This morning my blog idol Sarah (SHU) wrote a post about her pigeons of discontent. "Pigeons of discontent", a term coined by Gretchen Rubin at the Happiness Project, are ordinary problems that have "settled in to roost" and that interfere with our ability to be happy. After reading Sarah's and Gretchen's blog posts, I thought about my own pigeons of discontent and initially came up with a nice long list.
Not enough exercise
Not enough sleep
Not enough studying
Too much time with electronic devices (see December goal)
Too wasteful with my money
Etc.
Etc.
Etc.
I could go on. But as I thought about it, I realized that despite having a long list of potential self improvement projects, I am fundamentally happy. Not all the time, certainly not at 4 am on a night float shift when I want to toss my pager into the fires of Mordor, but overall I'm happy. And with very good reason. Balancing out my list of pigeons of discontent is a very long list of things to be happy about.
A job that I love (overall, and not at 4 am)
Good health
Wonderful family and friends
A long list of amazing life experiences that will hopefully keep getting longer
Etc.
Etc.
Etc.
I could go on again. But I won't, given that I was supposed to be sleeping an hour ago and my brain is slowly melting into post-night float goo. My very simple point is that, as much as I'd like to keep working on making life better, it's important for me to recognize that things are already very good. Everything that I'm considering for future goals - more exercise, more studying, fewer $5 Starbucks lattes - isn't a fundamental change that's necessary to my happiness, but rather just a tweaking. And that's a pretty good place to be in life.
(All that being said, I reserve the right to moan and complain about my life as much as I want in the future.)
(I also would like to request that the universe not view this as a taunt or a challenge to make my life miserable. The last time I made similar comments was just a few months before my Dad was diagnosed with cancer, so I would like to request that the universe give me a break and allow me my moment of happiness this time.)
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Dear Universe
I apologize for opening my ICU textbook and trying to read. Clearly, I taunted you by thinking that I might actually have a slow night and be able to get some stuff done. But did you really have to punish me by making everything go wrong at the same time? Two codes in one evening is intense - but two codes simultaneously? Really?
I'm sorry that I angered you so. From now on I will quietly play Angry Birds in the call room when things aren't busy so as not to attract attention to myself.
Sincerely,
Solitary Diner
(I am soooo done with night float.)
I'm sorry that I angered you so. From now on I will quietly play Angry Birds in the call room when things aren't busy so as not to attract attention to myself.
Sincerely,
Solitary Diner
(I am soooo done with night float.)
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Soup, A Duo
This is what it looks like outside my window right now. (Well, technically what it looked like in front of my brother's house yesterday morning, but things haven't changed much.)
When winter hits, I start craving soup. Warm, flavourful, comforting. Mmmmm. I've recently made mention of two of my favourite soup recipes - sweet potato soup and tortilla soup - and thought I'd share them here. I strongly recommend trying both of them. They're easy to make, they taste amazing, and they freeze beautifully. On days when I'm too lazy to cook (i.e. most days), it's wonderful to just grab a bowl of soup from the freezer and be done with supper. Or even better to come home to the smell of fresh tortilla soup cooking in the slow cooker.
Now I'm drooling. Hope you enjoy these.
Soup #1 - Sweet Potato Soup (From the Sundays At Moosewood Restaurant Cookbook):
Ingredients:
Saute the onions in the oil until translucent. Add the cayenne pepper, ginger root, and carrots and saute for a few more minutes. Add the sweet potatoes and water or stock and simmer until tender (at least 15 minutes).
Transfer the vegetables, stock, and tomato juice to a blender and blend until smooth. (You could try an immersion blender for this, but the soup is better if it's really smooth, so I think it's worth the time to transfer it to a blender.) Return the soup to the pan, add the peanut butter, and heat gently until warm. Add sugar if desired. Serve as is (my preference) or topped with scallions or chives.
Mmmmm.
Edited to add: I just finished making tonight's batch of this using natural peanut butter (i.e no sugar, salt, or emulsifier) instead of "regular" peanut butter, and I like the taste much better. It has less of a cloying flavour, and the flavour of the vegetables comes through much better. I would recommend giving it a try. You may have to give it a bit of extra salt to make up for the salt in the peanut butter.
* The terms "sweet potato" and "yam" are often interchanged (particularly up here in Canada), so for clarity this soup uses the orange, sweet tuber rather than the yellow, less sweet tuber.
Soup #2 - Tortilla Soup (Original recipe from my friend the Psychiatrist. Has been modified many times by me to yield my preferred version.)
Ingredients:
Place all of the ingredients in a slow cooker and mix well. Cook on Low setting for 6 to 8 hours (or however long you're at work) or on High setting for 3 to 4 hours. Remove the chicken from the slow cooker, shred, and return to soup. Serve topped with your choice of crushed tortilla chips, avocado, grated or crumbled cheese, and/or sour cream.
Mmmmm....so easy, yet so tasty.
When winter hits, I start craving soup. Warm, flavourful, comforting. Mmmmm. I've recently made mention of two of my favourite soup recipes - sweet potato soup and tortilla soup - and thought I'd share them here. I strongly recommend trying both of them. They're easy to make, they taste amazing, and they freeze beautifully. On days when I'm too lazy to cook (i.e. most days), it's wonderful to just grab a bowl of soup from the freezer and be done with supper. Or even better to come home to the smell of fresh tortilla soup cooking in the slow cooker.
Now I'm drooling. Hope you enjoy these.
Soup #1 - Sweet Potato Soup (From the Sundays At Moosewood Restaurant Cookbook):
Ingredients:
- 2 cups chopped onions
- 1 tablespoon peanut or vegetable oil
- 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
- 1 teaspoon grated peeled fresh ginger root
- 1 cup chopped carrots
- 2 cups chopped sweet potatoes*
- 4 cups vegetable stock or water (I use chicken stock unless I'm making it for a vegetarian.)
- 2 cups tomato juice (I use vegetable coctail)
- 1 cup smooth peanut butter
- 1 tablespoon sugar (optional)
- 1 cup chopped scallions or chives (I leave these out.)
Saute the onions in the oil until translucent. Add the cayenne pepper, ginger root, and carrots and saute for a few more minutes. Add the sweet potatoes and water or stock and simmer until tender (at least 15 minutes).
Transfer the vegetables, stock, and tomato juice to a blender and blend until smooth. (You could try an immersion blender for this, but the soup is better if it's really smooth, so I think it's worth the time to transfer it to a blender.) Return the soup to the pan, add the peanut butter, and heat gently until warm. Add sugar if desired. Serve as is (my preference) or topped with scallions or chives.
Mmmmm.
Edited to add: I just finished making tonight's batch of this using natural peanut butter (i.e no sugar, salt, or emulsifier) instead of "regular" peanut butter, and I like the taste much better. It has less of a cloying flavour, and the flavour of the vegetables comes through much better. I would recommend giving it a try. You may have to give it a bit of extra salt to make up for the salt in the peanut butter.
* The terms "sweet potato" and "yam" are often interchanged (particularly up here in Canada), so for clarity this soup uses the orange, sweet tuber rather than the yellow, less sweet tuber.
Soup #2 - Tortilla Soup (Original recipe from my friend the Psychiatrist. Has been modified many times by me to yield my preferred version.)
Ingredients:
- 1 pound raw boneless chicken (I use chicken breasts, but I think any boneless chicken would work. I will often use as little as 1/2 a pound, as I like my soup to have a lot of broth.)
- 15 ounce can diced tomatoes
- 10 ounce can enchilada sauce
- 1 medium onion, chopped
- 4 ounce can chopped green chile peppers
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 2, 14.5 ounce cans condensed chicken broth
- 14.5 ounce can water
- 1 teaspoon cumin
- 1 teaspoon chili powder
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 10 ounce package frozen corn (optional)
Place all of the ingredients in a slow cooker and mix well. Cook on Low setting for 6 to 8 hours (or however long you're at work) or on High setting for 3 to 4 hours. Remove the chicken from the slow cooker, shred, and return to soup. Serve topped with your choice of crushed tortilla chips, avocado, grated or crumbled cheese, and/or sour cream.
Mmmmm....so easy, yet so tasty.
Re-emergence
I was halfway through my third year of medical school when I found out that my Dad had melanoma. He had felt well up until the day he discovered a mass of enlarged lymph nodes in his right armpit, and then within a matter of weeks we learned that he was dying. Never before, and so far never since, has my life been thrown off balance so suddenly or to such an extreme.
A few weeks after the diagnosis, my Dad and I sat in front of a flickering candle and a rapidly diminishing bottle of wine, talking late into the night about many different things. We didn't talk much about the diagnosis itself - it was still too fresh a hurt to really acknowledge - but we talked about how I was doing with "things" and how I was "holding up". I distinctly remember my Dad telling me that one of his greatest fears was that his disease would derail me from my studies and keep me from finishing my medical degree on time. He didn't say it out loud, but I'm sure he had an even deeper fear that his death might be enough to throw me off my path entirely and prevent me from ever finishing.
During that conversation, I promised my Dad in no uncertain terms that I would finish my degree, and that I would do so with my classmates. At the same time, I gave myself permission to make whatever concessions were necessary to keep that promise. My personal health, fiscal responsibility, a clean apartment - all of these things and others could be sacrificed in the interest of just getting through. For the seven months until my Dad died, and for almost two years afterwards, I lived in survival mode, doing only what was necessary to get through medical school and then residency.
Things suffered as a result. My pant size has increased in parallel to my dependency on fast food establishments to feed me. My student loan...ugh...that's all I really need to say. (Fast food isn't cheap.) The only thing keeping my apartment from descending into absolute squalor is a housekeeper who visits regularly and does the work for me. I haven't been taking care of my life in the way I've wanted to, but I did keep my promise.
There comes a time, however, when self preservation becomes an excuse rather than a necessity. I don't live in the midst of crisis or turbulent change anymore. My life, for now at least, is relatively stable. As busy and demanding as residency may be, I still have energy and mental reserves to do more than just get through. So slowly, slowly, I'm trying once again to focus on all the things that I've neglected over the past almost three years.
At the beginning of November, I wrote a post about goal-setting and about gradually making changes to move towards where one wants to be in life. My November goal was to start meal planning, and despite being a bit thrown off by the chaos of night float, it turned out really well. In the past month, I've had very little fast food and have brought almost all of my meals to work. I've made multiple home-cooked meals and discovered that it actually isn't that hard to cook during residency. (Except during night float.) And I can only imagine how much money I've saved over the last month by not being dependent on other people to cook for me. It's been a very positive change, and one that I plan to continue going forward.
If you're interested, here's week five of meal planning. (Week four never quite made it onto the blog due to the busyness of night float, but I did write a meal plan and follow it somewhat.)
Saturday: Dinner (sushi) with A. Cook more sweet potato soup for the freezer. (Previous batch having already been eaten. Mmmmm.)
Sunday: Chicken curry.
Monday - Wednesday: Leftovers. (I'm finishing up night float and have realized that I will not cook after a 14-hour night shift.)
Thursday: Sesame-soy meatballs with rice.
Friday: Tortilla soup. (Crockpot recipe that will cook while I work.)
As for December, my goal is to free up more time for important things. I want to have some time to destress every day, but lately I've allowed my destressing time to balloon out far more than it should. So for December, my goal is to spend no more than an hour and a half per day with electronic forms of entertainment (tv, internet, this blog). That still seems like a ridiculously long amount of time, but sadly it's less than I've been spending lately. I need to exercise a bit of self discipline when it comes to time killers like Facebook and internet surfing. Along the same lines, I'm also committing to not letting my online activities spill over into my other tasks. I have a bad habit of checking email/Facebook/blog comments while I'm trying to study, and I'm going to work on stopping this. I need to start making better use of my study time so that I can do more than just "get by" during my residency.
A few weeks after the diagnosis, my Dad and I sat in front of a flickering candle and a rapidly diminishing bottle of wine, talking late into the night about many different things. We didn't talk much about the diagnosis itself - it was still too fresh a hurt to really acknowledge - but we talked about how I was doing with "things" and how I was "holding up". I distinctly remember my Dad telling me that one of his greatest fears was that his disease would derail me from my studies and keep me from finishing my medical degree on time. He didn't say it out loud, but I'm sure he had an even deeper fear that his death might be enough to throw me off my path entirely and prevent me from ever finishing.
During that conversation, I promised my Dad in no uncertain terms that I would finish my degree, and that I would do so with my classmates. At the same time, I gave myself permission to make whatever concessions were necessary to keep that promise. My personal health, fiscal responsibility, a clean apartment - all of these things and others could be sacrificed in the interest of just getting through. For the seven months until my Dad died, and for almost two years afterwards, I lived in survival mode, doing only what was necessary to get through medical school and then residency.
Things suffered as a result. My pant size has increased in parallel to my dependency on fast food establishments to feed me. My student loan...ugh...that's all I really need to say. (Fast food isn't cheap.) The only thing keeping my apartment from descending into absolute squalor is a housekeeper who visits regularly and does the work for me. I haven't been taking care of my life in the way I've wanted to, but I did keep my promise.
There comes a time, however, when self preservation becomes an excuse rather than a necessity. I don't live in the midst of crisis or turbulent change anymore. My life, for now at least, is relatively stable. As busy and demanding as residency may be, I still have energy and mental reserves to do more than just get through. So slowly, slowly, I'm trying once again to focus on all the things that I've neglected over the past almost three years.
At the beginning of November, I wrote a post about goal-setting and about gradually making changes to move towards where one wants to be in life. My November goal was to start meal planning, and despite being a bit thrown off by the chaos of night float, it turned out really well. In the past month, I've had very little fast food and have brought almost all of my meals to work. I've made multiple home-cooked meals and discovered that it actually isn't that hard to cook during residency. (Except during night float.) And I can only imagine how much money I've saved over the last month by not being dependent on other people to cook for me. It's been a very positive change, and one that I plan to continue going forward.
If you're interested, here's week five of meal planning. (Week four never quite made it onto the blog due to the busyness of night float, but I did write a meal plan and follow it somewhat.)
Saturday: Dinner (sushi) with A. Cook more sweet potato soup for the freezer. (Previous batch having already been eaten. Mmmmm.)
Sunday: Chicken curry.
Monday - Wednesday: Leftovers. (I'm finishing up night float and have realized that I will not cook after a 14-hour night shift.)
Thursday: Sesame-soy meatballs with rice.
Friday: Tortilla soup. (Crockpot recipe that will cook while I work.)
As for December, my goal is to free up more time for important things. I want to have some time to destress every day, but lately I've allowed my destressing time to balloon out far more than it should. So for December, my goal is to spend no more than an hour and a half per day with electronic forms of entertainment (tv, internet, this blog). That still seems like a ridiculously long amount of time, but sadly it's less than I've been spending lately. I need to exercise a bit of self discipline when it comes to time killers like Facebook and internet surfing. Along the same lines, I'm also committing to not letting my online activities spill over into my other tasks. I have a bad habit of checking email/Facebook/blog comments while I'm trying to study, and I'm going to work on stopping this. I need to start making better use of my study time so that I can do more than just "get by" during my residency.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
The Weekend
Snow is falling outside, keeping people away from the emergency room and my pager silent (for now, at least). In some ways the waiting is the worst - not knowing if or when I'm going to get summoned from my semi-comfortable call room to go back to work. Regardless of what happens, I'll be leaving in just over three hours, so I'm happy. Almost time to relax.
After my previous post in which I lamented not seeing more of my family, it occurred to me that I should probably just do something about that, so I invited myself to a post-night shift breakfast at my brother's house this morning. Homemade quiche, decaf coffee, and two giggling redheads sounds like the perfect end to my "day". In the evening, I'm off to visit with my friend A, who is doing well enough that she has a weekend pass away from the hospital. Here's hoping that this is the beginning of good things for her.
Being on night float always makes me feel a bit sorry for myself. It stresses me out to be the person in charge; I hate being awake when everyone is asleep and asleep when everyone is awake; and I miss having time in my day for things outside of work. But when I look around me at all the patients who don't get to leave, I realize that I really don't have much to complain about.
After my previous post in which I lamented not seeing more of my family, it occurred to me that I should probably just do something about that, so I invited myself to a post-night shift breakfast at my brother's house this morning. Homemade quiche, decaf coffee, and two giggling redheads sounds like the perfect end to my "day". In the evening, I'm off to visit with my friend A, who is doing well enough that she has a weekend pass away from the hospital. Here's hoping that this is the beginning of good things for her.
Being on night float always makes me feel a bit sorry for myself. It stresses me out to be the person in charge; I hate being awake when everyone is asleep and asleep when everyone is awake; and I miss having time in my day for things outside of work. But when I look around me at all the patients who don't get to leave, I realize that I really don't have much to complain about.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Holiday Dread
Hey look...I have free time at work! (So far. Universe, please don't smite me by taking away my delightfully wonderful free time. I've had enough of the smiting lately.) Am I using this free time to read the ICU textbook I talked about in my last post? Umm.....no.... but I will get to it after getting a few thoughts down here.
At about this time every year, I start to get a bit twitchy about the rapid approach of Christmas. It's not that I dislike Christmas - even atheists enjoy time off from work, pretty lights, and free reign to eat as much unhealthy food as you want - it's that I abhor Christmas shopping. I hate spending half an hour driving through a parking lot in search of the elusive empty spot. I hate the crowds of people abandoning all social graces as they elbow each other to get at the latest "Made in China" plastic doohickey. I hate feeling like my love for the people in my life is going to be measured by how good a gift I manage to find them. And I hate that I'm adding to the bazillion dollars of debt that I already have buying items that will be tossed in my nieces' overflowing toy room, never to be seen again.
If I had my wish, I wouldn't buy any Christmas gifts. Instead, I would take the time that would otherwise be spent in the mall and spend it with my family and friends. I would take my nieces to the Muppet Movie (you know, for their enjoyment....not mine....noooo....I'm a grown adult...I definitely have no desire to see the Muppet Movie and would be doing it purely because I am a self-sacrificing aunt who will stop at nothing to make her nieces happy). I would spend the night at my Mom's house and watch cheesy movies in bed with her while getting buttery popcorn all over her clean sheets. I'd have my friends over to my apartment for egg nog and Christmas tree decorating and put so much rum in the egg nog that the tree would qualify as modern art. All of these things sound infinitely better than tripping a mother in Toys R Us to get my hands on the last of the hottest new kids toy before she does.
Unfortunately, despite pleas to give up on gifts, I've been told in no uncertain terms that I am expected to participate in the family gift exchange. Well, actually I've been told that everyone else will be buying gifts for me, and only a Grinch wouldn't buy gifts in return. So off I will go to the mall, and I will participate in my annual ritual of desperation as I run from store to store trying to find something meaningful for the people I love. Can't wait.
---
On a related note, what actually prompted me to start writing this post was my realization that tomorrow is Buy Nothing Day. Buy Nothing Day was started 20 years ago by a group of Vancouverites called the AdBusters, and it encourages people to not make any purchases on that day as a means of reflecting on the rampant consumerism of our society. (The choice of Black Friday was entirely intentional.) I have participated in it every year that I've remembered (which sadly isn't that many), as I think it's important to periodically step back from our consuming and reflect on whether it's really contributing to our well-being. Just putting this out there....feel free to participate if you like or to think about what a crazy, granola-eating, tree-hugging hippy I must be while you're camped out in your tent waiting to be the first person in Walmart on Black Friday.
---
P.S. I apologize for being so delinquent with replying to comments lately, but my internet decided it didn't like me anymore. The problem has now been fixed, and I will try to get caught up in the next few days.
Alright...now for that ICU book.
At about this time every year, I start to get a bit twitchy about the rapid approach of Christmas. It's not that I dislike Christmas - even atheists enjoy time off from work, pretty lights, and free reign to eat as much unhealthy food as you want - it's that I abhor Christmas shopping. I hate spending half an hour driving through a parking lot in search of the elusive empty spot. I hate the crowds of people abandoning all social graces as they elbow each other to get at the latest "Made in China" plastic doohickey. I hate feeling like my love for the people in my life is going to be measured by how good a gift I manage to find them. And I hate that I'm adding to the bazillion dollars of debt that I already have buying items that will be tossed in my nieces' overflowing toy room, never to be seen again.
If I had my wish, I wouldn't buy any Christmas gifts. Instead, I would take the time that would otherwise be spent in the mall and spend it with my family and friends. I would take my nieces to the Muppet Movie (you know, for their enjoyment....not mine....noooo....I'm a grown adult...I definitely have no desire to see the Muppet Movie and would be doing it purely because I am a self-sacrificing aunt who will stop at nothing to make her nieces happy). I would spend the night at my Mom's house and watch cheesy movies in bed with her while getting buttery popcorn all over her clean sheets. I'd have my friends over to my apartment for egg nog and Christmas tree decorating and put so much rum in the egg nog that the tree would qualify as modern art. All of these things sound infinitely better than tripping a mother in Toys R Us to get my hands on the last of the hottest new kids toy before she does.
Unfortunately, despite pleas to give up on gifts, I've been told in no uncertain terms that I am expected to participate in the family gift exchange. Well, actually I've been told that everyone else will be buying gifts for me, and only a Grinch wouldn't buy gifts in return. So off I will go to the mall, and I will participate in my annual ritual of desperation as I run from store to store trying to find something meaningful for the people I love. Can't wait.
---
On a related note, what actually prompted me to start writing this post was my realization that tomorrow is Buy Nothing Day. Buy Nothing Day was started 20 years ago by a group of Vancouverites called the AdBusters, and it encourages people to not make any purchases on that day as a means of reflecting on the rampant consumerism of our society. (The choice of Black Friday was entirely intentional.) I have participated in it every year that I've remembered (which sadly isn't that many), as I think it's important to periodically step back from our consuming and reflect on whether it's really contributing to our well-being. Just putting this out there....feel free to participate if you like or to think about what a crazy, granola-eating, tree-hugging hippy I must be while you're camped out in your tent waiting to be the first person in Walmart on Black Friday.
---
P.S. I apologize for being so delinquent with replying to comments lately, but my internet decided it didn't like me anymore. The problem has now been fixed, and I will try to get caught up in the next few days.
Alright...now for that ICU book.
Grumble, Grumble.
Yesterday was one of those days.
It started with discovering that my internet was down and unresponsive to my limited attempts at repair (i.e. restarting the computer and the router), necessitating an in-home service visit for tomorrow afternoon. For while I'm supposed to be sleeping.
Then I couldn't sleep. I was wired when I got home from the previous night's shift and spent over an hour ceiling-gazing before finally dozing off. After about 4 hours of sleep, the cats decided I'd had enough and started alternately poking me in the face, yowling by the empty food dishes, and zooming around the apartment at full speed. Apparently it was time for me to get up.
Then I left my pager at home when I headed out to my night shift. And my dinner in my schoolbag when I got to work. By the time I took a supper break eight hours later, I wasn't willing to risk eating the room-temperature pork roast that had been lovingly packaged for me by a family friend, so I was forced to subsist on the few non-perishable items in my bag. Motts applesauce and a granola bar just weren't enough to keep my stomach from rumbling like mad until the cafeteria opened at 7 am and I could get real food.
Initially, today was looking like a much better day. I managed to get 7 hours of restorative sleep, nothing was left at home when I headed to work, and my tasty dinner (which I'm eating while typing this) made it into the fridge. The emergency room was a five-letter word that starts with "q" that no one dares utter while on call, so I was optimistic that I might get to open the ICU training course textbook that I need to finish in the next 1 1/2 weeks. And then, moments after I sat down in the residents' lounge and cracked the spine on my textbook, the call came.
Very ill-sounding voice: "Solitary? This is the medical student on call. I'm not sure I should be going into patient rooms. I'm feeling kind of sick."
SD: "How sick are you?" (Yes, I'm that asshole.)
Med student: "Well, I'm feeling kind of unsteady on my feet, and I'm a little dizzy. The nurse just measured my temperature at 38.9 C." (102 F)
SD: (Long pause while staring longingly at page one of the textbook.) "Go home. I'll cover for you."
Med student (sounding slightly perkier): "Are you sure? I could take some Tylenol to bring the fever down. And the nurse has offered me some Gravol for the nausea."
SD: (Shorter pause while contemplating the ethics of sending a sick medical student in to examine a febrile neutropenic patient.): "Go home."
In the grand scheme of things, having to be a ward intern for a night is a ridiculously small deal. But I'm still in a crotchety mood. I may need a full sugar Coke tonight.
It started with discovering that my internet was down and unresponsive to my limited attempts at repair (i.e. restarting the computer and the router), necessitating an in-home service visit for tomorrow afternoon. For while I'm supposed to be sleeping.
Then I couldn't sleep. I was wired when I got home from the previous night's shift and spent over an hour ceiling-gazing before finally dozing off. After about 4 hours of sleep, the cats decided I'd had enough and started alternately poking me in the face, yowling by the empty food dishes, and zooming around the apartment at full speed. Apparently it was time for me to get up.
Then I left my pager at home when I headed out to my night shift. And my dinner in my schoolbag when I got to work. By the time I took a supper break eight hours later, I wasn't willing to risk eating the room-temperature pork roast that had been lovingly packaged for me by a family friend, so I was forced to subsist on the few non-perishable items in my bag. Motts applesauce and a granola bar just weren't enough to keep my stomach from rumbling like mad until the cafeteria opened at 7 am and I could get real food.
Initially, today was looking like a much better day. I managed to get 7 hours of restorative sleep, nothing was left at home when I headed to work, and my tasty dinner (which I'm eating while typing this) made it into the fridge. The emergency room was a five-letter word that starts with "q" that no one dares utter while on call, so I was optimistic that I might get to open the ICU training course textbook that I need to finish in the next 1 1/2 weeks. And then, moments after I sat down in the residents' lounge and cracked the spine on my textbook, the call came.
Very ill-sounding voice: "Solitary? This is the medical student on call. I'm not sure I should be going into patient rooms. I'm feeling kind of sick."
SD: "How sick are you?" (Yes, I'm that asshole.)
Med student: "Well, I'm feeling kind of unsteady on my feet, and I'm a little dizzy. The nurse just measured my temperature at 38.9 C." (102 F)
SD: (Long pause while staring longingly at page one of the textbook.) "Go home. I'll cover for you."
Med student (sounding slightly perkier): "Are you sure? I could take some Tylenol to bring the fever down. And the nurse has offered me some Gravol for the nausea."
SD: (Shorter pause while contemplating the ethics of sending a sick medical student in to examine a febrile neutropenic patient.): "Go home."
In the grand scheme of things, having to be a ward intern for a night is a ridiculously small deal. But I'm still in a crotchety mood. I may need a full sugar Coke tonight.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Happiness on Night Float
...is discovering that you have enough change for a bottle of Coke Zero.
Double happiness is finding a misplaced Halloween-sized box of Smarties in the process of searching for said change.
Mmmmmm.
Double happiness is finding a misplaced Halloween-sized box of Smarties in the process of searching for said change.
Mmmmmm.
Monday, November 21, 2011
A Slightly Rambling Middle of the Night Post
Last night, I spent many middle of the night hours awake and alone in my apartment in an attempt to maintain my night float sleep schedule over the weekend. I'm not very good at being productive during the night, so I spent a lot of that time probing the depths of my PVR for something worthwhile to watch. In amongst multiple Food Network shows and Big Bang Theory reruns, I stumbled across an episode of the Nature of Things that I'd impulsively recorded because it had a medical bent. (And because I love the narrator, David Suzuki, who is Canada's version of Morgan Freeman.)
The episode features Gabor Mate, a Vancouver physician who works with addicts in his city's Downtown Eastside. For anyone not familiar with Vancouver, the Downtown Eastside is an area that is affected by social issues, particularly drug abuse, to an unprecedented degree. On my first visit to Vancouver, I inadvertently ended up on a bus that went through the area, and I was shocked and appalled at the magnitude of human suffering that I witnessed just in passing through. Words fail me, so for a better understanding of life in the area, I would suggest watching even just the first few minutes of the Nature of Things episode (available here).
What struck me about the episode was Dr. Mate's concept of addiction. Early on, he describes addiction as a response to emotional pain and states that one must understand and address that emotional pain in order to overcome addiction. In his words: "The salient question in addiction is always, not 'Why the addiction?' but 'Why the pain?'."
In his work with addicts, Dr. Mate uses traditional South American medicines and ceremonies to help them remember and work through the emotional trauma and pain that they've experienced in their lives. Key to doing this is learning to be present in painful situations and to experience them rather than trying to escape them through addiction. Near the end of the episode, Dr. Mate asked a question of one of his patients that has stuck with me and been milling around in my brain ever since: "The question is, can you be with your own pain? Can you be with your sadness?"
Dr. Mate's question resonated with me for many reasons, one of which is the relevance of his question to my thoughts on palliative care, which I started to address in my post from two nights ago. I realized early on in my training that to talk with a patient who is dying - to really talk with them on more than a superficial level - requires being able to "be" with the patient's pain and sadness. But what I'm learning as I go on is that this also requires the physician to "be" with his or her own pain and sadness. Bearing witness to people dying is painful, as it's a reminder of our our own vulnerabilities and of the inevitability of suffering in life. Part of the reason we, as doctors, don't always talk to patients about prognosis and palliation is because it brings up our own pain, and we aren't always able to deal with that.
Hmmm...I feel like this is a post that needs to simmer a bit before I publish it, but I also know that it'll sit unpublished until next weekend if I don't do it now. (Working 14 hour shifts isn't conducive to writing serious blog posts.) So here are my middle of the night thoughts, mostly unedited. It's almost morning now, so clearly it's time for me to go to sleep.
The episode features Gabor Mate, a Vancouver physician who works with addicts in his city's Downtown Eastside. For anyone not familiar with Vancouver, the Downtown Eastside is an area that is affected by social issues, particularly drug abuse, to an unprecedented degree. On my first visit to Vancouver, I inadvertently ended up on a bus that went through the area, and I was shocked and appalled at the magnitude of human suffering that I witnessed just in passing through. Words fail me, so for a better understanding of life in the area, I would suggest watching even just the first few minutes of the Nature of Things episode (available here).
What struck me about the episode was Dr. Mate's concept of addiction. Early on, he describes addiction as a response to emotional pain and states that one must understand and address that emotional pain in order to overcome addiction. In his words: "The salient question in addiction is always, not 'Why the addiction?' but 'Why the pain?'."
In his work with addicts, Dr. Mate uses traditional South American medicines and ceremonies to help them remember and work through the emotional trauma and pain that they've experienced in their lives. Key to doing this is learning to be present in painful situations and to experience them rather than trying to escape them through addiction. Near the end of the episode, Dr. Mate asked a question of one of his patients that has stuck with me and been milling around in my brain ever since: "The question is, can you be with your own pain? Can you be with your sadness?"
Dr. Mate's question resonated with me for many reasons, one of which is the relevance of his question to my thoughts on palliative care, which I started to address in my post from two nights ago. I realized early on in my training that to talk with a patient who is dying - to really talk with them on more than a superficial level - requires being able to "be" with the patient's pain and sadness. But what I'm learning as I go on is that this also requires the physician to "be" with his or her own pain and sadness. Bearing witness to people dying is painful, as it's a reminder of our our own vulnerabilities and of the inevitability of suffering in life. Part of the reason we, as doctors, don't always talk to patients about prognosis and palliation is because it brings up our own pain, and we aren't always able to deal with that.
Hmmm...I feel like this is a post that needs to simmer a bit before I publish it, but I also know that it'll sit unpublished until next weekend if I don't do it now. (Working 14 hour shifts isn't conducive to writing serious blog posts.) So here are my middle of the night thoughts, mostly unedited. It's almost morning now, so clearly it's time for me to go to sleep.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The Dying Process
Last night I got slammed. There were crises on both wards, a seemingly endless list of patients to screen for admission to Medicine, and angry emergency room doctors pestering me about why I hadn't seen their patients yet. (You know, because I'd been sitting in my call room eating crumpets and tea all evening.)
I loved it. As much as I wish for quiet nights and dread the sound of my pager going off, I actually prefer the busy nights. I love the sound of my hurried footsteps echoing through empty hospital corridors, the slashes through completed tasks on my to-do list, the TBADM (to be admitted direct to medicine) icon that appears on the EPR every time I admit another patient. I'm always stressed at the beginning of a busy night, worried that I'm not fast enough or competent enough to complete everything, but I quickly settle into my groove and start enjoying myself. There's an incomparable satisfaction that comes from doing the work that you've devoted your life to doing.
Towards the end of the night, as I was entering the orders for my last patient and starting to mentally wind down, I got a desperate page from one of the wards about a patient who was crashing. She was "no codes", so there would be no ICU team to help. This one was entirely on me. My heart and my mind raced as I yelled orders into the phone and then ran up to the ward to lay eyes on the patient. "Airway, breathing, circulation. Airway, breathing, circulation." I repeated these words in my head like a mantra as I ran up the stairs, reminding myself of the algorithms and the processes that guide emergent care.
In the stairwell, mere steps from the ward, I suddenly remembered why the patient's name had sounded so familiar to me. I had seen her previously on a consult service and had been horrified by the severity of disease on her CT scans. The only reason she hadn't been made palliative at the time of diagnosis was the suddenness of it, the need for time to process and come to some degree of acceptance. Entering the room, seeing how sick the patient had become, hearing the screaming of multiple alarms fighting with each other for attention, it became clear that there wasn't any more time.
I'm usually slow to make decisions, taking time to weigh the options and ensure that no detail has been overlooked. I like to think it makes me a good resident, although some might argue that it just makes me slow. But in this situation, there was no deliberation. My role in this situation wasn't to examine or investigate or intervene - it was to ease the passage out of life as much as I possibly could. Orders were placed for morphine and scopolamine, family was called, and the transition to comfort care was made. There was a palpable change in the patient and the atmosphere around her after the decision was made - from panic to calm, almost instantly.
If there's one thing I've come to believe fiercely in over my time in medicine, it's aggressive palliation. I've been witness to many deaths in my training - both good and bad - and there are few things worse than a death that involves unnecessary pain and physical suffering. The worst part of it is that it is often us, the providers of care, who are responsible for not palliating dying patients soon enough or well enough. We're often unwilling to recognize the point at which we run out of options for curing a disease or extending life, as doing so is admitting failure, acknowledging that despite all of our tests and machines and iv bags filled with magic potions we are still limited in what we can do. Even when we acknowledge this reality, we often avoid having the difficult conversations with patients and their families because they make us uncomfortable. And our patients suffer as a result of our cowardice.
When my Dad was diagnosed with melanoma, one of his biggest fears was of the process of dying itself. He had had a lifelong fear of drowning, and he was terrified of gasping for air from the tumours in his lungs. Fortunately, he had a fabulous oncologist who was involved in pain and symptom control who ensured that he rarely suffered physically. And he had two children in medicine, both ardent supporters of palliative medicine, who assured him that he was always in control of his treatment and that we would do everything possible to keep him from suffering. Having seen the difference that this made in the dying process for my Dad, I view it as somewhat of a personal mission to ensure that all of my patients receive this same level of care. While I can't save everyone from dying, I can make the process as bearable as possible.
I loved it. As much as I wish for quiet nights and dread the sound of my pager going off, I actually prefer the busy nights. I love the sound of my hurried footsteps echoing through empty hospital corridors, the slashes through completed tasks on my to-do list, the TBADM (to be admitted direct to medicine) icon that appears on the EPR every time I admit another patient. I'm always stressed at the beginning of a busy night, worried that I'm not fast enough or competent enough to complete everything, but I quickly settle into my groove and start enjoying myself. There's an incomparable satisfaction that comes from doing the work that you've devoted your life to doing.
Towards the end of the night, as I was entering the orders for my last patient and starting to mentally wind down, I got a desperate page from one of the wards about a patient who was crashing. She was "no codes", so there would be no ICU team to help. This one was entirely on me. My heart and my mind raced as I yelled orders into the phone and then ran up to the ward to lay eyes on the patient. "Airway, breathing, circulation. Airway, breathing, circulation." I repeated these words in my head like a mantra as I ran up the stairs, reminding myself of the algorithms and the processes that guide emergent care.
In the stairwell, mere steps from the ward, I suddenly remembered why the patient's name had sounded so familiar to me. I had seen her previously on a consult service and had been horrified by the severity of disease on her CT scans. The only reason she hadn't been made palliative at the time of diagnosis was the suddenness of it, the need for time to process and come to some degree of acceptance. Entering the room, seeing how sick the patient had become, hearing the screaming of multiple alarms fighting with each other for attention, it became clear that there wasn't any more time.
I'm usually slow to make decisions, taking time to weigh the options and ensure that no detail has been overlooked. I like to think it makes me a good resident, although some might argue that it just makes me slow. But in this situation, there was no deliberation. My role in this situation wasn't to examine or investigate or intervene - it was to ease the passage out of life as much as I possibly could. Orders were placed for morphine and scopolamine, family was called, and the transition to comfort care was made. There was a palpable change in the patient and the atmosphere around her after the decision was made - from panic to calm, almost instantly.
If there's one thing I've come to believe fiercely in over my time in medicine, it's aggressive palliation. I've been witness to many deaths in my training - both good and bad - and there are few things worse than a death that involves unnecessary pain and physical suffering. The worst part of it is that it is often us, the providers of care, who are responsible for not palliating dying patients soon enough or well enough. We're often unwilling to recognize the point at which we run out of options for curing a disease or extending life, as doing so is admitting failure, acknowledging that despite all of our tests and machines and iv bags filled with magic potions we are still limited in what we can do. Even when we acknowledge this reality, we often avoid having the difficult conversations with patients and their families because they make us uncomfortable. And our patients suffer as a result of our cowardice.
When my Dad was diagnosed with melanoma, one of his biggest fears was of the process of dying itself. He had had a lifelong fear of drowning, and he was terrified of gasping for air from the tumours in his lungs. Fortunately, he had a fabulous oncologist who was involved in pain and symptom control who ensured that he rarely suffered physically. And he had two children in medicine, both ardent supporters of palliative medicine, who assured him that he was always in control of his treatment and that we would do everything possible to keep him from suffering. Having seen the difference that this made in the dying process for my Dad, I view it as somewhat of a personal mission to ensure that all of my patients receive this same level of care. While I can't save everyone from dying, I can make the process as bearable as possible.
Friday, November 18, 2011
It's Possible That I Was Tired
After my lovely breakfast out yesterday, I came home and decided to have a "quick" nap. Fortunately I set the alarm, as I fell into a dead sleep from which I didn't awake until it went off at 3:30 PM.
My night at work was ridiculously slow, with only one consult and two admissions to review with the medical student, so I made it to the call room by 11:30 PM. Although I initially couldn't sleep because of my long afternoon nap, I eventually fell asleep from about 2 am until 7:30 am.
Coming home today, I wasn't entirely certain what to do with myself, as I'd already gotten essentially a full night's sleep between my afternoon nap and my time in the call room. But I was starting to doze on the couch by about 10 am, so I decided to head to bed - where I slept for 6 more hours. For anyone who's interested, that's approximately 15 1/2 hours of sleep in just over a day.
Ahhhhh....the single biggest thing that I dislike about being a resident is not getting enough sleep. But when I do finally manage to get (somewhat) caught up, I feel like a million bucks. If tonight is another slow night (which is entirely possible thanks to a backlog of patients in the emergency room), I may actually have the energy to do something productive. Like emailing fellowship program directors.
My night at work was ridiculously slow, with only one consult and two admissions to review with the medical student, so I made it to the call room by 11:30 PM. Although I initially couldn't sleep because of my long afternoon nap, I eventually fell asleep from about 2 am until 7:30 am.
Coming home today, I wasn't entirely certain what to do with myself, as I'd already gotten essentially a full night's sleep between my afternoon nap and my time in the call room. But I was starting to doze on the couch by about 10 am, so I decided to head to bed - where I slept for 6 more hours. For anyone who's interested, that's approximately 15 1/2 hours of sleep in just over a day.
Ahhhhh....the single biggest thing that I dislike about being a resident is not getting enough sleep. But when I do finally manage to get (somewhat) caught up, I feel like a million bucks. If tonight is another slow night (which is entirely possible thanks to a backlog of patients in the emergency room), I may actually have the energy to do something productive. Like emailing fellowship program directors.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Solitary Breakfasts
It’s 9:30 am, and I’m sitting alone in my favourite neighbourhood café awaiting the arrival of “the usual” – a café breakfast with two eggs over medium, bacon, and sourdough toast. Mmmmm. I hate to think about how much money I’ve spent in this place over the years – it was my favourite study place during my pre-clerkship med school days, and it’s become my go-to restaurant when I’m post-call or am too tired to cook but don’t want takeout. The food is consistently good, the atmosphere is relaxed, and the person who selects the music that plays overhead is pure genius.
At least 90% of the time, I eat here by myself. In the beginning, this used to embarrass me. I would slink into line with all the groups of people awaiting tables and quietly mutter “just one” when asked how many people were in my party. Once I was seated, I would pull out a textbook and start scribbling notes in the hope that anyone watching would think that I was alone only because I was too busy to socialize with my myriad of friends. I didn’t like being the person who was eating alone, and I liked the thought that other people were observing my aloneness and judging me for it even less.
But slowly, my thoughts have changed. Over time, I’ve come to appreciate the unique pleasure of eating alone, particularly in a restaurant in which the wait staff treat me well despite being just one person at a table for two. It’s nice to be able to eat at my own pace, undistracted from the great food by conversation that I may or may not be interested in. I enjoy spreading a newspaper across the entire table and slowly flipping through every page (except the sports section). This time by myself – free from textbooks or other obligations – has become my much cherished escape from the business of life.
And clearly I’m not alone in being alone. Looking around, there are at least five other people eating by themselves in my favourite café. Apparently I’m a trend setter.
---
If you’re wondering why I’m having breakfast at this time of day instead of being immersed in work on the TB ward, it’s because today is the transition day between my Chest Medicine rotation and my two weeks of night shifts. Thanks to a recent bout of intractable insomnia, I’m starting this two week period already tired, which is not a good thing. I avoided coffee this morning in the hope that I will be able to nap in the afternoon, but I have a feeling that tonight is going to be a brutal shift regardless. Am I a bad person for hoping that all of the people visiting the emergency room tonight will need to go to surgery instead of medicine?
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Musings on Lewis Carroll
Everything about visiting A in the hospital feels wrong.
When I first arrive, it's as if I'm there for an evening call shift. Although it's a non-teaching hospital, A's hospital has all the components of the hospitals where I usually work - doctors in scrubs and white coats rushing through the corridors, coloured lines on the floors directing visitors through the maze of hallways, the faint whiff of bodily fluids that is almost, but not quite, masked by the much stronger odour of antiseptic. When we sit in the cafeteria and she asks about my day, it feels no different from nights when we've been on call at the same time and have met for a few brief moments to grab food and exchange horror stories about our work.
But underneath the surface, everything is different. The differences are subtle enough that I can ignore them for minutes at a time, but then a glimpse of the iv in her hand or of the hospital bracelet on her wrist brings me instantly back to the reality of the situation. And when we talk about her day, it isn't about her latest case in the OR or the interesting patient she saw in the emergency room - it's about her doctors, and her tests, and her treatment plans. The experience is the very definition of surreal.
It seems wrong to me, somehow, that doctors get sick. We're the ones who are supposed to be in control, to make things better for the people we care for. Seeing a doctor in a hospital gown - seeing my friend in a hospital gown - is a reminder of how we're just as human and as vulnerable as anyone else. And I hate it.
I hate too leaving at the end of the evening. I hate that there is no way for me to make her better, to free her from her role as a patient and return her to her preferred role as a healer. Now that she's slipped through the looking-glass, I have no idea how to bring her back.
When I first arrive, it's as if I'm there for an evening call shift. Although it's a non-teaching hospital, A's hospital has all the components of the hospitals where I usually work - doctors in scrubs and white coats rushing through the corridors, coloured lines on the floors directing visitors through the maze of hallways, the faint whiff of bodily fluids that is almost, but not quite, masked by the much stronger odour of antiseptic. When we sit in the cafeteria and she asks about my day, it feels no different from nights when we've been on call at the same time and have met for a few brief moments to grab food and exchange horror stories about our work.
But underneath the surface, everything is different. The differences are subtle enough that I can ignore them for minutes at a time, but then a glimpse of the iv in her hand or of the hospital bracelet on her wrist brings me instantly back to the reality of the situation. And when we talk about her day, it isn't about her latest case in the OR or the interesting patient she saw in the emergency room - it's about her doctors, and her tests, and her treatment plans. The experience is the very definition of surreal.
It seems wrong to me, somehow, that doctors get sick. We're the ones who are supposed to be in control, to make things better for the people we care for. Seeing a doctor in a hospital gown - seeing my friend in a hospital gown - is a reminder of how we're just as human and as vulnerable as anyone else. And I hate it.
I hate too leaving at the end of the evening. I hate that there is no way for me to make her better, to free her from her role as a patient and return her to her preferred role as a healer. Now that she's slipped through the looking-glass, I have no idea how to bring her back.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Simplest Casserole Ever - Tamale Pie Recipe
What is tamale pie, you ask?
It's a casserole that's very loosely based on a tamale, a Latin American dish consisting of meats/cheeses/vegetables stuffed into a corn-based dough called masa and steamed in a wrapper of corn husks or plantain leaves. The mother-in-law of one of my good friends makes tamales, and apparently they require hours of chopping, mixing, assembling, wrapping, and steaming to make. Tamale pie is exactly the opposite in terms of effort - it is the most ridiculously easy thing I make.
I discovered a recipe for tamale pie years ago when I was still living in Calgary and dating BF#2. The initial recipe had multiple components (chopped onions, spices, corn, homemade polenta), but over time I've pared it down to a four-ingredient recipe that can be assembled in less than 10 minutes. Here it is:
1) Preheat oven to 350 F.
2) In a 9 x 13 inch glass casserole dish, mix together 2 cans of Heinz Chili-flavoured beans (14 ounces each) and 1 can of Aylmer's Chili-flavoured diced tomatoes (19 ounces). If these products aren't available where you live, you can use the equivalent amounts of canned pinto beans and canned diced tomatoes and add some chili spices to taste (chili powder, cumin, garlic, etc.).
3) Top with one roll of pre-made polenta cut into ~1/2 inch slices. Use any extra polenta to fill in the gaps between the slices.
4) Top with generous amounts of grated cheddar, monterey jack, or marble cheese (or some combination of these).
5) Bake for 45-60 minutes until the casserole is piping hot and the cheese is slightly crispy.
6) Enjoy.
I love this recipe because it's so easy to make and it freezes beautifully. And unlike many things that I've made and frozen in the past, I will actually take it out of the freezer and eat it. (I'm very fussy about things that have been frozen, so a lot of dishes that I've lovingly made and put in the freezer have ended up in the garbage rather than on my dinner plate because they didn't taste good reheated.)
Here's what it looks like:
Mmmm. Even my Mom liked it. And that's saying a lot, as she's waaay fussier than I am.
And the best part? It goes really well with homemade fudge.
It's a casserole that's very loosely based on a tamale, a Latin American dish consisting of meats/cheeses/vegetables stuffed into a corn-based dough called masa and steamed in a wrapper of corn husks or plantain leaves. The mother-in-law of one of my good friends makes tamales, and apparently they require hours of chopping, mixing, assembling, wrapping, and steaming to make. Tamale pie is exactly the opposite in terms of effort - it is the most ridiculously easy thing I make.
I discovered a recipe for tamale pie years ago when I was still living in Calgary and dating BF#2. The initial recipe had multiple components (chopped onions, spices, corn, homemade polenta), but over time I've pared it down to a four-ingredient recipe that can be assembled in less than 10 minutes. Here it is:
1) Preheat oven to 350 F.
2) In a 9 x 13 inch glass casserole dish, mix together 2 cans of Heinz Chili-flavoured beans (14 ounces each) and 1 can of Aylmer's Chili-flavoured diced tomatoes (19 ounces). If these products aren't available where you live, you can use the equivalent amounts of canned pinto beans and canned diced tomatoes and add some chili spices to taste (chili powder, cumin, garlic, etc.).
3) Top with one roll of pre-made polenta cut into ~1/2 inch slices. Use any extra polenta to fill in the gaps between the slices.
4) Top with generous amounts of grated cheddar, monterey jack, or marble cheese (or some combination of these).
5) Bake for 45-60 minutes until the casserole is piping hot and the cheese is slightly crispy.
6) Enjoy.
I love this recipe because it's so easy to make and it freezes beautifully. And unlike many things that I've made and frozen in the past, I will actually take it out of the freezer and eat it. (I'm very fussy about things that have been frozen, so a lot of dishes that I've lovingly made and put in the freezer have ended up in the garbage rather than on my dinner plate because they didn't taste good reheated.)
Here's what it looks like:
Mmmm. Even my Mom liked it. And that's saying a lot, as she's waaay fussier than I am.
And the best part? It goes really well with homemade fudge.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Sunday Night Miscellany
Home Call:
I made the mistake of going in to round late today, thinking that it would be short (ha) and that there wouldn't be any urgent consults (ha ha). Unfortunately my day devolved into a series of unstable patients and "You must come see this person NOW!" consults that kept me at the hospital until way past my planned departure time of 2 PM. Luckily, my Mom arrived late for dinner, so I actually had about 10 minutes at home to eat fudge and check Facebook before her arrival. I'm trying not to think about the fact that I'm still on call for 36 more hours and therefore could get called back to the hospital at any time.
Maternal Visit:
The moment my Mom walked into the door, she recognized how wiped I was, and so she kept the nagging to a minimum. (She did point out that there were dirty dishes that I hadn't loaded into the dishwasher yet, to which I responded by asking her whether she would've liked me to load the dishwasher before driving halfway across the city to visit my sick friend in the hospital or after coming home from a consult at midnight last night. Touche.) To my Mom's credit, she bought me blackout fabric today and hung it on my bedroom windows, so I should now have a pitch black bedroom at all times of the day. I'm starting another round of nights this week, and I'm so glad to have a better environment in which to sleep during the day. Not sure why it took me 2 1/2 years of call to finally get this done.
Music:
I'm slowly checking out all of the suggestions that were left on my recent post about study music, and I'm finding that I like a lot of the recommended artists/albums. So far I'm planning to order albums by Adele (who I've liked for a while but not known who she was) and Melody Gardot (who I'd never heard of before), and I'm sure that there will be more. Music has such a huge influence on my mood, so I'm really looking forward to having some new albums to enjoy.
Also on the subject of music, I recently went to the Sarah Slean concert and loved, loved, loved it. We bought our tickets at the last minute, and I almost backed out because I was tired - but then it occurred to me that I would never do anything if I waited to not be tired. So I went, and I'm so glad I did. She's an energetic, dynamic, quirky performer, and it was a great evening despite having to run home to sleep the moment it was over. Her latest album Land and Sea is now on constant rotation in my car/on my computer. I am particularly in love with her song Set it Free, which is about letting go of the things that are weighing on you and bringing you down. With the current state of affairs in my world, how could I not love these lyrics?
Yep. Am loving this right now. Check out the video below:
Meal Plan - Week Three:
In some ways making a meal plan is getting easier with practice, and I'm glad that I'm doing this, as otherwise I would've made a number of stops for dinners of sugar water and deep-fried potato goodness over the past few days. Tasty, but not something I should be subsisting on. For those of you who are interested, here's the menu for the week:
Saturday - Tamale Pie. I'll post pictures and a recipe of this soon, as it's my all-time favourite fast meal. And it freezes beautifully. I'm just too lazy to move from the couch to get my camera's memory card right now.
Sunday - Chicken with sweet and sour fennel and creamy polenta. I finally had a chance to make this for my Mom, and she enjoyed the chicken but abhorred the polenta. I believe she used the words "cow pies" and "baby food" to describe the latter more than once. Oh well, more for me.
Monday - Leftovers. There are many.
Tuesday - Pork chops with balsamic vinegar. This was a suggestion on one of my earlier posts (can't find the link in my current state of laziness), and it looks like a nice easy meal. It's entirely possible though that I'll save this for the weekend, as my fridge is a bit overrun by leftovers.
Wednesday - Leftovers.
Thursday (first day of nights!) - Penne with meat sauce.
Friday - Leftovers.
I was a bit unsure of what to make for my two weeks of nights, but I ultimately decided to make a few casseroles that will freeze well and be easy to heat up at the hospital. Between my recent Mexican pepper casserole, the tamale pie, and the penne with meat sauce, I should be set.
Closing, and an Update that isn't an Update:
I hope that all is well with everyone. There is still time for Sister Wives (love the trashy Sunday night tv) and perhaps another piece of fudge before I go to bed, so I'm off soon. There's no news on A today, but I'm going to assume that's a good thing. I've had my cell phone turned on and with me all day, so if anything had changed, I'm sure the great friend network would've let me know. For everyone who has been thinking of her and/or sending prayers, thank you. I may not be a believer, but it is comforting to know that others are thinking of her and wishing good things for her. It certainly can't hurt.
I made the mistake of going in to round late today, thinking that it would be short (ha) and that there wouldn't be any urgent consults (ha ha). Unfortunately my day devolved into a series of unstable patients and "You must come see this person NOW!" consults that kept me at the hospital until way past my planned departure time of 2 PM. Luckily, my Mom arrived late for dinner, so I actually had about 10 minutes at home to eat fudge and check Facebook before her arrival. I'm trying not to think about the fact that I'm still on call for 36 more hours and therefore could get called back to the hospital at any time.
Maternal Visit:
The moment my Mom walked into the door, she recognized how wiped I was, and so she kept the nagging to a minimum. (She did point out that there were dirty dishes that I hadn't loaded into the dishwasher yet, to which I responded by asking her whether she would've liked me to load the dishwasher before driving halfway across the city to visit my sick friend in the hospital or after coming home from a consult at midnight last night. Touche.) To my Mom's credit, she bought me blackout fabric today and hung it on my bedroom windows, so I should now have a pitch black bedroom at all times of the day. I'm starting another round of nights this week, and I'm so glad to have a better environment in which to sleep during the day. Not sure why it took me 2 1/2 years of call to finally get this done.
Music:
I'm slowly checking out all of the suggestions that were left on my recent post about study music, and I'm finding that I like a lot of the recommended artists/albums. So far I'm planning to order albums by Adele (who I've liked for a while but not known who she was) and Melody Gardot (who I'd never heard of before), and I'm sure that there will be more. Music has such a huge influence on my mood, so I'm really looking forward to having some new albums to enjoy.
Also on the subject of music, I recently went to the Sarah Slean concert and loved, loved, loved it. We bought our tickets at the last minute, and I almost backed out because I was tired - but then it occurred to me that I would never do anything if I waited to not be tired. So I went, and I'm so glad I did. She's an energetic, dynamic, quirky performer, and it was a great evening despite having to run home to sleep the moment it was over. Her latest album Land and Sea is now on constant rotation in my car/on my computer. I am particularly in love with her song Set it Free, which is about letting go of the things that are weighing on you and bringing you down. With the current state of affairs in my world, how could I not love these lyrics?
Running your poor self ragged
Trying to outrace these stubborn boots
Baby put down that baggage
Oh, that story's old news
What do I do with my sorrow?
Well, if you're asking me
Set it free
Throw it into the sea
Oh, let go of the leash
You gotta set it free.
Yep. Am loving this right now. Check out the video below:
Meal Plan - Week Three:
In some ways making a meal plan is getting easier with practice, and I'm glad that I'm doing this, as otherwise I would've made a number of stops for dinners of sugar water and deep-fried potato goodness over the past few days. Tasty, but not something I should be subsisting on. For those of you who are interested, here's the menu for the week:
Saturday - Tamale Pie. I'll post pictures and a recipe of this soon, as it's my all-time favourite fast meal. And it freezes beautifully. I'm just too lazy to move from the couch to get my camera's memory card right now.
Sunday - Chicken with sweet and sour fennel and creamy polenta. I finally had a chance to make this for my Mom, and she enjoyed the chicken but abhorred the polenta. I believe she used the words "cow pies" and "baby food" to describe the latter more than once. Oh well, more for me.
Monday - Leftovers. There are many.
Tuesday - Pork chops with balsamic vinegar. This was a suggestion on one of my earlier posts (can't find the link in my current state of laziness), and it looks like a nice easy meal. It's entirely possible though that I'll save this for the weekend, as my fridge is a bit overrun by leftovers.
Wednesday - Leftovers.
Thursday (first day of nights!) - Penne with meat sauce.
Friday - Leftovers.
I was a bit unsure of what to make for my two weeks of nights, but I ultimately decided to make a few casseroles that will freeze well and be easy to heat up at the hospital. Between my recent Mexican pepper casserole, the tamale pie, and the penne with meat sauce, I should be set.
Closing, and an Update that isn't an Update:
I hope that all is well with everyone. There is still time for Sister Wives (love the trashy Sunday night tv) and perhaps another piece of fudge before I go to bed, so I'm off soon. There's no news on A today, but I'm going to assume that's a good thing. I've had my cell phone turned on and with me all day, so if anything had changed, I'm sure the great friend network would've let me know. For everyone who has been thinking of her and/or sending prayers, thank you. I may not be a believer, but it is comforting to know that others are thinking of her and wishing good things for her. It certainly can't hurt.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Exhaustion
I've been composing blog posts in my head all day - while driving to the hospital to round, to the grocery store to buy food for A, to home to cook, to another hospital to visit A - and I had some good thoughts that I was going to try to get out. But the moment I sat on my couch, the wave of exhaustion hit, and there's nothing left in me for a serious post. So this is just a quick check in before finding something to watch on my PVR and resuming petting the cat who is purring eagerly on the couch beside me.
Things are unfortunately not good with A. Not imminently bad, but it will definitely be a long time before anyone is able to (hopefully) breath a sigh of relief. I spent less time with her tonight than I would've liked, as apparently visiting hours do apply to me when I'm not in my capacity as a resident. Who knew I could get kicked out of a hospital? It was good to see her, as well as a friend who also stopped by, but there was so much worry amongst us all. We all know too much.
It's funny...I feel like I've aged tremendously over the past five years, between going through medical school and losing my Dad. I thought that my maturing, at least in any major sense, was over. But driving home tonight, looking out my car window at all the twenty-somethings shivering outside the bars in their short skirts, I suddenly felt unbelievably old.
(Dear pager - Are you kidding me? How do you manage to be quiet all day and then go off with a consult at 10 PM when I'm about to call it a night? I hate you.)
Things are unfortunately not good with A. Not imminently bad, but it will definitely be a long time before anyone is able to (hopefully) breath a sigh of relief. I spent less time with her tonight than I would've liked, as apparently visiting hours do apply to me when I'm not in my capacity as a resident. Who knew I could get kicked out of a hospital? It was good to see her, as well as a friend who also stopped by, but there was so much worry amongst us all. We all know too much.
It's funny...I feel like I've aged tremendously over the past five years, between going through medical school and losing my Dad. I thought that my maturing, at least in any major sense, was over. But driving home tonight, looking out my car window at all the twenty-somethings shivering outside the bars in their short skirts, I suddenly felt unbelievably old.
(Dear pager - Are you kidding me? How do you manage to be quiet all day and then go off with a consult at 10 PM when I'm about to call it a night? I hate you.)
Shock
Last night, while on my way to a "Girls' Night In" appetizer and dessert party, I got one of those phone calls that you never want to get. One of my friends, let's call her A, had just been admitted to hospital. It wasn't a complete surprise, as she's been sick for a while, but this was a move in the wrong direction, a ramping up in the intensity of her illness. In one moment, things changed from "most likely will recover" to "uncertain prognosis".
I hate being on this side of illness. I hate being the one emotionally involved, not able to just turn off the pager and go back to my safe home at night. I hate too the randomness of this, the great cosmic lottery that sometimes gifts people with shit when they least expect it. It's moments like these where I'm thankful to be an atheist - if I believed that things like this were the intentional actions of an omnipotent being, I think it might destroy me.
And the worst part of it all is it's not about me. Everything I'm feeling right now, all of my anger and sadness and fear, is but an echo of what my friend must be feeling while she lies alone in her hospital bed.
I hate being on this side of illness. I hate being the one emotionally involved, not able to just turn off the pager and go back to my safe home at night. I hate too the randomness of this, the great cosmic lottery that sometimes gifts people with shit when they least expect it. It's moments like these where I'm thankful to be an atheist - if I believed that things like this were the intentional actions of an omnipotent being, I think it might destroy me.
And the worst part of it all is it's not about me. Everything I'm feeling right now, all of my anger and sadness and fear, is but an echo of what my friend must be feeling while she lies alone in her hospital bed.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Why I'm A Bad Person (On Reflection, For Multiple Reasons)
While on my most recent string of night shifts, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself and decided that I needed something special to make myself feel better. My fall outerwear was in a sorry state - I was still wearing a faded, too-small corduroy jacket that I had bought 5 years and about 20 pounds earlier - so a new jacket to wear on the chilly walk to and from the hospital seemed like the perfect item. I checked out my usual stores, but I couldn't find anything that was the mix of stylish, cozy, and self-indulgent that I was looking for. And then one of my friends bought a gorgeous Lululemon fleece, and it was exactly what I wanted.
I've been irrationally and vehemently opposed to Lululemon for years. I've always been shocked by their stupidly high prices, and I've hated how many people wear their clothes like a status symbol. From the first time I set foot in their store, I vowed that I would never waste my money there. But then I found the fleece that I wanted, and all of my previous indignation and moral superiority was thrown out the window. (Bad Person Example #1)
Isn't it pretty?
I love this fleece. (And no, this isn't a product endorsement. But given that I've already sold my soul for a fleece jacket, I'm sure I'd have no qualms about writing a glowing review on my blog in exchange for merchandise.) It fits well, it's stylish enough for something to wear to work, and it's wonderfully cozy against the harsh Canadian fall. It actually did make me feel less grumpy when I would head off to work in the evenings, and I loved cuddling up in it while trying not to drift off to sleep at morning report. Let's just say I've become rather attached to it.
So here's where I display how bad a person I really am. When shopping for groceries last weekend, I was greeted by an elderly Canadian veteran selling poppies. Which of the following do you think was my (thankfully internal) response?
A - How wonderful that this gentleman still has the health and energy to be out selling poppies despite his advanced age.
B - I already have a poppy for my other jacket, but I should buy another one given how worthy a cause this is.
C - Wow - this man actually fought overseas in defense of my country and the values I believe in.
D - I can't buy a poppy - it might tear my Lululemon fleece.
If you guessed D, you have some sense of the monster I've become. How horrible a person am I that this though actually crossed my mind, however briefly?
In all seriousness though, my immediate reaction is a good illustration of just how sheltered and blessed a life I live. I'm so fortunate that my worries are about the integrity of my latest purchase, rather than about the safety of myself or the people I love. So today, I'm taking a moment to think about the veterans whose sacrifices have made it possible for large parts of the world to live in peace. I may be becoming progressively more superficial with age, but I still remember.
I've been irrationally and vehemently opposed to Lululemon for years. I've always been shocked by their stupidly high prices, and I've hated how many people wear their clothes like a status symbol. From the first time I set foot in their store, I vowed that I would never waste my money there. But then I found the fleece that I wanted, and all of my previous indignation and moral superiority was thrown out the window. (Bad Person Example #1)
Isn't it pretty?
I love this fleece. (And no, this isn't a product endorsement. But given that I've already sold my soul for a fleece jacket, I'm sure I'd have no qualms about writing a glowing review on my blog in exchange for merchandise.) It fits well, it's stylish enough for something to wear to work, and it's wonderfully cozy against the harsh Canadian fall. It actually did make me feel less grumpy when I would head off to work in the evenings, and I loved cuddling up in it while trying not to drift off to sleep at morning report. Let's just say I've become rather attached to it.
So here's where I display how bad a person I really am. When shopping for groceries last weekend, I was greeted by an elderly Canadian veteran selling poppies. Which of the following do you think was my (thankfully internal) response?
A - How wonderful that this gentleman still has the health and energy to be out selling poppies despite his advanced age.
B - I already have a poppy for my other jacket, but I should buy another one given how worthy a cause this is.
C - Wow - this man actually fought overseas in defense of my country and the values I believe in.
D - I can't buy a poppy - it might tear my Lululemon fleece.
If you guessed D, you have some sense of the monster I've become. How horrible a person am I that this though actually crossed my mind, however briefly?
In all seriousness though, my immediate reaction is a good illustration of just how sheltered and blessed a life I live. I'm so fortunate that my worries are about the integrity of my latest purchase, rather than about the safety of myself or the people I love. So today, I'm taking a moment to think about the veterans whose sacrifices have made it possible for large parts of the world to live in peace. I may be becoming progressively more superficial with age, but I still remember.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Learning
As an undergraduate student, knowing what to study was easy. Each course had a defined curriculum, and there were frequent assignments and exams to evaluate your progress - all you had to do was put in the hours needed to get the work done. In medical school, the volume of work increased considerably, but there was still a clear, finite body of information that you had to learn.
Enter residency.
Suddenly there are no classes, no curriculum, no clearly outlined list of things that you need to know. When you ask for advice from attendings and more senior residents, they give you vague platitudes like "Make sure you read something every night" or "Study the things you'll need to be a good doctor". Not helpful.
I struggle all the time with not knowing whether I'm studying the "right" thing. My approach has been to try to read all of Harrison's by the end of residency, but I don't know whether I'm pushing myself too hard by tackling such an information-dense textbook or whether I'm slacking off by not reading multiple sources. When I study, I never know how much of the information to focus on. Is it enough to know the primary regimens for treating active TB, or do I also need to know the regimens for the different types of drug-resistant TB? Is it enough to know that carcinoid tumours can cause ectopic ACTH secretion, or should I be trying to learn the specific subtypes of carcinoid tumours? It makes me slightly insane at times.
And then there's the question of how much time to spend studying, which I suspect will plague me until I either retire or die. (Hopefully I'll achieve the former before the latter.) If I knew what the objectives were, I could measure my performance against them and adjust my study time accordingly. But when there are no defined objectives, how do I know what "enough" studying is? I allowed myself to take tonight off of studying because I'm almost deliriously tired, and now I'm second-guessing myself. Am I being kind to my weary, shouldn't-have-stayed-up-late-last-night-watching-Glee self, or am I screwing myself over by giving up an essential evening of studying?
When I'm around other residents in my program, I find myself constantly comparing my knowledge to theirs in the hope of getting a sense of where I am relative to other people. I suspect this is just another crazy-making activity that I should avoid, however, as I inevitably judge myself by much harsher standards than I do others. I may be able to think of six things that can cause erythema nodosum, but if the resident next to me can think of seven I feel like an idiot.
I don't know that there's a right answer to this dilemma. I suppose the best thing is to just keep chugging forward, working as hard as I can while staying somewhat happy and engaged in life. It's the best method I've figured out so far.
----
And now in food: Tonight was supposed to be dinner with my Mom, but we postponed the evening because her work schedule for the day changed and she was no longer going to be in the city. Given my abundance of leftovers (and of unwashed dishes in my sink), I opted not to cook an entirely new meal just for myself. I did, however, feel like making something (I seem to have become addicted to cooking over the last few weeks), so I decided to make a side dish to go with my leftovers. I've been wanting to try making cornbread for a while, and tonight seemed like as good an evening as any for my first attempt.
As I scoured Epicurious for a good recipe, I was a bit surprised to discover how passionate people are about their cornbread. It seems like there are two cornbread camps - salty and sweet - and that people are almost morally opposed to cornbread that doesn't fall into their preferred camp. (In my city rye bread is the starch we get passionate about. When I was living in Calgary, I used to buy bags of my favourite rye bread to take back with me every time I would come "home" for a visit.) I didn't know which camp I'd fall into, as I've had virtually no exposure to cornbread in my life, so I opted for a sort of in-between looking recipe for green onion and jalapeno cornbread.
Yum yum yum. Light, flavourful, moist. So good. I think I may need to make more of this in the future.
Enter residency.
Suddenly there are no classes, no curriculum, no clearly outlined list of things that you need to know. When you ask for advice from attendings and more senior residents, they give you vague platitudes like "Make sure you read something every night" or "Study the things you'll need to be a good doctor". Not helpful.
I struggle all the time with not knowing whether I'm studying the "right" thing. My approach has been to try to read all of Harrison's by the end of residency, but I don't know whether I'm pushing myself too hard by tackling such an information-dense textbook or whether I'm slacking off by not reading multiple sources. When I study, I never know how much of the information to focus on. Is it enough to know the primary regimens for treating active TB, or do I also need to know the regimens for the different types of drug-resistant TB? Is it enough to know that carcinoid tumours can cause ectopic ACTH secretion, or should I be trying to learn the specific subtypes of carcinoid tumours? It makes me slightly insane at times.
And then there's the question of how much time to spend studying, which I suspect will plague me until I either retire or die. (Hopefully I'll achieve the former before the latter.) If I knew what the objectives were, I could measure my performance against them and adjust my study time accordingly. But when there are no defined objectives, how do I know what "enough" studying is? I allowed myself to take tonight off of studying because I'm almost deliriously tired, and now I'm second-guessing myself. Am I being kind to my weary, shouldn't-have-stayed-up-late-last-night-watching-Glee self, or am I screwing myself over by giving up an essential evening of studying?
When I'm around other residents in my program, I find myself constantly comparing my knowledge to theirs in the hope of getting a sense of where I am relative to other people. I suspect this is just another crazy-making activity that I should avoid, however, as I inevitably judge myself by much harsher standards than I do others. I may be able to think of six things that can cause erythema nodosum, but if the resident next to me can think of seven I feel like an idiot.
I don't know that there's a right answer to this dilemma. I suppose the best thing is to just keep chugging forward, working as hard as I can while staying somewhat happy and engaged in life. It's the best method I've figured out so far.
----
And now in food: Tonight was supposed to be dinner with my Mom, but we postponed the evening because her work schedule for the day changed and she was no longer going to be in the city. Given my abundance of leftovers (and of unwashed dishes in my sink), I opted not to cook an entirely new meal just for myself. I did, however, feel like making something (I seem to have become addicted to cooking over the last few weeks), so I decided to make a side dish to go with my leftovers. I've been wanting to try making cornbread for a while, and tonight seemed like as good an evening as any for my first attempt.
As I scoured Epicurious for a good recipe, I was a bit surprised to discover how passionate people are about their cornbread. It seems like there are two cornbread camps - salty and sweet - and that people are almost morally opposed to cornbread that doesn't fall into their preferred camp. (In my city rye bread is the starch we get passionate about. When I was living in Calgary, I used to buy bags of my favourite rye bread to take back with me every time I would come "home" for a visit.) I didn't know which camp I'd fall into, as I've had virtually no exposure to cornbread in my life, so I opted for a sort of in-between looking recipe for green onion and jalapeno cornbread.
Yum yum yum. Light, flavourful, moist. So good. I think I may need to make more of this in the future.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Rewards
After finally (finally!) slogging through the mammoth Harrison's chapter on tuberculosis, I decided to reward myself.
The first thing that came to mind was reading the Harrison's chapter on paraneoplastic syndromes. You know. For fun.
I think the second thing that came to mind was a better idea (although I must admit that I read half the chapter on paraneoplastic syndromes before hunting down the hot fudge and marachino cherries).
I'm now off to enjoy said dessert while watching Parenthood. Hope everyone is enjoying their evening.
The first thing that came to mind was reading the Harrison's chapter on paraneoplastic syndromes. You know. For fun.
I think the second thing that came to mind was a better idea (although I must admit that I read half the chapter on paraneoplastic syndromes before hunting down the hot fudge and marachino cherries).
I'm now off to enjoy said dessert while watching Parenthood. Hope everyone is enjoying their evening.
Why Crazy People Shouldn't Write Meal Plans
Do you know what sounds like fun? Cooking two elaborate dishes when post-call.
Um...yeah...actually, not fun. But that's what I planned for dinner last night when I was making my meal plan on Saturday, and I was determined to stick to the plan. So after getting barely enough sleep post-call to feel human, I dragged my still-in-pjs self into the kitchen and started making Mexican pepper casserole and sweet potato soup. When I started at 5:20, I was actually kind of looking forward to making something a bit complicated and to putting my burgeoning cooking skills to work. After 2 1/2 hours of peeling, chopping, slicing, mixing, grating, and blending, I just wanted to get the hell out of the (expletive deleted) kitchen.
Fortunately, I at least got a very tasty dinner for my efforts. Here's the stove at the end of my travails:
Mexican pepper casserole. I think the ratio of peppers to sauce was a bit high for my liking, but it was still tasty.
Sweet potato soup. This is one of my favourite recipes of all time, and definitely my favourite soup recipe. It's like sweet potato crack. Mmmm.
My dinner.
Even better than having a tasty dinner last night, I have enough left over for 13 more meals (as long as I eat just one of the dishes per meal). Fourteen meals isn't a bad trade-off for 2 1/2 hours of cooking.
Unfortunately, my cats still haven't figured out how to wash dishes.
Um...yeah...actually, not fun. But that's what I planned for dinner last night when I was making my meal plan on Saturday, and I was determined to stick to the plan. So after getting barely enough sleep post-call to feel human, I dragged my still-in-pjs self into the kitchen and started making Mexican pepper casserole and sweet potato soup. When I started at 5:20, I was actually kind of looking forward to making something a bit complicated and to putting my burgeoning cooking skills to work. After 2 1/2 hours of peeling, chopping, slicing, mixing, grating, and blending, I just wanted to get the hell out of the (expletive deleted) kitchen.
Fortunately, I at least got a very tasty dinner for my efforts. Here's the stove at the end of my travails:
Mexican pepper casserole. I think the ratio of peppers to sauce was a bit high for my liking, but it was still tasty.
Sweet potato soup. This is one of my favourite recipes of all time, and definitely my favourite soup recipe. It's like sweet potato crack. Mmmm.
My dinner.
Even better than having a tasty dinner last night, I have enough left over for 13 more meals (as long as I eat just one of the dishes per meal). Fourteen meals isn't a bad trade-off for 2 1/2 hours of cooking.
Unfortunately, my cats still haven't figured out how to wash dishes.
Monday, November 7, 2011
The Hazards of Driving Post-Call
Fortunately this isn't the first time I've pulled a hubcap off my car, so I'm adept at putting them back on.
I think it's time to go to sleep.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Why Haven't I Been Making Brownie Sundaes All My Life?
When I serve dessert, I usually go to one of two extremes - either something ready made that requires no effort at all or something completely from scratch that takes half a day to make and leaves my kitchen in a state of chaos. (Mostly the former, because I like avoiding unnecessary effort.) When I was thinking about what to make for my friends who were coming for dessert last night, my mind again went to the two extremes, debating between froze mini eclairs that are ready when defrosted and trifle with homemade pound cake and custard. And then it came to me - brownie sundaes.
I had a box of brownie mix that had been sitting in my cupboard since I was ward senior and hadn't found the time to bake it for my ward team as planned. It took a grand total of five minutes to grease the pan and mix the batter, and then the main component was done (minus baking). I picked up the rest of the ingredients while doing my weekly grocery shopping, and then it was just a matter of adding ice cream, hot fudge sauce, whipped cream, and maraschino cherries once everyone had arrived. Easy-peasy. Making the tea took more effort.
Despite having just gorged ourselves on a ridiculous amount of Thai food, everyone finished every bite in their bowls. The apartment was filled with the clattering of spoons against china as people scraped up the last dribbles. For the amount of effort required, this was the best dessert ever.
Even better - there's still one brownie left for me to make into a sundae post-call tomorrow.
I had a box of brownie mix that had been sitting in my cupboard since I was ward senior and hadn't found the time to bake it for my ward team as planned. It took a grand total of five minutes to grease the pan and mix the batter, and then the main component was done (minus baking). I picked up the rest of the ingredients while doing my weekly grocery shopping, and then it was just a matter of adding ice cream, hot fudge sauce, whipped cream, and maraschino cherries once everyone had arrived. Easy-peasy. Making the tea took more effort.
Despite having just gorged ourselves on a ridiculous amount of Thai food, everyone finished every bite in their bowls. The apartment was filled with the clattering of spoons against china as people scraped up the last dribbles. For the amount of effort required, this was the best dessert ever.
Even better - there's still one brownie left for me to make into a sundae post-call tomorrow.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Meal Planning - Week Two
Meal planning is a pain in the butt. Trying to think of things to cook, hunting down the recipes, checking to see what supplies I have in my cupboard, making a grocery list....it hurts my brain. But not having to think about what I'm going to eat when I come home from work: priceless. And not having to eat tv dinners containing compressed chicken cubes in MSG sauce: even more priceless. The initial bit of effort that it takes to plan ahead is definitely worth it.
Thanks to everyone who left meal suggestions on my earlier post (and feel free to leave more meal suggestions whenever you want). I've now started a word document with lists of things I've already cooked (good and bad) as well as things I would like to cook, and all of the suggestions have been incorporated. C's suggestion of soup reminded me of one of my favourite soups ever, which I'll be cooking post-call on Monday. (Here's hoping I'm alert enough to get all of the ingredients into the pot and to remember to put the lid on the blender.)
For anyone who's interested, here's the list for this week:
Saturday (today): Thai food with friends. Brownie sundaes at my place for dessert. (Mmmmm.)
Sunday: Leftover buffalo chicken and smashed blue cheese potatoes.
Monday: Sweet potato soup from the Sundays at Moosewood Cookbook and Mexican pepper casserole from the Moosewood Cookbook.
Tuesday: Leftovers
Wednesday: Chicken with Italian sweet-and-sour fennel and creamy polenta. This is my first re-run, and I'm looking forward to making it for my mom. There will be wine in more than just the sauce for the chicken.
Thursday: Leftovers.
Friday: Appetizer and dessert party at a friend's house.
The meal plan this week is definitely made easier by the fact that 1) cooking for one person always generates lots of leftovers and 2) I'm eating out on two nights. But I'm still impressed with myself for finally getting my act together with the cooking. It only took 14 years of living on my own.
Edited to add: I think my local grocery store uses my meal plan as a guide for what not to buy. Last week they were out of shitake mushrooms (an ingredient in the Turkey Chow Fun I made) but had a beautiful display of fennel. This week they've restocked the shitake mushrooms, but are out of the fennel I need for Wednesday's dish. Grrr. Apparently there's a downside to meal planning.
Thanks to everyone who left meal suggestions on my earlier post (and feel free to leave more meal suggestions whenever you want). I've now started a word document with lists of things I've already cooked (good and bad) as well as things I would like to cook, and all of the suggestions have been incorporated. C's suggestion of soup reminded me of one of my favourite soups ever, which I'll be cooking post-call on Monday. (Here's hoping I'm alert enough to get all of the ingredients into the pot and to remember to put the lid on the blender.)
For anyone who's interested, here's the list for this week:
Saturday (today): Thai food with friends. Brownie sundaes at my place for dessert. (Mmmmm.)
Sunday: Leftover buffalo chicken and smashed blue cheese potatoes.
Monday: Sweet potato soup from the Sundays at Moosewood Cookbook and Mexican pepper casserole from the Moosewood Cookbook.
Tuesday: Leftovers
Wednesday: Chicken with Italian sweet-and-sour fennel and creamy polenta. This is my first re-run, and I'm looking forward to making it for my mom. There will be wine in more than just the sauce for the chicken.
Thursday: Leftovers.
Friday: Appetizer and dessert party at a friend's house.
The meal plan this week is definitely made easier by the fact that 1) cooking for one person always generates lots of leftovers and 2) I'm eating out on two nights. But I'm still impressed with myself for finally getting my act together with the cooking. It only took 14 years of living on my own.
Edited to add: I think my local grocery store uses my meal plan as a guide for what not to buy. Last week they were out of shitake mushrooms (an ingredient in the Turkey Chow Fun I made) but had a beautiful display of fennel. This week they've restocked the shitake mushrooms, but are out of the fennel I need for Wednesday's dish. Grrr. Apparently there's a downside to meal planning.
Kidlets
After work today, I babysat my two nieces, L (age 5) and J (age 7), while my brother and sister-in-law went to a work function. When the girls were younger, this was something that I dreaded doing. The girls spent the first few years of their lives living in a different city from me, and it took them being "home" for a year or two to really feel comfortable being left alone with me. Babysitting in the early years was therefore filled with tears and increasingly desperate pleas for "Mom. Mom? Mom!" instead of Auntie SD. I also felt strangely panicked taking care of the girls, convinced that somehow through my misjudgment and ineptitude I was going to bring harm to the two precious lives with which I had been trusted. In my mind, the staircase in my brother's house wasn't a passage from one floor to another - it was a slippery spiral of death down which an unsupervised child would surely tumble. The bathtub wasn't a means of getting clean - it was a death trap of potential scalding and drowning if I turned my back for even a moment. By the end of a night spent babysitting, I would greet my brother and sister-in-law with relief that I wouldn't have to comfort any more crying children and that I had managed to keep said children alive in their parents' absence.
Fortunately, with age and experience the girls have taken a bit of a liking to me, and my paranoia about being the one in charge has dissipated somewhat. (Although I still check the front door multiple times to make sure it's locked against the child abductors.) I've even, over time, come to look forward to babysitting. The girls view it as a treat to get to spend alone time with me (I bribe them with candy), and I enjoy being able to escape into the world of kids for a little while. And the girls think I'm cool, which is an exceedingly rare thing for an internist who reads books on neurobiology for fun.
I will admit that, a lot of the time when I babysit, I rely too much on tv and the computer to entertain the kids. They certainly don't mind - being allowed unlimited time to play Moshi Monsters is on their list of the best things in life - but it's not a great way of spending quality time with them. So tonight I dragged them away from making electronic cupcakes to feed their Furi and their Moppet and forced them to interact with me. We played a game of Sorry, which was frighteningly reminiscent of when I played the game as a child. I could see my own competitiveness in J when she gleefully sent L's game pieces back to the start, and J's sulking when L did the same thing back to her was just like me as a kid. After the game I taught the nieces how to fold origami cranes (my one trick up my sleeve) and was reminded that it's slightly too complex an activity for kids who are still developing their fine motor skills. To end the night, we crawled onto J's double bed together and the girls read to me. Usually the book of choice is a princess fairytale or something by Mo Willems, but tonight they decided to share their recently published yearbook with me. I must be a very good auntie to have listened to them read out every kid's name from pre-K to grade three without screaming.
Lying sandwiched between the two warm children, fending off unintentional blows from their flailing arms and legs, I was struck by how differently my life could have turned out. If I'd met the right person at the right time, I could've been in a cozy bedroom in my own house listening to my own kids sleepily reciting the names of their schoolmates. I could've been looking ahead to a weekend of swimming lessons and children's yoga, instead of planning to go to my own yoga class and to go to dinner with friends (no babysitter required). I can't say that I was sad, exactly, but I was certainly pensive. I don't know that my life would've been better if I'd married and had a family, but it certainly would've been fuller, bigger. My life as one person often feels plain, and small. Not necessarily bad, but just not as much as it could've been.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
The Two Solitudes
When I was going through medical school, I was amazed at how distinct a division there was between the students who loved surgery and those who hated it. The former group spoke with evangelical zeal about their OR experiences and could get excited about being allowed to put a single stitch into a patient. The latter group, in which I was included, abhorred the hours spent in the OR trying desperately not to evoke the wrath of the surgeon or (worse yet) the scrub nurse.
(In typical future internist fashion, I seemed to have a knack for doing things that angered the scrub nurses. I can distinctly recall being glared and/or screamed at for not being able to get my fingers into the surgical gloves fast enough or for unconsciously reaching up to scratch my itchy nose after being scrubbed in. Good times.)
In internal medicine, there's a similar division between the people who are interested in procedural specialties (gastroenterology, respirology, cardiology) and those who aren't. (Guess which category I fall into.) My lack of interest in procedures isn't serving me well on my current respirology rotation, as three to four half-days per week are spent in the bronchoscopy suite. The first half day was alright - it's kind of interesting to look inside a lung, and it's nice to have a visual image of the diseases I'm diagnosing and treating. After the first half day, however, I discovered that bronchoscopy is pretty much the same thing over and over again, with a small bit of variety introduced by the presence or absence of structural changes, infection, and tumours. Not my cup of tea.
Today the universe gifted me with an entire day of bronchoscopy. By 10 am, I was contemplating faking a vasovagal attack so that I could remove my sweaty gown and sit down in a well-ventilated area. By noon, even my constant shuffling from foot to foot couldn't relieve the unrelenting ache in my lower back. By 3 PM, I was discovering religious faith for the first time in my life, mainly because I began to believe that I had died and been sent to hell by a wrathful god. Fortunately I was too exhausted to let out a cheer for joy when the scrub nurse announced that we had completed our last scope of the day, but there was certainly a cheer going on in my weary brain.
Despite feeling like I was trapped in the slowest day in the history of time, I did my best to appear interested and to ask questions about what I was seeing. I appreciate the time and effort that attendings take to teach us, and I don't want to be disrespectful of that by looking bored and not paying attention. Apparently I'm not that great at faking enthusiasm, however, as when we left the bronchoscopy suite the attending looked at me with a twinkle in her eye and said "So, I guess you're not dying to become a respirologist, are you?".
Oh...how glad I am that there are non-procedural subspecialties in medicine. Oncology here I come.
---
In food news, I made the buffalo chicken thighs and blue cheese smashed potatoes that I spoke about in an early post. (Check out that post for links to the recipes, as I am about to collapse dead from exhaustion and am too lazy to re-link to them.)
I have to say that I wasn't totally thrilled with the meal. It made a lot of dishes between frying, baking, and coating the chicken, and it was just alright for the effort. The smashed potatoes were okay, but again, nothing fabulous. Admittedly I didn't have buttermilk (used regular milk) and I used mild blue cheese (I hate things that taste like moldy feet), so it wasn't exactly as intended, but I'm not sure that it would've been that much better if I'd followed the recipe without modification. (It may just have tasted more like moldy feet. Mmmm.) I may or may not make this again, depending on how it tastes reheated tomorrow night. I find that I often enjoy foods more the second night, after I haven't turned my kitchen into a disaster zone of dirty dishes and vegetable peels, so I might have a revised opinion at that time.
Any suggestions on what I should put into next week's meal plan?
(In typical future internist fashion, I seemed to have a knack for doing things that angered the scrub nurses. I can distinctly recall being glared and/or screamed at for not being able to get my fingers into the surgical gloves fast enough or for unconsciously reaching up to scratch my itchy nose after being scrubbed in. Good times.)
In internal medicine, there's a similar division between the people who are interested in procedural specialties (gastroenterology, respirology, cardiology) and those who aren't. (Guess which category I fall into.) My lack of interest in procedures isn't serving me well on my current respirology rotation, as three to four half-days per week are spent in the bronchoscopy suite. The first half day was alright - it's kind of interesting to look inside a lung, and it's nice to have a visual image of the diseases I'm diagnosing and treating. After the first half day, however, I discovered that bronchoscopy is pretty much the same thing over and over again, with a small bit of variety introduced by the presence or absence of structural changes, infection, and tumours. Not my cup of tea.
Today the universe gifted me with an entire day of bronchoscopy. By 10 am, I was contemplating faking a vasovagal attack so that I could remove my sweaty gown and sit down in a well-ventilated area. By noon, even my constant shuffling from foot to foot couldn't relieve the unrelenting ache in my lower back. By 3 PM, I was discovering religious faith for the first time in my life, mainly because I began to believe that I had died and been sent to hell by a wrathful god. Fortunately I was too exhausted to let out a cheer for joy when the scrub nurse announced that we had completed our last scope of the day, but there was certainly a cheer going on in my weary brain.
Despite feeling like I was trapped in the slowest day in the history of time, I did my best to appear interested and to ask questions about what I was seeing. I appreciate the time and effort that attendings take to teach us, and I don't want to be disrespectful of that by looking bored and not paying attention. Apparently I'm not that great at faking enthusiasm, however, as when we left the bronchoscopy suite the attending looked at me with a twinkle in her eye and said "So, I guess you're not dying to become a respirologist, are you?".
Oh...how glad I am that there are non-procedural subspecialties in medicine. Oncology here I come.
---
In food news, I made the buffalo chicken thighs and blue cheese smashed potatoes that I spoke about in an early post. (Check out that post for links to the recipes, as I am about to collapse dead from exhaustion and am too lazy to re-link to them.)
I have to say that I wasn't totally thrilled with the meal. It made a lot of dishes between frying, baking, and coating the chicken, and it was just alright for the effort. The smashed potatoes were okay, but again, nothing fabulous. Admittedly I didn't have buttermilk (used regular milk) and I used mild blue cheese (I hate things that taste like moldy feet), so it wasn't exactly as intended, but I'm not sure that it would've been that much better if I'd followed the recipe without modification. (It may just have tasted more like moldy feet. Mmmm.) I may or may not make this again, depending on how it tastes reheated tomorrow night. I find that I often enjoy foods more the second night, after I haven't turned my kitchen into a disaster zone of dirty dishes and vegetable peels, so I might have a revised opinion at that time.
Any suggestions on what I should put into next week's meal plan?
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Addiction
I have a (shameful) confession to make: I'm a computer game addict. It doesn't really matter what the game is - if I get sucked in, I find it nearly impossible to suck myself out.
Sadly, there are many examples from my life to illustrate my point. As a graduate student, my supervisor had to ban Tetris from the lab computers so that I would do my experiments. While I was dating BF#2, he decided to introduce me to World of Warcraft, naively thinking that we could play it together for fun on weekends; I promptly stopped cooking, cleaning, and sleeping for more than five hours a night so that I could squeeze in every possible moment of game time. (Thankfully he recognized the severity of my lack of self control and threatened to break up with me if I didn't let my subscription expire at the end of the first month.) When my Dad was sick, I started playing Cafe World on Facebook, and I would time my visits with my parents so that I would always be home in time to serve the virtual food and start new dishes on the stoves.
I don't know what it is, but there's something about computer games that grabs hold of the reward centre of my brain and refuses to let go. I know on an intellectual level that it's stupid and wasteful, but there's something internal that compels me to keep playing once I get hooked. Fortunately I've gained some insight into my own behaviour over the years, and I've learned to not even get started on a game. I don't play Facebook games (any more), I don't download games to my iPhone (any more), and I certainly don't start playing any addictive online games.
(You know where this is going, don't you?)
Over the weekend, after I had finished studying on Saturday night, I rewarded myself with some takeout sushi and relaxing in front of the tv/computer. While catching up on some of my favourite blogs, a link to online Pac-Man caught my eye, and I followed it without even thinking about what I was doing. Big Mistake. Through a series of links, I eventually came to a website with a free online game that allows users to create their own empires and conquer the empires of others. And within a few short minutes, I was hooked.
Since then, I've been neglecting things - studying, cleaning, responding to comments on my blog. It's amazing that I actually managed to grocery shop and cook yesterday, although I must admit that I was plotting my next move while doing so. Absolutely pathetic. After work today, I rushed into my apartment so that I could check on the status of my building construction and my dungeon raids, and it suddenly hit me that I'd done it again. Once again, I'd let myself get sucked into a time-eating, purposeless computer game.
No more. I've stopped playing, the link is deleted, and I hereby give my blog followers permission to write me angry comments if I show signs of falling off the face of the Earth from being sucked back in. Time for me to behave like a grownup.
(Right now the voice in the back of my head is saying "But all your hard work is going to waste! You almost finished building the stable that will allow you to recruit cavalry to your empire! Just play a little bit longer!)
Yep. Ignoring the voice.
---
On another note, I did manage to drag myself away from the computer screen long enough to visit my nieces on Halloween. How could I miss a five-year-old and a seven-year-old doped up on adrenaline and refined sugar? Here's a few (non-identifying) photos.
Jack-o-lanterns:
A Halloween cat:
The spoils:
Lining the spoils up so that they can be eaten in the correct order. (I think the youngest niece takes after me.):
Hope everyone had a great Halloween and is managing to be more productive than I have lately.
Sadly, there are many examples from my life to illustrate my point. As a graduate student, my supervisor had to ban Tetris from the lab computers so that I would do my experiments. While I was dating BF#2, he decided to introduce me to World of Warcraft, naively thinking that we could play it together for fun on weekends; I promptly stopped cooking, cleaning, and sleeping for more than five hours a night so that I could squeeze in every possible moment of game time. (Thankfully he recognized the severity of my lack of self control and threatened to break up with me if I didn't let my subscription expire at the end of the first month.) When my Dad was sick, I started playing Cafe World on Facebook, and I would time my visits with my parents so that I would always be home in time to serve the virtual food and start new dishes on the stoves.
I don't know what it is, but there's something about computer games that grabs hold of the reward centre of my brain and refuses to let go. I know on an intellectual level that it's stupid and wasteful, but there's something internal that compels me to keep playing once I get hooked. Fortunately I've gained some insight into my own behaviour over the years, and I've learned to not even get started on a game. I don't play Facebook games (any more), I don't download games to my iPhone (any more), and I certainly don't start playing any addictive online games.
(You know where this is going, don't you?)
Over the weekend, after I had finished studying on Saturday night, I rewarded myself with some takeout sushi and relaxing in front of the tv/computer. While catching up on some of my favourite blogs, a link to online Pac-Man caught my eye, and I followed it without even thinking about what I was doing. Big Mistake. Through a series of links, I eventually came to a website with a free online game that allows users to create their own empires and conquer the empires of others. And within a few short minutes, I was hooked.
Since then, I've been neglecting things - studying, cleaning, responding to comments on my blog. It's amazing that I actually managed to grocery shop and cook yesterday, although I must admit that I was plotting my next move while doing so. Absolutely pathetic. After work today, I rushed into my apartment so that I could check on the status of my building construction and my dungeon raids, and it suddenly hit me that I'd done it again. Once again, I'd let myself get sucked into a time-eating, purposeless computer game.
No more. I've stopped playing, the link is deleted, and I hereby give my blog followers permission to write me angry comments if I show signs of falling off the face of the Earth from being sucked back in. Time for me to behave like a grownup.
(Right now the voice in the back of my head is saying "But all your hard work is going to waste! You almost finished building the stable that will allow you to recruit cavalry to your empire! Just play a little bit longer!)
Yep. Ignoring the voice.
---
On another note, I did manage to drag myself away from the computer screen long enough to visit my nieces on Halloween. How could I miss a five-year-old and a seven-year-old doped up on adrenaline and refined sugar? Here's a few (non-identifying) photos.
Jack-o-lanterns:
A Halloween cat:
The spoils:
Lining the spoils up so that they can be eaten in the correct order. (I think the youngest niece takes after me.):
Hope everyone had a great Halloween and is managing to be more productive than I have lately.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Goals
I've had a bit of a blogger crush on Sarah at the SHU box since I started reading her blog a few months ago. For anyone not familiar with her, Sarah is a pediatric endocrinology fellow who somehow manages to find the energy and motivation to exercise regularly, cook healthy meals for herself and her husband, and blog almost daily. And this is despite now being 18 weeks pregnant. Prior to discovering her blog, I had a lot of great excuses for all the things I don't do regularly - I'm busy, work is busy, no one manages to do anything more than survive while in residency. And yet, there was Sarah's blog, reminding me on a daily basis that someone in similar circumstances is managing to do all of the things that I'm not.
(Assuming that Sarah is not actually a cyborg. Which is still a distinct possibility.)
Sarah's blog has made me realize that I can do more than I'm doing right now. Not that I will ever be a perfect person with an immaculate home and a size 2 body and a fridge filled with organic produce and free-range meat - but I don't have to be a lazy person living in abject squalor who dines at the Golden Arches every day. A happy medium is possible. As anyone who's been reading here for a while may have noticed, I have been making attempts to strike that happy medium - I've been cooking more, I've been making study schedules for myself, and I even dragged myself outside for a few runs last month. And all of this has been good, but I want to keep working on things and getting better.
So, I'm going to borrow an idea of Sarah's, which is to work on smaller, achievable goals. I have a bad habit of setting big lofty goals for myself and then failing miserably at them. ("This month I will study three hours a day, work out five days a week, and cook every night because I am now amazing!"*) I know that if I want to keep changing things for the better, I need to focus on gradual change in the right direction rather than attempting to completely overhaul my life all at once.
So, I'm setting a goal for this month of meal planning and grocery shopping. I'm reasonably good at cooking meals when I have something decided on and I have the components in my fridge, but when the fridge is bare I'm very likely to stop for fast food on the way home from work. I even justify it to myself by saying that it's much faster than shopping/cooking, so it will allow me to start studying sooner. (Not good logic.) Hopefully by doing more planning and grocery shopping I'll be able to avoid the trap of the fast food.
If you're interested, here's my meal plan for the week:
Tuesday: Turkey Chow Fun
Wednesday: Leftovers
Thursday: Buffalo Chicken Thighs with Blue Cheese Smashed Potatoes
Friday: Dinner with nieces
And here's a picture of the Turkey Chow Fun:
This was an absolutely fabulous dinner. It took less than 30 minutes to cook, and I'm sure it could take even less if made by someone who isn't as painfully slow at cooking as I am. It only used one pan, thanks to pre-cooked rice noodles, so it was easy cleanup. And most importantly, it tasted good. Go back for seconds and eat directly from the pan good. (Not that I would ever do that.)
Baby steps.
*If you want to see a hilarious illustration of what setting big goals and then (inevitably) failing can look like, check out this post at one of my other favourite blogs, Hyperbole and a Half.
(Assuming that Sarah is not actually a cyborg. Which is still a distinct possibility.)
Sarah's blog has made me realize that I can do more than I'm doing right now. Not that I will ever be a perfect person with an immaculate home and a size 2 body and a fridge filled with organic produce and free-range meat - but I don't have to be a lazy person living in abject squalor who dines at the Golden Arches every day. A happy medium is possible. As anyone who's been reading here for a while may have noticed, I have been making attempts to strike that happy medium - I've been cooking more, I've been making study schedules for myself, and I even dragged myself outside for a few runs last month. And all of this has been good, but I want to keep working on things and getting better.
So, I'm going to borrow an idea of Sarah's, which is to work on smaller, achievable goals. I have a bad habit of setting big lofty goals for myself and then failing miserably at them. ("This month I will study three hours a day, work out five days a week, and cook every night because I am now amazing!"*) I know that if I want to keep changing things for the better, I need to focus on gradual change in the right direction rather than attempting to completely overhaul my life all at once.
So, I'm setting a goal for this month of meal planning and grocery shopping. I'm reasonably good at cooking meals when I have something decided on and I have the components in my fridge, but when the fridge is bare I'm very likely to stop for fast food on the way home from work. I even justify it to myself by saying that it's much faster than shopping/cooking, so it will allow me to start studying sooner. (Not good logic.) Hopefully by doing more planning and grocery shopping I'll be able to avoid the trap of the fast food.
If you're interested, here's my meal plan for the week:
Tuesday: Turkey Chow Fun
Wednesday: Leftovers
Thursday: Buffalo Chicken Thighs with Blue Cheese Smashed Potatoes
Friday: Dinner with nieces
And here's a picture of the Turkey Chow Fun:
This was an absolutely fabulous dinner. It took less than 30 minutes to cook, and I'm sure it could take even less if made by someone who isn't as painfully slow at cooking as I am. It only used one pan, thanks to pre-cooked rice noodles, so it was easy cleanup. And most importantly, it tasted good. Go back for seconds and eat directly from the pan good. (Not that I would ever do that.)
Baby steps.
*If you want to see a hilarious illustration of what setting big goals and then (inevitably) failing can look like, check out this post at one of my other favourite blogs, Hyperbole and a Half.
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