Wild Thing

Amazing.



Childhood revisited! Can not wait.

Disturbia

Oh god. I thought I had left my awkwardly embarrassing days behind me.

Clearly I was mistaken.

Every year around this time, the M4s hold info sessions on the specialties that they've matched into to give us lemmings some guidance. I went to the pediatrics one this week, and it was good. Great, in fact. While it was definitely geared more towards the current third years - how to apply, how to interview, what to do after the interview, how to not freak out after the interview - it was good hearing everything anyways. Even if I'm more concerned about boards than anything right now. Oh god, that reminds me, I have to do laundry. Or buy more underwear.

But I digress.

So I know two of the pediatric M4s pretty well. One is my roommate (hi Lisa!), and the other is a friend from undergrad (hi, Ed!). Afterwards, Ed told me to send him an email if I had any specific M2 questions regarding peds. Which, of course I did - but I felt too self-conscious at the actual session to ask.

So I sat down the next morning and basically poured my heart out. How do I know if peds is right for me? Will I figure it out third year on the actual rotation, or will I know while working on other things? Is it a way of life? Does it depend on how you work? Is it more than that? Am I missing the big picture? What if it turns out that I don't want to go into peds?! Even though I've been talking about pediatrics since high school?! Oh god, I'm having a quarter-life crisis right now. GIVE ME THE ANSWER - WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE.

And even though it seems as though I'm exaggerating about the one-sided email freak-out session, I'm totally not. I then went on to tell him about all the flaws I saw in my resume, and asked a whole bunch of questions about what I could do to become a stronger applicant.

Because my application is weak sauce right now. For reals. Not for fakes. And as you can tell, I'm kinda freaking out about it.

And then I pressed send. Without proofreading anything. Not caring about the multitude of tangents and run-on sentences that were everywhere in my email. The way I saw it, Ed's a friend. He'll understand. He'll read through it and know what I'm asking for. And then he'll tell me that everything is going to be okay.

A couple hours passed. No reply.

Another couple hours passed. And then it popped up in my gmail. I opened it excitedly.

"Hey Michelle! Um, sorry, but I think you emailed the wrong Edward! This is Eddie, your fellow M2 classmate. Uh, I wish I could help you, but I don't know any more than you do. We'll be okay though.................. anyways, hope you can get in contact with the other Edward that you're trying to find!"

Oh my god.

Seriously, oh my god.

Turns out the Ed I was trying to email and the Eddie I ended up emailing share a last name that is different by only one letter. And I just let gmail fill in the email address for me and didn't even look at it twice.

But oh my god.

At least I now know that no one can truly die from embarassment, because if one could, I would have.

And no, I don't know Eddie well at all. But now he knows a whole heck of a lot about me and my insecurities. And my resume. And transcript. And exam scores.

Thank goodness it's spring break and I won't see Eddie in class for at least another three days. Although I'm hoping that when I do see him, the Earth will open up and swallow me whole. Is that too much to ask?

Picture to burn

You can always tell how depressed I am by the music I'm playing. When things are normal, I'll all about the Jonas Brothers and Demi Lovato. You know I'm happy when I'm playing my wholesome teenybopper chart-toppers. When things start going a little south for me and I'm starting to feel a little doom and gloom, I start playing my favorite female singer-songwriters. Sara Bareilles, Marie Digby, Lenka. They just get me and my mood. Sing it out, ladies.

When things are really bad, I revert back to country.

Now, in undergrad, I was big on country. After all, I did go to a Brad Paisley concert, knew about Taylor Swift long before she blew up the Billboard charts, rooted for Josh Gracin on American Idol, and watched the CMA awards religiously. But even though I have 250+ country songs on my hard drive alone, I've rarely listened to my country songs since June 2006.

Until now.

You see, studying for boards is demoralizing, to say the least.

This whole year, I've been studying for my classes. Drugs. Nerves. Kidney function. Heart murmurs. So on and so forth. And while others started studying for boards over winter break, I didn't have that luxury - because I'm not smart enough to not devote all of my time to my classes, if I want to have an ice cube's chance in hell to pass.

So now I'm playing the whole catch-up game. Finally signed up for a question bank. Cracked open that FirstAid that's been sitting uselessly on my desk for a while now. Wrote up a schedule.

But holy cow, it's depressing.

Going through these test questions sure is great for my self-esteem, as I realize that I'm getting more questions wrong than right...even though I'm doing topics that I was tested on less than a month ago. But the real kick-you-while-you're-down thing are the stats for each question. I mean, how am I supposed to feel about my intelligence level, when I find out that the question I just got wrong was answered correctly by 92% of the other people using the same testing service? And that the answer I chose was only picked 2% of the time? They might as well write in big bold letters: Congratulations Michelle! You're stupider than dirt! By the way, that's really dumb, in case you were wondering.

Yeah, my self-esteem is getting a thorough beating.

So now I've got country music blaring from my dinky laptop speakers, because hey, misery loves company. And country stars sing about their deadbeat dads and alcoholic girlfriends and lost dogs. If that's not misery, I don't know what is.

And somewhere, somehow - in my dumber than dirt, stupider than mud, unintelligent brain - that makes me feel a little better.

Dance with a match

Rachel
Hey, whaddaya say...2 years from now - we couples match?

Me
Hahahaha, dude, you don't want to be tied to me...I'll drag you down to North Dakota.

Rachel
Make it South Dakota and we have a deal.

---
Match Day is this Thursday! The day that all of my fourth year friends will find out where they will be going after graduation, where they'll be addressed as Dr. This and Dr. That, and actually be making an income. And I'm so excited for them, because the day that we've all been looking forward to is finally here for them. The endgame is in sight! Mind you, I'm going to miss them something crazy, but for now, I'm just going to be excited for them. Because, hey - I'll be where they are soon enough. And true friendships last forever.

Good luck to my fabulous almost-real-doctors friends. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you all, but I know that any program would be fortunate to have you.

Baby mine

Save the planet!! Save the planet!!

Because the polar ice caps are melting and thus, these cute young cubs won't be able to hunt and get food, and I'm sorry, I just looked at these adorable photos again, and if you did too, how can you not want to save the planet now?


So cute and cuddly and awwwww-inducing! (Original article here.)

If you're happy and you know it

Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away,
On my way to where the air is sweet
Can you tell me how to get,
how to get to Sesame Street?

Oh my goodness. I love Sesame Street purely because I love Elmo. And Ricky Gervais is the creator of The Office, and thus, the funniest person ever. Put them together, and you get the cutest comedy stand-up pair ever made.



I can't decide if my favorite part is when Elmo makes fun of the off-screen producer for completely losing control of the interview ("Come on, get it back! Get it back now!") or when he self-righteously tells Ricky Gervais that he wears pajamas because it's acting.

It's impossible not to smile. And giggle. Especially when Elmo does it too.

Here's a high four to you, Elmo.

Girl on TV

I'm learning a lot in neurology. State vs. channel domains, frontotemporal lobar degeneration, dementia, dementia with Lewy bodies, Lewy bodies with dementia, and so on and so forth.

After three straight hours of this, my brain was pretty much begging for a break. And our last lecturer of the day started his presentation off with a completely unrelated story about how neurology can take you Places and help you meet People. And his anecdote was the perfect antidote to Too Much Neurology Syndrome. Bahdup ching! I'm here all week, folks.

He was so cute, I couldn't summarize his story without it losing its appeal. So I downloaded the audio file and transcribed it here for you all.

So to set the stage, imagine a middle-aged, balding man, who's kind of short and a little on the plump side.

As luck would have it, I have a little story to tell you. I was flying back from Europe a few of weeks ago and before I got on the plane there was this commotion in front of me and there was this tall blonde attractive woman, and I was looking, trying to see and figure out who this woman was. And I couldn't quite see, being in the back of the boarding line, but I was fortunate enough to be upgraded into a first class seat, where you have room to relax...and I plunk down next to this woman.

And I was looking at her and she sort of looks familiar, but I don't quite know who she is, so I say, "Excuse me, you look kind of familiar, and there was a lot of commotion about you. Are you a famous person - a politician, an actress...?"

She goes, "Well, yeah, I'm an actress on a TV show...actually, it's a medical show."

And I go, "Oh! I'm a neurologist; I specialize in stroke."

[The class laughs because apparently the people who spend more time reading Perez Hilton than their syllabi know which famous blonde was recently in Europe and can anticipate the hidden joke about the actress and stroke. And aw, our cute little neurology professor is so naive he thinks that this famous person could possibly be interested in his profession.]

"My name is Dan Roberts*...what's your name?"

And she replied, "Katherine Heigl."

[The class laughs even more now, especially those who know of her plotline on TV.]

And so then I say, 'You know, I've heard of the name, but what show are you on?

[The class laughs, because everyone except for our neurologist lecturer apparently knows which TV show Miss Heigl desperately wants to be released from.]

...because I just don't watch medical shows on TV, because you know, they're all trash. But of course I didn't tell her that.

And she says, "Um yeah, I'm on a show called Grey's Anatomy."

And I say, Oh, Gray's Anatomy! [slight pause] Um, you know... I've heard of the show, but I can't tell you that I've actually seen it.

And then I thought for a minute, and I said, "but you know, I've read the book!"

[The class laughs uproariously. Some clapping ensues.]

And she looks at me, sort of like how a golder retriever does, when you say something they don't really understand, they sort of cock their head, you know?

And she says, "There's no book about our show..."

It just goes to show, you never know who you're going to meet on an airplane.

Dude, my neurology professor met ISOBEL STEVENS. If only he had met her and diagnosed her way back in October when all that Dead Denny Ghost stuff started...think how much happier the viewers would have been!


*Name changed to protect my very cute neurology professor from the wrath of all those Isobel Stevens lovin' fans out there who are angry that he compared her to a golden retriever.

Run to you

I am allergic to exercise.

Laugh if you want, but I'm totally serious! Ask my roommate and best friend. She's seen the proof.

Seriously, I don't even understand how this works physiologically, but five minutes into any type of vigorous activity, as soon as I start sweating out my pores, my legs and arms are overrun with hives.

This morning, the Boy and I were running a little behind schedule. He had a shuttle to catch, and I was dragging my feet, because honestly, who wants to go to four hours of neurology lectures? (That was rhetorical, so please don't chime in about how neuro is SO cool and how the brain is the most awesome thing in the whole wide world, second only to the SOLAR SYSTEM and DINOSAURS, but the brain is so awesome, everyone should go into neurosurgery! - and yes, Martin, I'm looking at you - because I absolutely abhor neuroanatomy pathways.) Anyways, he was walking REAL fast, and even my long legs couldn't keep up with him.

Martin
Michelle! Come on! I'm going to miss the shuttle.

[And now, imagine me, huffing and puffing away, like a little old woman with emphysema, as I try to keep up, but getting farther and farther behind.]

Me
Go. Go without me.

Martin
What?! I can't do that. Come on! Just a little faster.

Me
No. I can't. Walk. Any. Faster. It's okay. I promise. Just go. Leave me.

And after some more prodding, Martin took off. After all, the shuttle only comes once an hour, and goodness knows he couldn't be late. There were babies to be birthed, people! And so I watched him become a smaller and smaller speck in the distance, and then I realized that he had my umbrella.

A lot of colorful words went off in my head, as I tried to decide if I really needed it. Answer: yes, because the weathermen were predicting severe thunderstorms throughout the day, and if there's one thing I hate more than exercise, it's being dripping wet. And my hair looked good today.

So somehow, I reached in and grabbed all the energy inside me, and sprinted down the sidewalk to catch up.

Sprinted, people. Yes, I freaking ran. And I had a fifteen pound weight whacking my right thigh with every step too. (Which made for a nice beautiful purple bruise later, thanks computer!)

We made it on time of course - him to his shuttle, and me to my lecture hall a full forty minutes early. Which was thankfully empty. Because as soon as I got in there, I downed my large iced coffee, stripped off my scarf and sweater and just sat there, drowning in sweat and hives.

I really don't know why I'm telling you this story. Except to emphasize that I'm really out of shape. And I really am allergic to exercise.

Gives you hell

My brain decided to give up a couple of days ago. Call it burnout, call it laziness, call it spring fever, call it whatever you want, but last week, my brain threw up its proverbial arms and threw in the also-proverbial towel.

NO MORE. NO MORE INFORMATION, I SAY.

I don't know exactly what happened, but I just cannot cram any more facts into my head. Things go in, but more things go out. And I'm sitting here reading my syllabus, but totally not understanding. It's like AP French Literature all over again.

And the thing is, it almost seems pointless. I studied my butt off the past five weeks, and still, my exam yesterday was very difficult. Full of nitpicky questions about the heart that almost seemed a little bit unfair. What happened to just understanding the big concepts and having the little details fall in line? Thankfully, I wasn't alone. Almost all of my classmates walked out of the exam looking a little worse for wear, the same shell-shocked expression on my face mirrored on theirs.

But now, we have to learn what is arguably one of the harder units - neurology - in just two weeks. We have full lecture days leading all the way up to the day of the exam, and today, when I cracked open the syllabus to look at some notes, my brain just gave up.

To the course directors, congratulations. You have broken me.

The next two weeks are going to be pure hell. And my brain has decided it wants to take off for vacation two weeks early. Fantastic.

I just don't see how I'm going to pull through this.

Just to see you smile, pt 2

My father is cute and old, part 2.

From: Daddy
Date: 3/3/09
Subject: Re: YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAAY
To: Michelle

Hi! Michi;

Let me know if you need more $$. Mommy just arrived in Chicago. Enjoy her after your test. Good study and have a wonderful test!

LOL,
Daddy

Five minutes later, my dad shows up on Gchat, so I message him to let him know that my money situation is fine.

Michelle
Hey Daddy, yeah, I had to pay for boards last month, so that's why my credit card bill was through the roof. But I think I should be fine for this month. Thanks for checking though.

Dad
O.K. That's good to know. Have you talked to Mom yet?

Michelle
Yeah. Oh, btw...do you know if I have enough mileage to get a free airplane ticket?

Dad
What's btw? Between?

Michelle
No, it stands for "by the way."

Dad
Oh.

Michelle
Which reminds me...why do you always sign your emails with LOL?? What are you laughing at?!

Dad
What are you talking about?

Michelle
LOL stands for "laughing out loud."

Dad
Oh really? I thought it meant "lots of love."

Ten minutes later, I get another email from my father, which he sent to my sisters as well, where he proceeds to apologize for "laughing out loud" at the end of all of his recent emails, and explain that he was just confused by all these newfangled internet abbreviations.