Did I tell you i'm looking for a new job? No? Well, I am. Don't worry, it's all on the up and up. My current employer knows already. Let's just say that when your heart tells you enough is enough, time to move on, you better listen. Good advice for jobs and relationships. Not to mention for chocolate glazed doughnuts from Dinkel's Bakery in Chicago. But I digress.
I'm sure everyone remembers the pain of their last job interview. Maybe it was for your first job, or your first 'real' job, or fellowship or residency. Either way you cut it...painful. Walking around in your interview suit and heels with a confident smile pasted across your face all the while thinking...when is it appropriate to ask to go to the bathroom to check my hair, teeth, and awkward stiff collar? Not to mention the feeling of being sick of yourself. Yes, i've plunged myself into this world again. All in the hopes that I will find a job that satisfies me intellectually and emotionally and sates my need for personal challenge. In a warmer climate.
Here's how I would like a job interview to go:
Them: We've already looked at your CV and cover letter and loved it. Now we just need to know who you really are and what makes you tick.
Me: Oh ok. Well, i'm really good at spelling. I was one of the finalists in my elementary school spelling bee but I lost on the word 'bizarre'. Not because I didn't know how to spell it, but I failed to ask for the definition and spelled the word 'bazaar' instead. I'm still beating myself up about that one. I have a picture of myself with Steve Kerr, you know the Chicago Bulls star from the championship era? Only I was in sixth grade and looked like a boy so I am ashamed to display it publicly. I had some serious fashion issues back then. Haunts me still. When I hear the sound of silverware clanging together I want to suck my teeth out of their sockets. I find it hard to believe that I am the only one who feels this way. Speaking of teeth, I am looking for the perfect time to use the word 'toothsome' in a sentence. That word has been banging against my lips for days, begging to be let out. Well, that's about it in a nutshell.
Them: Fabulous! We think you're perfect for the job. We'll be sending a contract your way. Welcome aboard!
I'll keep you posted on my ongoing job search. And if I do have an interview like this? Oh yes, you'll be the first to know.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
I'm Watching You December...
December is a mere 2 weeks away. How can that be?! It seems like just a few weeks ago I was telling you about all my summer discoveries. I'd like to bury my head under my pillows and wake up when it's spring again. Of course, here in the windy city, that might not happen until June. How did you sneak up on me December? Did you push November into the slot normally reserved for October? Because I have to say, I don't remember October having much of a presence this year. Hmmm, I am giving you the stink-eye December. Don't think I don't remember how you tried to imitate February last year with all your snow and freezing rain. Even shoving your holiday cheer in my face won't make me forget wrapping my living room in saran wrap just so I could sit on my couch and STILL freeze. Damn you.
When I introduced myself (and this blog) to you I mentioned that I was from Arizona. The first question I get, after a look of amazement, is "Why did you move here??". I have answered this question so many times over the last few years that I feel I have it down to easily digested little nuggets. Here are the highlights (expounding to be done at a later date):
When I introduced myself (and this blog) to you I mentioned that I was from Arizona. The first question I get, after a look of amazement, is "Why did you move here??". I have answered this question so many times over the last few years that I feel I have it down to easily digested little nuggets. Here are the highlights (expounding to be done at a later date):
- I moved here because someone I respected and trusted said it was a good place for me to be.
- I moved here to explore a passion.
- I moved here because I thought I would fit in and be successful anywhere, no matter how far from my family and friends and familiarity I traveled.
- I moved here to discover that things don't work out just because you want them to. Really badly.
- I moved here to remind myself that I make mistakes, I am far from perfect and that is ok.
- I moved here to experience the dissolution of a dream and an identity and to create new ones, however different and unfamiliar they may appear to me still.
- I moved here to rely on the company of myself and my dog when things got lonely, and learn to be ok with that.
- I moved here to discover what I really want to be when I grow up.
- I moved here to eventually take a job that would push the limits of my confidence and hold a mirror to the ethical principles in which I truly believe, as unpopular as they may be.
- I moved here to meet my husband and his dog.
- I moved here to grow and struggle and be lonely and make friends and be a pediatrician.
Now you know.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
A Loss Rich With Things Gained
Some things are only noticed in their absence. The hum of a fan when you are falling asleep. The tension in your shoulders after a deep massage. The leaves on the trees after they have all fallen to the ground.
I did not notice the anger and tension I carried with me everytime I walked into a particular room in the NICU. The infant in the bed in the far left corner, through no fault of her own, inspired in me a jaw-tightening, face-flushing frustration of a strength I am ashamed to admit. And I only realize that strength now that she is dead.
She was delivered at 24 weeks gestation and had the usual early lung disease and inflammation with which the extremely premature infant struggles. Her parents wanted us to 'do everything' and we abided by their wishes. We did everything medically at our disposal and pulled out all the stops until we were sure she was going to survive. There is a difference among living, existing, and surviving. Surviving is a physician's goal for their patient, especially if their patient is at the beginning of their life. Living is what a parent wants for their child; to hear them laugh, to see them smile, to watch them observe and learn from the world. My friend in the far left corner was doing neither. For 8 long months, she struggled to pull air into her lungs that were for all intents and purposes, the consistency of leather. During this time, a tracheostomy was placed so that the breathing tube would not wear through the roof of her mouth and she would be able to suck on a pacifier when she was upset. She never sat up. She never cooed and babbled. She never rolled over. Her lungs were so badly damaged that everytime she got agitated she would become hypoxic and her heart rate would drop dangerously. Because of this, we gave her ever increasing doses of sedation and pain medicine. Towards the end, we could barely let her wake up at all for fear of losing grip on her tenuous oxygen saturations. She was merely existing. And yet we kept going.
After watching a baby struggle so hard to live, it hurt me to watch her struggle so hard to die. I realize now that my anger came from walking into that room and feeling like I was playing on the wrong side of the field, fighting for a cause in which I didn't believe. I don't make the big decisions here. I'm not sure that I could. I make critical acute care decisions so these infants will survive until morning. I looked at her night after night and silently told her that I was sorry, so sorry for doing this to her.
A week ago I walked into that room and reflexively glanced at the far left corner. She was gone. I felt the weight lift from my shoulders and the breath that I had been holding let go. There was a lightness in the room that hadn't been there before. What was left behind, for me, was that her struggle was not in vain. She won after all. I choose to believe that she is at peace. Finally.
I did not notice the anger and tension I carried with me everytime I walked into a particular room in the NICU. The infant in the bed in the far left corner, through no fault of her own, inspired in me a jaw-tightening, face-flushing frustration of a strength I am ashamed to admit. And I only realize that strength now that she is dead.
She was delivered at 24 weeks gestation and had the usual early lung disease and inflammation with which the extremely premature infant struggles. Her parents wanted us to 'do everything' and we abided by their wishes. We did everything medically at our disposal and pulled out all the stops until we were sure she was going to survive. There is a difference among living, existing, and surviving. Surviving is a physician's goal for their patient, especially if their patient is at the beginning of their life. Living is what a parent wants for their child; to hear them laugh, to see them smile, to watch them observe and learn from the world. My friend in the far left corner was doing neither. For 8 long months, she struggled to pull air into her lungs that were for all intents and purposes, the consistency of leather. During this time, a tracheostomy was placed so that the breathing tube would not wear through the roof of her mouth and she would be able to suck on a pacifier when she was upset. She never sat up. She never cooed and babbled. She never rolled over. Her lungs were so badly damaged that everytime she got agitated she would become hypoxic and her heart rate would drop dangerously. Because of this, we gave her ever increasing doses of sedation and pain medicine. Towards the end, we could barely let her wake up at all for fear of losing grip on her tenuous oxygen saturations. She was merely existing. And yet we kept going.
After watching a baby struggle so hard to live, it hurt me to watch her struggle so hard to die. I realize now that my anger came from walking into that room and feeling like I was playing on the wrong side of the field, fighting for a cause in which I didn't believe. I don't make the big decisions here. I'm not sure that I could. I make critical acute care decisions so these infants will survive until morning. I looked at her night after night and silently told her that I was sorry, so sorry for doing this to her.
A week ago I walked into that room and reflexively glanced at the far left corner. She was gone. I felt the weight lift from my shoulders and the breath that I had been holding let go. There was a lightness in the room that hadn't been there before. What was left behind, for me, was that her struggle was not in vain. She won after all. I choose to believe that she is at peace. Finally.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
A "Novel" Landscape
Is anyone else sick of hearing about the flu? I mean, i'm safely sequestered from the masses up here in the NICU, which typically shows no bias for any season, and I can't tell you how many times I have been asked about the novel H1N1 flu. I walked into work the other day and the charge nurse practically tripped over her own feet trying to aim a loaded needle at my deltoid with one hand and waving a consent form in the other. To be completed simultaneously no doubt. I felt like I needed to hold up my armored shield. Renaissance-style.
The visitation policy here has become severely restricted since the epidemic hit (just in October here in the suburbs of Chicago). Only the parents of the infants here can visit....no siblings, no grandparents, no aunts and uncles. Regardless of whether they have been ill or had contact with anyone with flu-like symptoms. For some, this sounds like no big deal. Common sense even. But, for the woman I spoke to earlier this evening, whose 30 week twins are threatening to arrive any moment now, it was a crushing blow that her mother, who traveled all the way from Israel to be here for the preterm birth, cannot see these babies in person for the foreseeable future.
Are we overreacting? Are we responding to mass hysteria surrounding the H1N1 flu? Is the pandemic really severe enough to warrant fast-tracking a vaccine through limited testing to be produced in limited supply? Will the worst of the wave be over before those 'priority groups' even have access to the vaccine? Yes, I get my flu shot every year like a good health care worker. My response to those who say "I've never gotten the flu so I don't get a flu shot" is this...Do you not wear a seat belt just because you've never been in an accident? And yes, I did get my H1N1 flu shot this year as well (the nurses were coming at me with needles like darts at a dart board!). I am not a conscientious objector. But I do wonder...
The visitation policy here has become severely restricted since the epidemic hit (just in October here in the suburbs of Chicago). Only the parents of the infants here can visit....no siblings, no grandparents, no aunts and uncles. Regardless of whether they have been ill or had contact with anyone with flu-like symptoms. For some, this sounds like no big deal. Common sense even. But, for the woman I spoke to earlier this evening, whose 30 week twins are threatening to arrive any moment now, it was a crushing blow that her mother, who traveled all the way from Israel to be here for the preterm birth, cannot see these babies in person for the foreseeable future.
Are we overreacting? Are we responding to mass hysteria surrounding the H1N1 flu? Is the pandemic really severe enough to warrant fast-tracking a vaccine through limited testing to be produced in limited supply? Will the worst of the wave be over before those 'priority groups' even have access to the vaccine? Yes, I get my flu shot every year like a good health care worker. My response to those who say "I've never gotten the flu so I don't get a flu shot" is this...Do you not wear a seat belt just because you've never been in an accident? And yes, I did get my H1N1 flu shot this year as well (the nurses were coming at me with needles like darts at a dart board!). I am not a conscientious objector. But I do wonder...
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