30 by 30

Time flies.  I got a message on Facebook reminding me that my ten year class reunion is just around the corner.  Yikes!  I'm getting old.  In 30 months, I will turn 30.  Can you believe it?  Unlike some people (not to name any names, *cough* Jason *cough*) I've never dreaded a birthday.  Adding one to the number I fill in the age line doesn't make me nervous.  And I'm not especially flattered to get carded when I order a margarita.  What I do dread, however, is waking up as a 30 year old wishing that I would have done more in the years before.  With that in mind I decided to do something cliche.  It's so cheesy, I almost am embarrassed to share.  I made a bucket list.  Yep, a bucket list.  30 things to do in the 30 months before I turn 30.  In no particular order.

1. Complete an olympic length triathlon.
2. Pay for a stranger's dinner.
3. Have my eyebrows professionally done.
4. Go on a cruise.
5. Leave a $20 tip.
6. Color my hair.
7. Send a letter to a friend by snail mail.
8. Read the entire Bible.
9. Do a cartwheel.
10. Eat a hot dog at Coney Island.
11. Go fishing with Jason.
12. Write to someone in political office.
13. Finish a crossword puzzle without cheating.
14. Donate blood.
15. Take a good family photo.
16. Play a song on my violin.
17. Make a snow angel.
18. Go on a fast.
19. Wear a bikini.  (Notice that I didn't say "in public.")
20. Take the boys camping.
21. Watch "Star Wars."
22. Save someone's life.
23. Learn a yoga pose.
24. Eat a taco from a shady street vendor.
25. Send someone flowers.
26. Go on a 30 mile bike ride.
27. Skydive.
28. Intentionally watch a sunrise.
29. Plant a tree.
30. Have a 30th Birthday Party!

A New Do

Ok, I'm a doctor not a hairdresser.  I know.  But it can't be that difficult to cut hair, can it?  I'm sure I did really well on my scissor lessons in kindergarten.  A+, no doubt.  And if I can save $10 or $20, then it's totally worth the risk to try my hand as a beautician.  Well, maybe...

To set the stage, imagine a curious, doll-faced toddler running around the living room in his denim jacket and khaki pants.  As cute as can be.  The only possible flaws on his sweet face being the white, crusty business under his nose, the lunch remnants on his cheek, and pencil straight, light brown, wispy hair curtaining over his ears.  Surely it's the hair obstructing his ear canals that would explain why he doesn't always hear me say "No, Owen, get off the table." or "Owen!  Gentle.  He's just a baby."  Therefore, a good face scrub and little trim was clearly necessary.

I had the afternoon off, and I figured it may take the whole afternoon to perfect my masterpiece.  I positioned my little canvas in khaki pants in his chair at the table and got my supplies ready.  Scissors.  Comb.  Water.  Pickle.  M&Ms.  Marshmallows.  We were ready.

I wet the comb, and carefully arranged each hair.  Snip, snip.  I did my best to mimic the motions of the professionals.  A cut here.  A cut there.  I held damp strands between the sides of my index and middle fingers and continued my work.  Hair fell and tickled his nose.  Hair fell and stuck to his gooey marshmallow.  I tousled his hair with my fingers hoping to break up a few harsh lines.  This isn't too difficult, and it would be cake if Owen would sit still.

The pickle was gone, we survived the meltdown that occurred when the last M&M disappeared, and now the marshmallows, covered in hair, had lost their appeal.  Time to call it quits.  As I stepped back to take a look, my nose wrinkled and my head cocked to the side.  Umm...

I tried a few last cuts to even right and left, but it was a tad bit difficult with a full out fit going on in the chair complete with a head thrashing back and forth.  I had to give up.  Maybe I could finish during bath time.  Good thing it's Friday and you have a few days before you have to show your face at daycare.  Good thing your hair grows fast.

The worst part is that, now, every time I catch a glimpse of his unequal edges I wish I was carrying scissors.  Surely I could fix it.  You might be thinking that I should just take him in and let the real professionals undo the mess I've created.  But it isn't that bad, and that would be embarrassing.

Actually, that might not be the worst part.  The worst part is probably that as soon as his hair is back over his ears, I'll likely try again!  Oh, poor little guy.

Back to Work

Back to reality.  September 6th marked my official start to working here in Grand Island.  (Isn't it hard to believe that the summer is over?  Wow!  I still find myself thinking it's August.  Are we really halfway through September?)  These past two weeks have been mostly orienting to the hospital and clinic and welcome reception after welcome reception after welcome reception.  They are very welcoming here.  Last night was our last shindig, and Monday I will start actually seeing my own patients in clinic and taking a shift in the Emergency Room.  I'm itching to get going.

Not only was the 6th my first day of work, it was also the boys' first day of daycare.  Ever.  I'm sure it's no surprise, but I was more of a mess that morning than they were.  I did manage to keep it to a minimum with just a few silent tears slipping down my cheeks and a couple of "they will be okay,"  "it will be okay," self-affirmations running through my mind.  Owen was a little less quiet in his display of dislike for change, but according to report he quickly got over it when enticed with playing ball outside.  

In Omaha, we were so blessed to have awesome family and great friends watch Owen during the day, and although we will miss that, our setup here has plenty of its own advantages.

Getting into the Saint Francis Daycare was another working of God.  They have a loooooong waiting list, so when we got on the list in February they were sure we wouldn't get in by September.  Craziness.  It seemed like we were signing up for some exclusive country club or Packers' season tickets - definitely not a daycare.  At the same time, it made us want it even more.  If everyone else wants in, it must be as good as they say, and I want it, too.  As the months passed with little progress moving up the list, we made other arrangements for the boys.  (Thanks, Heather!)  But then, in the nick of time, reminiscent of our house, I got the call.  It was like the clouds parted again, a bright yellow beam of radiant light came down onto my head, and a collective "aaahhh" sang out from heaven.  We were in.  It was too perfect.  How much more evidence could we get that He will provide more than enough?

Now the boys are 5 minutes from our house and an elevator ride away from my clinic.  I've already spent part of a lunch break in the nursery holding Griffin, and I've peaked out the break room window four stories up to see Owen playing out in the yard.  Not too bad if you ask me!  

I think I'm going to like it out here, and I think they (speaking of those precious boys in red pictured below) will, too.

What if...

What if it gets more difficult than this?

It seems that every year I tell myself that next year will be easier.  This year is the hardest.  Just get through this.

Get a good score on the MCAT, and then I'll be in.

Get through Anatomy, and it will be downhill.

Get past Step 1, and the rest will be easier.

Get into a residency, and then I'll be doing what I want.

And the morning I signed my residency contract it just so happened that another positive on a different kind of test added an additional layer of complexity.

Once he sleeps through the night...

Once he's sitting up...

Once he's done breast-feeding...

Once he's walking...

Once he's potty trained...  (We're still dreaming about that one.)

You can only imagine what new things I anticipate now that Griffin is here.

Today, as my hands wrinkled in the sink full of dirty dishes and empty bottles, I found myself thinking about my present circumstance.  It wasn't a pity party about being overworked, overwhelmed, or over-tired.  It was an odd sense of pride that I'm surviving.  I'm doing it.  The strength is there.  It's just enough, but it's there.  I am a resident physician and a mom of two under two.  Arguably, each of these situations is the most challenging period of its perspective role, and I'm doing it.  I'm surviving.  Once this is over, everything else is going to be cake.  I'll sleep more.  I'll be in better shape.  I'll be better with my devo's.  I'll have more time to travel.  Yatta-yatta. 

Then it hit me.  What if I'm wrong?  What if the trend continues?  What if this snowball of responsibility keeps right on growing instead of melting away?  What if it doesn't get easier?  What if there is something more challenging, more difficult, and more taxing than being a resident and a mom of two under two?  What if my health that fades?  What if it's my family's?  What if the economy steals our jobs?  What if my kids rebel?  What if my marriage weakens?  What if disaster strikes?

Thankfully, I'm not the one who knows the answer.  So, instead of fearing the "what if's" a moment longer, I'm instead going to enjoy this moment knowing that I am doing it.  And as I stare into this smiling face on my lap I'm loving it, too.

Sick

HPI:  In non-medical words, here's what has been plaguing me for the last week:
   Day 0 - Hoarse  Friday - scratchy throat; uh oh, something's coming on
   Day 1 - Laryngitis  Saturday - lost my voice, and it wasn't just from yelling at the football game
   Day 2 - OD Conjunctivitis  Sunday - gunk draining out of my right eye.  Gross!
   Day 3 - Pharyngitis  Monday - couldn't even swallow my own spit because my throat hurt so bad
   Day 4 - Cough & Rhinorrhea  Tuesday - almost threw up I was coughing so hard, and I had Kleenex shoved up my nose because that was easier than constantly blowing it to contain the drainage
   Day 5 - +f/c  Wednesday - fever and chills and it's definitely not hot flashes
   Day 6 - Unilateral maxillary dental pain & facial pressure  Today - seriously?! now my sinuses, can't I catch a break.  I couldn't even enjoy the first time Griffin slept through the night.


Dx: Viral URI complicated by Bacterial Sinusitis  a.k.a. I feel like crap and have for too long


Txt: Abx & symptomatic txt  Jason's picking up the boys from daycare so I can have my own nap time after orientation, and it's probably time for some antibiotics even though I'm usually the antibiotic nazi. My typical line is: "It's just a virus, Jason.  Take some Tylenol and do a sinus wash."
F/U: PRN  In other words, I hope this goes away soon so no one has to hear me whine anymore!