me at plumamelia@gmail.com and I can give you Kathleen's address. The two images below are a couple bookmark ink drawings that Kathleen did. I so wish she would become the art instructor where our children go to school. She would be perfect. At the very least I'm strongly pushing her towards starting an Etsy site.

in the pink

Back in early October of last year, after Oona's incident with 'the lice' she dyed her hair blue over at Toby & Sara's. Sara is Toby's fiance. She is smart, kind, pretty, incredibly funny and, most important to me, absolutely wonderful with Owen and Oona. So yes, this is a huge thing I've avoided posting any reference to but there's nothing really to say about it. They're happy and I'm happy for them (honestly). It's one more person to love my children and they adore her and her Mom, who might qualify for favorite Grandma, Owen calls her 'Grandma Awesome'. I just wish I could meet someone to share my life and be happy with too because it's sort of the whole point of life. But back to Oona. I guess Oona had been talking to them about dyeing her hair blue like Katy Perry for some time and after 'the lice' incident, and my horrible job of cutting her hair, and the beauty salon making the best of the hack job I'd done, well her hair was short and it seemed like a nice thing to do for the suffering she'd gone through because of 'the lice' (Oona always called them 'the lice' and that's stuck in my mind). Her hair actually looked quite cute blue. Especially as it was washing out, it became this pale teal that looked really nice with her eyes. So this weekend Toby called to see if I had a problem with pink, I said no, after all it washes out and she can dress however she wants as far as I'm concerned (especially since she needs to wear a uniform at school). As long as her clothes are seasonally appropriate. And hopefully this indulging in the hair colors might dissaude her from a future facial piercings, facial tattoos, or, god forbid, those earrings that stretch your lobe WIDE. And has some dermatologist/plastic surgeon found a way to remedy that yet because I think there could be a potential goldmine there in another 10 years or so? So she got deep pink hair and I think she looks adorable, it totally suits her personality and the best thing is it washes out after a couple of months, so thank you manic panic for letting my five year old realize her inner chameleon.

This is a blanket that only took me over a year to finally make for Owen, it was supposed to be a Christmas present for 2009 but he got it around Chinese New Year of 2011. Oh well, at least he was appreciative. So appreciative that he even complimented the lavender satin blanket binding, my cheat for sort of eyeballing the measurements of the blanket. What 8 year old boy thinks to comment on how beautiful the light purple binding is? The jolly rodgers that face him are ultra cuddle fleece, very soft and yummy with the flip side being two different types of corduroy, top and bottom are, the awesome in its ugliness, chartreuse fine wale with maroon wide wale sandwiched in between. The only thing I didn't consider was how much Sam, our fluffy, lovable, fat in spite of throwing food up right after eating it, cat loves sleeping on Owen's bed at all times. So now I frequently have to hit that blanket with the power paw attachment of my vacuum to clear off the haze of cat hair. Nothing like making more work for myself.

I want to make a fabric headboard for my bed but that might have to wait until Chinese new year of 2013. I have just the vision of it in my mind though, lovely and easily removable so I can wash it if need be because I love my washable slipcovers.

I am easily seduced by the shiny new things I learn in school. Knowing how to flush an arterial line or being able to obtain blood for lab tests from them. Putting in foley catheters. I've only done three so, yes, there is a definite thrill to doing that properly. And the last man I did it on was so kind, he said he didn't feel a thing. Of course he was also suffering from some confusion so who knows what the reality was there. Doing an EKG, it's deceptively simple but how cool that I got to do one in the ER. The fact I've now given so many shots it seems old hat to me, I never thought I'd feel that way. I'm still a bit OCD about preparing all my meds for patients and making sure I know as much as I possibly can because the game part of nursing school is knowing more about your patient than you're instructor does. If you're on top of that, and practice safely, and are friendly and take care of your patient, well then you're golden. But as much as I absolutely love learning all these new things I always come back to my first love, psychiatry. Whenever we have presentations where we're able to choose what we want to do I always pick the psychiatric aspect of what we're covering. I've presented on the psychological impact of burns. The fatal pull of the Golden Gate bridge, the world's number one suicide magnet. I had way too much fun researching that topic. Don't get me wrong some of what I read was heartrending but I just loved learning all about suicide magnets and whether deterrents are effective (they are). I've got a presentation due thursday where I'll be looking at substance abuse in the critically ill patient and I find the treatment of this patient population in healthcare really need of change. It's yet another area where healthcare is failing. It's all so flipping short sighted, treat the physical symptoms of withdrawal during the patient's hospital stay, possibly a five minute psych consult if someone is really on top of things and then the hospital sort of wipes their hands of the situation when the patient is discharged. For all that I learn about healthcare being an interdisciplinary plan of care it does a huge disservice to patients when it comes to mental illness. These critically ill substance abusers and the med seekers I saw at the ER, they need help. They need someone to be patient and to try to get through to them and get them set up in some sort of intensive outpatient program where they can work on their addictions. Otherwise they become frequent flyer's at the hospitals and just wind up costing the hospital so much more money in the long run. Why can the hospitals not see this?! Statistics say that 6 out of 10 substance abusers suffer from mental illness but I stubbornly refute that statistic. If you get addicted to substances you are not a happy, functional person. I think everyone that abuses substances has an underlying mental health issue. One really interesting chart that I found on one of NIH's websites regarding drug abuse is that those who suffer from bipolar disorder have the highest rate of substance abuse. No real surprise there but guess who comes in second? People who suffer from panic disorders with agoraphobia. They are almost equal to bipolars in the incidence of substance abuse. It fascinates me because those disorders seem so different but they both have really high incidences of self medication. And I just want to know the patient's background, to see where they're coming from in order to self medicate to deal with life. To me, psychiatry is the narrative aspect of medicine. Psychosocial care plans were my favorite to write up because I just like trying to understand what people do, functional or not, in order to cope. And this one psychiatrist whom I got to hear lecture and work with patients at the beginning of this semester (that I can't believe is almost over) he was like a rock star to me he was so incredible at his job. I want to be that good at what I do.

Another Sunday and another test that I'm spending a little time avoiding studying for in order to post a birthday shout out for my Mom, who is officially a senior citizen today. I took her out for brunch this morning and it's only now, that I finally no longer feel stuffed, I think the long workout I just returned from helped stomach fullness matters along too. If you live in Pittsburgh or ever visit the area I highly recommend the brunch at Casbah, although for the prices they're charging they need to reupholster the banquette in the dining room because it is in sorry shape. Anyhow, let me rhapsodize about the food for a moment now that I no longer feel in imminent threat of bursting. It's actually not too expensive a brunch for the amount of food you get (beverage, appetizer and entree for $24). I got orange juice that was so good I was close to weeping. I don't order OJ that much because it rarely measures up to my finicky standards but this one did and more. My Mom and I both got the fruit and cheese plate as an appetizer. The midnight moon, which was exceptionally soft and stinky, was my favorite, and we also both got the casbah benedict (aka eggs benedict). I got mine with prosciutto, it was very yummy. Plus I had about four cups of coffee and they brought over a basket filled with mini muffins, scones and biscuits, of which I inhaled all of them (they were mini but the amount I ate this morning was sort of disgusting). And then the waitress asked us if we wanted dessert. I don't know who would have room for dessert after the size of that brunch. It is one of the handful of times I've passed on dessert.

So here's a photo of my Mom from when she was six or seven, she's the tall one in the back. I think this was taken one New Year's Eve many years ago, and I'm sure my grandparents and their friends, family tied one on even with young ones present because they never missed their cocktails. My Mom was so pretty as a child and was incredibly pretty as an adult, she still is. I remember looking at her yearbook when I was young and being captivated by the pictures of her as a cheerleader and with my Father as part of fall court (which I'm assuming were the runner's up to homecoming queen & king). I look absolutely nothing like her, unfortunately, physically I'm just like my Dad and his mother's side of the family (I look like my great grandfather and it was a face that worked better on a man). Oh well, you can't choose how the gametes fuse at fertilization. Just humor me for a minute and let me scratch that itch that is the science geek in me. Do you know that with the same parents there are 70,368,744,000,000 chromosomally different zygotes (aka babies) possible and that's without crossover, if cross over occurs there are 4,951,760,200,000,000,000,000,000,000 possible combinations from the same two parents. Genetics astounds me and I would not know how to verbalize that last number. But back to the birthday girl. Here's to my Mom for moving here last February to help me out with school, and my Father's death and all the other personal things that I don't write about here (it might surprise you but some things are off limits here) that have made the past year and a half especially difficult. There's no way I could have gotten this far in school without her help. I don't think I would have made it past my first term. She's a very good Mom and I learn more about her and love and appreciate her more with each passing year.

My daughter Oona is not one for moderation. She feels things pretty intensely and makes no bones about letting you know just what she's feeling. Last night she quickly became Oona the fierce when I wouldn't go upstairs with her when she had to pee. Really this is my own fault, because I did gut the half bath on the main floor two years ago, and though it's all newly dry-walled now, I've yet to get a plumber to put new fixtures in because I want to make it a full bath, in order to make my house more sale worthy when I put it on the market, but money is tight. So it sits, the empty tease of tantrums deferred, if only I'd commit to getting it finished. I don't understand why my children don't like to go upstairs to pee alone. So Owen is on the phone with his Dad and Oona is hopping up and down on the stairs, which are really quite steep and I still want to carpet them with a runner but it's another thing on the house to do list. Anyhow I'm convinced anyone, child or adult, would die if they fell down my stairs, so I don't like to see stair related tantrums. I told Oona she was going up stairs to pee get a quick shower and then bed because when she does this on a friday at 7:00 it usually indicates that the week has exhausted her. I spent the next half hour enduring her screaming protests, on the toilet, off the toilet, hopping mad naked but for her socks, trying to be hopping mad in the shower but that's another potential disaster so I warned her not to hop in the tub, hopping up and down on the bath mat trying to run away from me but she was soaking wet and we've got hard hard tile in the upstairs bathroom, a horrible peach color to match the 1950s? tub and sink, the state of that bathroom makes my heart sink (oh gosh, if I get started on analyzing the myriad things to fix in my house it literally becomes a house of cards that collapses in front of me). Finally, somewhere in the middle of my drying her hair, her cries that were harmonizing with the blower dryer softened and then stopped. After that she said she was no longer sad, hugged me and I got a book to read to her in bed. I slathered her hands and arms with lotion and put a pair of my socks on her arms. We read the book, I lay next to her a couple minutes scratching her back and head, gave her a kiss goodnight and she was out less than five minutes later. I admire her resolve to commit so fully to everything she experiences; anger, joy, sleep, life.

Owen and Oona's school has a holiday store that is always filled with dollar store cast offs and I stress to them not to buy me anything! But they always do. I got a lavender soap from Owen that I had to pitch (don't tell him) because it was so strong I could smell it in the hallway, and it didn't really smell like lavender and every since my pregnancies I'm super smell sensitive. Oona got me two tiny worry dolls that are pinned to a business card that tells the legend of them. And every so often, if I'm having a bad day or have a big test, presentation, crazy amount of school related paperwork to do, she tucks them under my pillow for me. And one night she arranged a tiny arsenal of her toys at the top of the stairs to greet me before I went to bed. And sometimes she'll just come up to me and clasp my face with her two lovely little plump hands to give me a kiss right on the mouth. I named Oona after Charlie Chaplin's wife, Oona O'Neill, the it girl of her time who, unfortunately, in spite of her happy marriage did not have any easy life and died from complications of alcoholism. But my Oona is much more like Oonagh in the story of Finn MacCoul and his fearless wife. Because in that Irish folk tale Oonagh is the resourceful, clever wife who saves the day, and I have no doubt that my Oona is capable of just such feats of greatness, even if she doesn't have the silent 'gh' on the end of her name.