Pretty woman

One of the Beautiful People talked to me today in class. Guess I'm not a leper after all! Chalk one up for me. Yay.

Never mind that she just wanted to ask me a question about a student organization. The point is this: a BP talked to me. Seems like they're not as exclusive as rumored.

Alma mater

Little known fact #7853: I love college football.

Back in my undergrad years, I was out there for every home game, with my purple sweatshirt and face paint on, ready for the Wildcat growl and the key jangling before every kickoff.

Alas, I am only a fair-weathered fan.

And Northwestern has not had a fair-weathered season in a very long time.

No, I was a big fan in 2004 and 2005. Back then we could upset high-ranked teams like Wisconsin and Ohio State in triple overtime games. Oh yeah, we had brains and brawn, baby. Then we went to the Sun Bowl and lost disastrously to UCLA after a promising first half. And it was all downhill from there.

And that was the end of my love affair. I stopped watching football after it started to hurt too much. I mean seriously, our kicker couldn't even get the ball to bounce farther than 10 meters. How hard could it have been to just recruit a soccer player? I swear, even my mother could kick that ball farther and faster. Our football team was young and it showed on the field. So I stopped watching.

But now. Now! Northwestern is suddenly doing well. It's having its best season start since 1962! And aside from Penn State, Northwestern is the only other Big Ten School to be 5-0. We are one win away from going to a bowl game! Who knew that Northwestern could be mentioned in the same sentence as Penn State, without it being derogatory or sarcastic?

Ladies and gentlemen, Wildcat football is back, and I couldn't be more excited. GO CATS!

Don't go breaking my heart now, boys.

Size matters

I'm reading my notes for genetic disorders, and I come across this: dentatorubralpallidoluysian atrophy.*

Dentatorubralpallidoluysian.

It's caused by a trinucleotide repeat expansion. Though it seems as though the disease name itself was expanded. I mean seriously. Seriously?

Even Google thinks its the longest word ever - "do you mean Dentatorubral pallidoluysian?"

I have no words. Or rather, I have one ridiculously long word that is completely meaningless to me.

*Quick Wiki and Google searches yielded no results, so if someone could break that down for me and let me know exactly what is wasting away, I'd be greatly appreciative.

UPDATE. Read all about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dentatorubropallidoluysian_atrophy. Thanks Lisa!

Lazy girls

So I got the boy a DVR for the monthiversary. And now there's a big giant dent in the couch where my butt has been for the past 16 hours.

I love TV so much, it's kinda pathetic.

(Is it bad that I'm taping so many things, I'm even recording The View? Granted, it's only set to record Hot Topics, because some of the things that Elisabeth says are too funny to miss.)

Keep their heads ringin'

A med student's away message: I stamped the word 'goodyear' on my forehead, because my brain is so tired.

Survivor

Yes. I am red. And my men are clearly doomed. What can I say? I'm a lover, not a fighter. Also, I never played war games of any kind when I was little. That would go against all the Saturday morning cartoons' teachings! Yeah, My Little Pony and Care Bears - colorful mascots of doing good and being kind. Those were the days.

But in my defense, I will have you know that I still had my #1 guy who could potentially kill off ALL of his men, if I played my cards right. And by cards, I mean, my only other player. Never mind that I would never be able to capture his flag because it's hidden in a vast field of bombs. The point is, I still had my Marshal whereas his was killed off early in the game by a lowly SPY. I'm not bitter, I just don't know how to play Stratego.

Not pictured: Martin's cheat sheet, where he marked where every single piece was, and consequently, was very deftly able to avoid my ill-placed bombs.

Californication

It's true that Californians have a terrible sense of geography, so I thought this map was hilarious. Thank goodness for going to school in Chicago because I now know the states surrounding Lake Michigan. For the most part.

Cooties

I got to school a little early today (and by that, I mean I forgot that class started at nine), so I decided to head to Starbucks to get a coffee and do a little bit of studying.

So I'm sitting there, minding my own business, when this middle-aged guy comes over and sits down across from me even though there are a million open chairs around us. I glance up and flash him a quick smile and a g'morning before turning back to my books, because that is the proper thing to do. Then it starts.

"Ko ni chi wa?"

"...what?" I reply. Partly because I'm not sure if he's just spouting word salad at me or if he really truly is trying to have a conversation with me in broken Japanese.

"Oh no. Not your language? Well then. Ni how mah. Onion? Where are you from?"

"California," I reply, a little taken aback.

"No, I mean your country of origin."

"Um, Taiwan."

He then spouts more Mandarin that is either too advanced or too accented for me to understand, and so I let him know that I don't speak the language.

"Oh, it means 'do you have a dollar?'" he says, "You know, that's all that matters over there. Money, money, money. They're always asking you for some. It's worse than the homeless bums on the corner. That's how I learned how to speak Mandarin. I just picked it up."

"Oh?" I say, not quite sure how else to respond. Because frankly, I'm appalled and indignant, and I so want to tell him that knowing how to say two phrases in Mandarin does not qualify as "learning how to speak Mandarin." (Side rant - why does this only happen to Asians? You don't hear about a Mediterranean guy being approached by people saying "Arrivederci! Opa! Mamma mia!" while flailing theirs arms and hands about. No, but people go up to an Asian person every so often, clasp their hands together and bow, and chirp in an annoyingly high voice, "KNEE HOW" or "SHAY SHAY KNEE." Frankly, I find it a little racist. End rant.)

"Yeah, I know how to speak Japanese and Korean too. Oh and Filipino."

I start ignoring him, so realizing that I'm not awed by the things coming out of his mouth, he walks away to go harass a nurse.

"Nurse, nurse! I have dog jaw!" he exclaims, seemingly in pain.

The nurse, or hospital staff in scrubs, is a compassionate person, and asks him what's wrong.

"Feel my jaw! It's dog jaw!!"

She moves to palpate his jawline, and just as she does, he barks and bites her hand.

"Hahahaha, get it? Dog jaw! Ha ha ha!!!!"

Um, psych? Did you lose a patient from your wards? Because he's in the coffee shop.

Seriously, what a strange morning!

SOS

I am the worst med student ever. No, forget that. I'm the worst person ever.

So, the law school atrium has the most beautiful set of stairs going up to the second floor library. And I'm sitting right next to the staircase on the second floor. Having lunch and catching up on my celebrity gossip blogs.

Then, all of a sudden, someone shrieks. Followed by a couple of loud and echoing bumps.

This someone slipped and fell down the concrete stairs in her rush to get to class (and exam) on time.

Immediately, everyone sprang up to see if she was okay. And the people closest to her on the ground floor ran over to see if she was hurt. She was still conscious, her ankle hurt pretty bad, but she was okay, she replied.

Don't move! said one of her rescuers as she tried to shift herself into a more modest position. In his mind, it was much better to pull a Britney than exacerbate a possibly broken neck. Another classmate rushed to the administration office to get help.

Five minutes later, and everyone was still milling about, hanging over the stairwell, wondering if they were going to call an ambulance to come get her, when the hospital was less than a block away.

And that's the thing. Everyone was just standing about, anxiously awaiting to see if she was okay. No one laughed. No one talked. And no one wanted to be the first person to walk away from the scene.

Except me. I figured, they had sent for help. And there was honestly nothing that I could possibly do. So I was to first to turn away. I went back to my table and resumed eating my lunch.

And now I feel terribly guilty for leaving. And terribly stupid for not knowing the first thing to do in this situation. How do you assess for a broken neck? Is there anything that I should have done? Is there anything I could have done?

I can't believe I was to first to walk away. I wonder if this makes me compassion deficient?

Manic monday

I tried to be a good person today. Key word being "tried."

Today, on my mad dash to school, I saw a doctor crossing the street in front of me. Illegally. So as he tried to outrun the multitude of taxis and buses coming down the street, I watched helplessly as he dropped his hospital badge.

"Sir! Sir!! Excuse me! Sir!! You dropped your badge!!" I yelled, like a crazy woman.

But with all the traffic now in between us, he didn't hear me. Instead, he took off for the hospital, minus one very important ID badge.

So as I crossed the street, I picked it up. Frank Dorian, M.D. Surgery fellow.

I ran after him, trying to make up the now 3 blocks between us. It didn't help that I was in uncomfortable heels, and carrying half a dozen things - stethoscope, white coat, reflex hammer, computer, phone. Like I said, I was running behind that morning.

I swear I walk pretty quickly, but he must have been sprinting, because slowly but surely, the gap between us got wider and wider.

By this time, I realized there was no way I would catch him. And I started to freak out. If I took it to class and then gave it to him later (at noon), would it be okay? He's a surgeon! He needs his badge to access his ORs! Maybe he can send one of his hapless med student lemmings to come get it from me. It was almost insane how much I was over-analyzing the situation and trying to figure out what would have the best outcome. I almost felt like I had to make sure his badge ended up in the right hands. Dr. Dorian's hands, preferably.

So my good Samaritan heart decided to drop off his badge with the baristas at the hospital's Starbucks, and then I would page him from class to let him know where to find it. That way I would only be five minutes late to class, and he could still get his badge as soon as he wanted.

What else could be better?

Then, as I was making my way to the hospital, I ran into my friend J, bleary-eyed and tired, who was heading home after a long night on call.

So long story short, J was a good person today. I merely tried to be. But hey, at least I got to class on time.

Long night

Overheard in the hospital lobby...

M3 post-call
Neurosurgery is terrible man! They're mean to you, AND they don't let you do anything! I mean, every single day, they drain all the happiness out of me...at the very least they could let me write a note right? But no. I could sell my soul to the devil and STILL not be allowed to do anything.

Another M3 student also post-call
Yeah dude. My attending mentioned the other day that the neurosurgery department is a little harsh.

First M3
A LITTLE harsh?!?!!?

Second M3
Well, it was a general surgeon saying it.

First M3
Oh yeah?

Second M3
Yeah, I told him I had specialty next, and that it was neurosurgery. And he just kinda shook his head at me...

First M3
Man, you know it's really bad when the other surgeons start pitying you.

That's amore

Last year, my friend Matt and I would have Donut Days. These fabulous celebrations always fell on the school day right before the dreaded TEST DAY. (Cue dun dun dun music here.) We'd send each other cryptic emails ("the eagle has landed! the eagle has landed!") and meet on various dark and empty street corners at seven in the morning to head to our local Dunkin Donuts.

Donut days were the highlight of each and every unit.

So my next test is coming up. And my body knows it. Because it's craving donuts like nobody's business. And seriously, it's everywhere! I turn on the TV, and there's Giada making her tiny, but delicious-looking Italian donuts on Food Network. I'll switch over to regular cable and Rachel Ray will be hawking donut holes for a commercial.

Donuts donuts everywhere! Except, sadly, in my belly.

I'm also craving fried chicken. Fried chicken and donuts. Random aside, anyone else see that Bonnie Hunt talk show where this chef combined Krispy Kreme donuts with fried chicken? You'd think it'd be everything you have ever wanted, but her face after tasting it implied that it was anything but. (Go to people.com and look for the September 10th They Said What video - it's entitled "Not everything tastes better fried," which I think is absolutely blasphemous.)

So anyways. Just wanted to tell you that my body is really craving some plain old deep fried goodness.

Ice ice baby

Pop, coke, or soda? Now you know - although my roommate makes a convincing argument that a mere 120,464 responses for the entire nation isn't all that much. "Maybe it was like, the two people from my county who say 'coke' who were surveyed." See, she's convinced that Florida isn't associated with the good ol' dirty South and all of its colloquialisms.

Not that it matters. In our apartment, we just ask for a Sunkist.

Yellow submarine

I bought a new highlighter for the start of immunology.  A mere twelve lectures in, and it's already running out of ink.  This is just a hunch, but I'm thinking it might be because I highlight every single word on the page. 

I don't know what to highlight when everything seems important!

Pon de replay

So here I go again. Today was my second first day of second year.

It's supposed to be exciting.  Adventurous, even.  I get to meet two hundred brand new people. My next best friend could be sitting right next to me, and this day - this first day of class - will be a story we'll tell our babies about over and over.

But it's not.  Not in the least.  Instead it's scary and alienating.  Because I'm one of the few strangers in this class. Everyone else has had a whole year of PBL sessions and ethics small groups to get to know each other and cultivate friends-forever-ships.  Everyone knows everyone else's name.  Everyone has designated sit-in-the-library-cubicle-next-to-me buddies.  And their bar-hopping, dance-happy friends are sitting bleary-eyed right next to them, large Dunkin Donuts' coffees in hand.

But they're just faces to me.  Unknown faces.  Beautiful yes, but intimidating as hell.

Today, I walked into that classroom, already full of chattering friends inquiring about summer breaks, summer loves, and even some summer research. I grabbed the first empty seat I saw, and being the big dorky nerd that I am, I pulled out my notes and computer, and carefully aligned my highlighter and pens in straight parallel lines, since I had nothing else to do. I never felt more alone in my whole life.

My coffeeshop study buddies and fellow lawnmower dancers are saving lives in the hospital, far far away from the terrors of classroom learning.

So here I go again. Time to make some brand-new friends and find new study buddies.  I know it's going to work out - it has to, right? But do me a favor and cross everything you've got for me.  

I got one facebook friend request today.  So that's a start.

He said she said

On my way to school today, I saw the cutest elderly couple about to cross the street.  They were both around five feet tall and she gingerly held onto his arm and walking stick, shuffling and taking five little steps for each of his larger ones.

They started crossing the street with only seven seconds remaining on the countdown. 

"Hold tight to me Sarah!"

"No way mister.  You're walking into traffic!"

"We can make it across! You're going to be late!"

"I'd rather be late for my appointment than early to my grave!"