Fighting the Crud

As I sit here at work, head throbbing and woozy, I am coming to terms with the fact that I am most likely housing an infection in my right ear. This is likely to become a very annoying and painful ear infection set out to destroy my fun-filled weekend. I have been feeling not quite with it all week, which isn't too unusual for me this time of year when my allergies turn my head into an achy balloon of mucus. Excuse my obvious lack of shame when it comes to discussing bodily functions. I am after all the wife of a third year medical student. We don't mince words or spare one another from life's grosser moments. I can however usually get over these fluctuations of the middle ear and excessive expulsions of sinus fluid out of various orifices with quite a bit of sudaphed (the meth-maker's drug of choice) and gallons of saline nasal spray. I fear now that my white blood cells' efforts have been surpassed by the apparent dedication of this year's crud. Consider me a victim.

I was late getting to bed last night as I was unknowingly sucked into this awful show called Nashville about the worst kind of music (country) that I will probably become OBSESSED with when I watch it in its entirety this afternoon (because I need closure).................. but when I finally crawled into bed and laid down on my right side (my preferred side to begin my weird sleep routine on), I felt a searing pain right beneath my jaw bone as I rested my head against the pillow. I gingerly rubbed the spot that hurt and felt a knot. I first thought it might be a pimple, so I sighed at my body's extreme hormonal confusion and let my head fall back down. Searing pain again! This time, I sat up and prodded more intensely. It felt like a hard, painful pea under my skin. So of course, I violently shook W awake, grabbed his hand and jabbed it under my jawbone.

My little army against this lump.

"DO YOU FEEL THAT!?!?! What is it?!?! Am I dying?! Is it cancer?!!?"

Without even lifting his head from the pillow or shifting his body to more easily prod the lump, W slurred that it was a lymph node and that we would look at it again in the morning.

"LOOK AT IT!? You haven't even opened your eyes!?! AND, YOU'RE GOING TO BE A DOCTOR!?"

However, W was once again fast asleep.

I of course did not sleep for the rest of the night. How could I? I couldn't complete my sleep routine, which is to lay on my right side (as the inside spoon) until the weight of W's leg cuts off the circulation to my right foot. Then, I heave my leg out from under his and flip to my left side. I stay in this position for approximately 10 minutes until it is no longer comfortable. Then, I flip back over to my right side and fall peacefully asleep until morning.

The painful pea-lump did not allow me to sleep on my preferred side. BITCH.

This morning, I reminded W of my cancer. (I am not making light of cancer. I honestly had nightmares all night that it was indeed a cancerous tumor. I am what some like to call a hypochondriac.) He checked it, informed me it was not deadly, and said I was most likely getting an ear or sinus infection. WONDERFUL.

I will not allow this to deter me from the next three days' packed schedule. Sure, I am deathly afraid to turn my head to the right, since that pinches my node and hurts and makes me break out in a terror sweat, but there is just too much to do!

Let's reflect for a moment on the very real torture that awaits me tomorrow at 12:30pm........... ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY fourth grade students will descend upon me and my fragile museum house for a tour and history lesson. Please say 50 Hail Marys that I make it through unscathed. Or, just load me up with some fast-acting antibiotics and lots of ibuprofen with a few cups of coffee to boot. Maybe, we should all just say a little prayer that these children make it through the afternoon in one piece. PSA: I am not responsible for my actions while heavily medicated. I have several activities planned to keep their evil minds from concocting terrifying feats of fun in the vicinity of the 200 year old museum and its precious artifacts. They will be forced to play a corn toss, gourd roll, and then, when they can take that no longer, I will make them all string cheerios on to yarn that they will then hang in the trees for the birds. I dare them to allow their minds to wander to sinister thoughts of asking too many questions, running, jumping, not using inside voices, and constantly twitching as their undeveloped brains cannot control their writhing bodies.

After the tour, W and I are hitting the road for Lewisburg for the weekend. We will of course be staying with Cap and J so that the boys can have their date night. Cap has--in true perfect-wife-fashion (J is so damn lucky)--planned a thrilling Oktoberfest themed evening for us complete with a bonfire. Maybe, we will all don animal-themed masks and dance around the flames like the pagans of yesteryear, praising the gods for fruitful harvests to last us through the dark months (winter). (I do know my Halloween history, do you?) Or, we might just roast some marshmallows. It has the great possibility to get CRAZY. (As always, follow my Instagram (bri_jackson) to keep up with it all.)

Then, Saturday morning, there is an event in downtown Lewisburg, called TOOT or Taste of our Town, where restaurants and vendors set up tents and make delicious food. There's haggis (blegh), ribs, crabcakes, tiramisu and so much more. Cap and I plan to enjoy a little bit of everything. W will most likely be at the Greenbrier Resort talking up a few vascular surgery residency program directors (whew) from the northeast. Fingers crossed that he makes some worthwhile connections! After that, who knows what will happen! Maybe, we will have dinner at our favorite restaurant in West Virginia, Julian's. Maybe we will have another pagan bonfire. The possibilities are endless. This weekend is peak color for the leaves, so we will be sure to enjoy the foliage.

Let's just hope that this infection/swollen lymph node thing is a DUD. I refuse to accept it. No thanks. Go away.

On that note, I would like to take this time to vent about the extreme lack of compassion from my medical student husband in the wake of my illness. My boss sent me home early to rest and recuperate before the heathen tour tomorrow. This meant that W and I could enjoy lunch together at home! W was in the midst of reheating leftovers for lunch, when I trudged in and set water to boil for my go-to sick meal, Ramen noodles. I asked W to put my noodles in the water when it started to boil, which he did. Then, he very unfeelingly yelled from the kitchen for me to come, "Watch your noooodles!" How rude! I asked him if this is how it will always be from now on--do only paying patients get his time and care? Well, do they, W????

Its like that time I went nearly 10 years not being able to see long distances. My MOTHER, a school nurse (!!!), never believed me when I told her that I couldn't do boardwork from my desk--I had to sit on the floor under the board just to see it. Sure, it was her job to do yearly screenings on all of those ungrateful public school kids to make sure that they could all see and hear, but her own daughter? Nah! She'll be fine! Boy, did she feel guilty, when finally during my freshman year of college (!!!), I convinced her that I really couldn't see the board--"No, MOM, its not a ploy for attention because I might actually be blind"--did she agree to make an eye appointment for me. On the ride home from Lenscrafters with my sweet purple DKNY specs on, I surveyed the trees in the distance and couldn't stop the eruption of joy the sight induced. "MOM, I can actually see the leaves on the trees! I never knew you could see the individual leaves! I just thought everyone saw a massive blob of green." I think she might have cried. GUILT. I really made her feel bad that night when I wondered at the stars. "Stars are actually little pinpoints in the sky. They do look like diamonds! I never understood that line in 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' until just now. WOW!!!

Oh, how the times have not changed. I guess its just me and my health, all by our lonesome. W just doesn't have the time for us!

MISSING: ADORABLE PUMPKIN *REWARD*

On another note, some jerk stole my ridiculously cute pumpkin off the front porch of my museum. I mean look at that thing. Have you ever seen anything so adorable--look at its pudgy stalk??? I am bitter and pissed and feel very violated. WHO STEALS PUMPKINS FROM A NON-PROFIT!?

What are your plans for the weekend?

-b

Going back to the beginning.

In continuation with my last post about boards and all their glory, I thought I would tell you a few things about Medical School that led up to the blessed boards; AKA the events that take place before med school.

I was blind.  I told J from the beginning, “As long as we are married I will go anywhere you get accepted.”  This was my ploy to get married. 

DON’T DO THIS PEOPLE.

I locked myself into all the homesick pain I am currently in here in West Virginia, and because of my wonderful promise… I can’t complain at ALL (except on this blog, of course).

But I did get a ring.

Our three year anniversary is next week.  :)

J was wait listed for a Med School in Louisiana and had already been accepted into the school in WV.  We were in limbo.  Waiting until the very last minute for LSU to call and putting all of our eggs in that basket.

Three weeks before school started in WV, we still hadn’t heard from LSU.  I was STRESSING.  J wanted to wait it out, and I could not handle the thought of attempting to move our lives with one or two days notice.

I honestly didn’t care if we moved to New Orleans or WV… I just wanted to KNOW where we were going!  Lewisburg was kind of a scary thought, but J talked about how cute and charming the town was and how they have cheep housing (like the 3br/2ba $100,000 house he looked at while visiting for interviews).  

If you tell your new young wife you will buy an adorable white house that needs a little TLC… she will follow you ANYWHERE.

1. Don’t fall for that unless you have papers in your hand!

2. Husbands do not always research and worry about housing and future cities like wives.  Start this process early!  Call schools and ask what areas most students live in, look on their website for suggested apartments for rent, and Google EVERYTHING so you know what you are getting yourself into.  If you are renting blindly over the Internet ASK tons of ridiculous questions!

·      Is there a bar across the street?  What time do they close?

·      How many windows does the apartment have?  (I always asked this, because one woman I spoke to had a studio apartment for rent in the basement of her house for $850 a month with NO WINDOWS!!!)

·      How far is it from school?  Is it a safe walk to school?

·      Is there central A/C and Heating?

·      What is the square footage of the living room and bedroom?  (One landlord informed me that my queen bed and couch would not fit in the apartment after I asked this.  PEOPLE ARE CRAZY, and they assume everyone calling is a single med student who doesn’t have furniture.)

·      If you are living in a snowy area, do they have someone who shovels the snow on the driveway? (believe me, you don’t want to live on a rural route with a busy med student hubs and have to do that work yourself!)

I made the mistake of trusting that J had this all under control, and I would just pack up everything and wait for him to get the moving truck.  NOT THE CASE.  Three weeks before the big move, J was still looking at houses for us to BUY.

I finally had to break it down for him.

We do not have a place to live.  I have never even seen this town.  NO ONE CAN BUY A HOUSE IN THREE WEEKS… ESPECIALLY IF YOU DON’T HAVE MONEY! 

I decided to take over looking for apartments, but by this time… EVERYTHING was taken.  I must have called 100 different landlords.  I was in panic mode.  I do not do well with being in limbo, and my life was currently packed in cardboard boxes with no future WV home in site. 

That’s when I FREAKED for the first time in our marriage and for the first time on this Med School journey.

It was a Thursday night, and I remember it well.

J came home from work and after five full days of me looking for apartments and talking to very sweet, but annoyingly over friendly landlords saying how adorable their place was then sending me pictures of homes a serial killer would live in…. I lost it.

J, we HAVE to go to WV tonight.  I’m not kidding.  I called work, and someone can cover my shifts.  If we don’t go now, we will be living on the streets of Lburg or in the same house with Jeffery Dahmer.  GO PACK! 

He actually looks normal which is even scarier! Source

J, understanding the desperate tone in my voice, agreed.

3. If you and your significant other are on the fence about which school he will attend… visit ALL of the cities that are true potential options to get familiar with what area you would want to live in, and find apartment selections in ALL of them.  This way, if you happen to need to use craigslist to find a place, you will know what area you are willing to live in.

We made it to Lburg and continued our hunt.  I’d forgotten that J had never lived away from home before (we lived in a studio apartment above his dad’s garage while in newlywed/med school limbo), and this experience was INTENSE!  He wanted to look at ALL of the options… even the options that were $400/per month.  I tried to explain to him that YOU GET WHAT YOU PAY FOR, but he wasn’t buying it.

4. Pick a reasonable price range for the area you are moving to, and stick with it!  Don’t waste valuable time allowing your husband to be cheap.  Also, you are moving for him… USE THAT TO YOUR ADVANTAGE TO GET A NICER PLACE.  :)

After a full day of looking at apartments with wipe off board walls in the bedrooms and living rooms, I realized that med school was WAY more than I could have imagined, and when J started thinking those wipe off boards were great ideas… I realized he was going to be CRAZY for 4 straight years.

J, I am not living over a 24-hour laundry mat so you can have a massive wipe off board to study on.  Also, we are not having a wipe off board as a wall. 

5. Stand up for yourself and your décor!

In the end, we found a cute two bedroom apartment.  It wasn't perfect, but it was better than wipe off board walls and living in a basement!

Hope that helps!

-Cap

A Most Successful Sunday Funday

This past weekend promised to be a major flop. After weeks of nonstop running around like a crazy soccer mom on a mission--these women are INSANE--I decided that this past weekend would be lazy, peaceful, calm.

I forget that deep down in the very depths of my soul, I am one of those crazy soccer moms, minus the snotty-nosed brood for the next couple of years, who have only one speed and no time for lazing.

Friday morning, I felt the itch. It starts on the back of my neck. I start to get antsy. Soon, I can't sit still. I can't focus on anything for more than a few minutes. I am so over work. I check the clock. 1:17pm. Damn. I check that the intern is steadily working away like a good little intern. Cue major guilt trip at my ADD onslaught. The thoughts begin.

Oh, W.

We should do something tonight.
I wonder if anything is going on.
God, I would love to go to a pumpkin patch.
Maybe, we could pick apples on the way to the pumpkin patch.
The flea market is in the morning, too.
Google things to do, charleston wv, october 2012
There's a chilli cook-off downtown tomorrow!
And fireworks!
There's a pumpkin festival 30 minutes west of here.
LET'S DO IT ALLLLLL.

Pies and Pints Pizza Date Night: Chicken Gouda and Mushroom Garlic.

And so, we did most of it. I had to work for a few hours on Saturday, so that saved our weekend from becoming one, long, drawn out activity.

Don't get me wrong, I love wanting to do things and actually having things to do, but it does get exhausting. Ask W.

Our Friday ended up with some light shopping and date night that consisted of pizza and beer. Awesome.

W glows in the dark at the State Museum.

On Saturday, we visited the flea market, which is honestly ALWAYS disappointing, but some lady bought a box of toys at a WV flea market a few weeks ago and found a $150,000 Renoir painting. I think I will keep being disappointed. After that we crashed a Buddy Walk for Down Syndrome on the Capitol grounds because we decided to be sheep and follow the crowd. We decided to tour the State Museum instead.

Ahhhhh, the Farmer's Market.

I went into work for a few hours, which offered W some relief. Then, I left W to his studies and went searching for accessories for this weekend's trip to the Greenbrier Resort. Swanky. More on that afterward...... It was extremely unsuccessful but no less satisfying. I also stopped by the Farmer's Market, you know, Heaven on Earth. I bought some fall essentials for the museum and the 150 demons elementary students coming for a tour this Friday. Pumpkin, check. Indian corn for the corn toss, check. Knobbly gourds for the gourd roll, check. Cheerios and yarn for the redneck birdfeeder craft, CHECK! Bring it, children. You WILL be entertained.

Kale and chicken and rice with carrots for dinner Saturday night.

On Saturday night, we watched incredible fireworks over the river. This town loves it some fireworks. I think the mayor must require fireworks for all events within city limits. Its like that 30 Rock episode where Jack gives broadcast television a spectacle not unlike the Oscars or a terrorist attack, The Rockefeller Center Salute to Fireworks. I think fireworks might be peak for this town. I am not complaining.

Exhibit A:

Cute, right? She was very tall.

Exhibit B:

Yes, these are fireworks cascading off the bridge into the river. Ah-maz-ing.

The fireworks were a part of a classic car show that happened all freaking weekend and closed down major roads and disrupted my life for far too long for a few hunks of rusted metal. I am not a classic car fan. The fireworks were, in my opinion, the most worthwhile part of the car show.

Sunday dawned and was sure to be a lazy day. It was cold. It was drizzly. It was perfect couch potato weather. But the soccer mom in me was waging a war on inflated food costs and had her Diet-Coke-loving heart set on a trip to Sam's and the dreaded Walmart. She quickly packed up W and bustled him off for a morning of bulk-shopping. Her pony tail had never swung more happily than speed-walking the wide aisles of Sam's as she handled the sturdy packages of 36 count paper towels and double stacks of paper plates and directed W on the proper placement of the precious savings in the cart. This soccer mom left Sam's with 36 rolls of toilet paper, 24 rolls of paper towels, 9 thick cut pork chops, 40 chicken tenderloins, a red wagon wheel of Brie, a carton of baby portobella mushrooms, 2 cartons of half and half, a gallon of milk, cereal, two 6 inch stacks of flour tortillas, and several Bolthouse smoothies and coconut waters for a mere $100. Happy soccer mom.

Hello, my name is Lo, and I am the most adorable kitten-cat you've ever seen. I like bathtubs--especially wet ones.

Walmart was and is always a terrible idea. But this fateful Walmart trip united soccer mom with her new lover.

Behold:

Lover, Mrs. Meyer's All Purpose Cleaner.

W and I spent a few good hours scrubbing the house from tip top to bottom with this delicious concoction. The lavender scent left the soccer mom in me drunk on sparkling cabinets, damp floors, and freshly vacuumed furniture. It was a warm and fuzzy feeling. W even felt it, too.

Then, it was only right that I don an apron and roll up my sleeves to begin on the evening's menu. Pot Roast. It was incredible. I used Pioneer Woman's recipe here, but added a few of my own ingredients like red wine, mushrooms, potatoes, and peas.

This is W's. He likes his on white rice. I am watching my carbs, so I went without the deliciously pearly grain.

Sunday night ended with an episode of Once Upon a Time (a show that I once loved; that W scorns; and that I too am beginning to think is a little bit ridiculous; what do you think?) and W's famous chocolate chip cookies. YUM.

How was your weekend?

Picture overload right? Right.

-b and soccer mom

The Third Year

You know, when you start on this whole wife-of-a-medical-student path, you encounter lots of folks along the way who are undisputed experts on medical school (BTW) who enjoy nothing more than warning you of the extreme suck-factor of medical school. A small portion of these warnings should be heeded. The others should be immediately purged from your mind before their destructive powers take over.

Medical school does indeed suck. That much is oh so true.

Here are examples of some warnings you might receive upon embarking on a med school journey:

"You will never see him again. Ever. In your whole life. He will pay the bills, leave a mess in the bathroom, father your children, and yeah, that's about it." Thanks, I was worried I'd never get rid of him. Relief!

"Say your goodbyes now while you still have him!"

"Your apartment will smell like corpses for the first couple of months of med school." Natch.

"My sister's brother left her for a 21 year old nurse with a nose ring after she supported his sorry ass all through med school and residency. I hope your husband doesn't do that to you." Thanks, complete stranger, for your concern.

"He will leave you eventually. You know that, right?" I guess I do now....

"You're gonna be roooollliiiiiin'." In $270,000 of student loans. What. WHAT.

Mr. Sensitive

(source)

Then, there were the helpful been-there-done-that mature second year, third year, fourth year students, residents, and actual doctors with advice.

"First year will be tough, and he will study a lot. Get a hobby and make some friends." Yes, do this immediately. I am hobby-challenged and unfortunately left my friend-making skills back in kindergarten, so this little nugget was a bit useless for me.

"Second year will be hell. Boards will turn him into a phantom." This. Is. So. True.

"Don't hate him too much the first two years. The third year is so much better. There's more free time. You will see him much more."

"Fourth year is incredible. Just have fun." I'm excited for this one!

"He will disappear again for residency." But, he will be making money. I think I can deal. (Just kidding.....)

So, now, me, the wife of a third year medical student will give you my very own low-down. For whatever its worth, here goes.

First year sucked.

Second year sucked more.

Third year has been easier so far. Sure, we still spend a good bit of time apart (EM rotation took him away for night shifts), but overall, he does have more free time. He actually watches TV with me (AND WHO DOESN'T LOVE FALL TV, WHO? I DON'T BELIEVE YOU. TWO WORDS: NEW GIRL.). He doesn't lock himself up to study for 8 hour blocks anymore. He has a memory that mostly works. His appetite has greatly improved. We spend most Saturdays or Sundays together without study interruptions doing fun things instead of zombie-ing out on the sofa because he is in a study stupor and I am just BORED.

[Isn't it strange that boredom usually results in inactivity. Why are we so dumb? Cats for instance are never bored. Sure, they sleep 18 hours a day, but the rest of the time they spend chasing their tails, pawing at everything, attacking curtains, rolling around in the bathtub, unraveling toilet paper, lounging on kitchen counters and tables that they should know better. Cats have got it figured out.]

Jokesters.

(source)

Yes, we are poorer than ever. Third year has come with monetary obligations that we didn't expect or else just did a terrible job of budgeting. (Note: W's school has a statewide campus for third year, meaning that 95% of the students must move from Lewisburg for rotations.)

Learn from our mistakes/imprudence.

First mistake: Not budgeting for a moving company. / Not planning the move at a more convenient time for family/friends to assist (if you'd rather go that route).

We chose the moving company. You see, our families are in SC, and we picked Memorial Day weekend to move. I just couldn't do that to our families. So, the movers were really a necessity and ended up ($800 later) being a huge relief to both of us. Yes, it was nearly $1,000 to move us 1.5 hours, but it was two very tall flights of steps on both ends that W and I didn't have to wrestle our ridiculously heavy furniture up and down by ourselves. Also, I had to deal with our black cat, who hyperventilates, drools, panics, morphs into Satan while in a car. It was the longest 1.5 hour drive of my life. I had to bear hug her the whole time as she dug her claws into my thighs and salivated long, sticky, clear drool all down my front. AWESOME.

Don't do this.

(source)

Second mistake: Not asking W very specific questions about all that third year rotations entail. AKA Gas money has sucked our bank account dry.

For instance, I didn't know (I'm still not sure whether W knew this in advance or not) that W would be expected to travel up to two hours away for certain rotations. His first rotation was eight weeks in Family Medicine at a clinic 30 minutes away; then, his four week Emergency Med rotation was at the same location. This was a solid three months with a 30 minute commute (each way). Now, his geriatrics rotation requires him to travel 1.5 hours (each way) one day a week. I know this doesn't seem at all extreme, but consider our previous situation in Lewisburg. I walked to work every day and W (if he actually went to class) only had a 2-5 minute commute. We maybe got gas once every week-and-a-half to two weeks. Now that we have my brother's Jeep (because I was NOT going to be abandoned at work any longer), I shudder to think about our monthly gas expense. I would safely assume it has tripled since Lewisburg.

Third mistake: Higher cost of living.

I guess that we are complete idiots in this regard. We knew Lewisburg was expensive. We were paying $750/month for a one bedroom (all utilities included except electric, which several times reached a whopping $160, but was usually $50-$75). This is high for a town of 3,500 people especially when you consider the rowdy bar across the street and cattle trailers and gravel trucks (jake brakes always included) that would rattle past our street-front apartment at all hours. Our rent now is cheaper but no utilities are included. We easily pay more now than we ever did in Lewisburg. IDIOTS.

Also, there are actually like fun things to do here and more than 2 bars and 4 restaurants to choose from. YES, ITS TRUE. This phenomenon of having options was not considered. Big. Mistake.

Fourth mistake: Getting a 2 bedroom after having a 1 bedroom.

We definitely wanted a second bedroom since our families come so often to visit. Of course, a second bedroom requires a second bed. NO WAY. We thought treating ourselves to a new mattress was a great idea..................... And it was! I just wish we had budgeted for it.

Fifth mistake: Not considering the cost of all of the books and study materials--not to mention the insanely high cost of the board exam itself.

Nothing but a solid education (blah) is included in that $50,000/year tuition. Uh, DUH. We were only slightly blindsided by this one. Do your research. Study materials are freaking expensive. Beginning with second year, you should just go ahead and plan on spending $2,000 on study material and the board exam. If you are a DO student and plan to take MD boards, add another $1,000 to that amount.

If only it were this simple.

(source)

That about sums it up. I hope that this helps just a few of you or enlightens those of you who think doctors make it rain from day one.

-b

Hello Boards, Goodbye Husband.

Life has been great lately.  Aside from getting sick and straining a muscle, I have managed to get back to my normal running routine and I am now a member of the local yoga center.  I haven’t made any friends yet, but having an adorable puppy has led to lots of random conversations with strangers.  And that my friends… MAKES ME FEEL NORMAL AGAIN!  :)

Who knew human interaction would be so exciting.  You’d think I’ve been stuck in the pen (that’s gangster for penitentiary) for YEARS!

Mosley a.k.a. Mosie, Mose, Mosie-Wosie, Puppy, Puppy Love, and Puppy-Luppy (no wonder the dog doesn’t answer when I call) has been quite the little human attraction lately.  Whether we’re walking the greenbrier river trail or picking out fresh pumpkins and tomatoes from the farmer’s market, the pups (yet another name) attracts people like a magnetic force field.  One man, who stopped me on the river trail to tell me about his daughter who has a yorkie, recognized me in Kroger and actually said HELLO!  (SCORE ONE FOR PUP!)

I haven't randomly bumped into ANYONE that recognized me in the 3 ½ months I have lived here.  That was a good feeling.

People know me.  I don’t only exist in my head.  NICE.

                                                                             Source

Puppy has entered my life at the perfect timing.  J has started studying for boards, and I have been pretty sick lately.  Last week I had strep throat, and managed to strain a muscle in my back at yoga class.  I could not comfortably sit, eat, sleep, lie, or stand for three days.  The doctor gave me a heavy dose of muscle relaxers for my back, and for someone who passes out at the mere sight of Benadryl; it was quite a hilarious adventure!  Puppy kept me entertained and cuddled with me during the lonely recovery.  It was nice. 

Story:

J has a friend doing the GTA (graduate teaching assistant) program here.  In an effort to give me a little more human interactions than Kroger, we all met up for dinner this past Friday night.  I’d been in pain all day, but kept resisting the muscle relaxer.  Around 6pm, I decided I couldn’t fight the pain anymore (I was also sick of standing like the hunchback of Notre Dame).  We met for dinner at 7pm, and everything was going well.  I was actually holding my own, and I felt pretty dang good.  I decided to order a glass of Pino.  (You see where this is going, right?)

Source

One glass of Pino + flexeril + Cap = me developing a severe eye twitch, a toddler’s attention span, and a very hungry tummy.  I would make a hilarious drug addict.

After a plate of stuffed ravioli, chicken parm, 2 breadsticks, AND a slice of strawberry cheesecake (and 3 hours of board exam talk), I WAS A HOT MESS!

I attempted going to the bathroom after 3 hours of uncomfortable sitting, and SERIOUSLY could not straighten my back.  Please take a moment to picture it…

A drunk, 5’1” girl with high wedges (this decision was made right when the flexeril kicked in obviously), an eye twitch, and a back warp 1000x’s worse than Quasimodo trying to make it to a bathroom that was LITERALY on the complete opposite side of the restaurant and down a wheel chair ramp.  I did all this while trying (and failing) to look normal.

HOT MESS, PEOPLE!

  Source

Also, during the long blur of a dinner… we apparently made arragements to do it all (minus flexeril) again this weekend. 

This means I have to show my face again to these very same people.  (HOLLA!)  <-- That’s white girl for not cool.

My flexeril and I might have ruined my only hope for permanent friends in the Burg.  FUN!

So back to my post about how life with puppy has come at the perfect time…

J has officially started the never-ending trek of stressing for boards.  Granted, I’m no med school student (thankfully), but starting to stress about something that is literally 8 months away makes me want to pluck my eyeballs out.

Last night, while I’m peacefully laying in bed saying my prayers and thinking about political debates, puppy, and how many cups of coffee I’ll have in the morning, J says… “Cap, do you realize boards are in JUNE?!  I ordered a Q bank online today and I will have 3,007 questions I have to complete.  Then, W says there is another bank I should get with 2,100 questions (thanks W), AND I worked out this plan where if I work 20 questions a day every morning… I can finish them all before June.  I’m going to start tomorrow.  W also says I should start taking practice board exams once a week in May, so that will take up about 6 hours a week on top of the questions I’m already doing.”

HUH?  I was only on my second cup of imaginary coffee when you started that stress rant….

“J, RELAX! It’s OCTOBER!  I fully believe you should indeed start preparing yourself for board exams, but maybe you should hold the stress level down a notch until… I don’t know… maybe MARCH?”

This whole second year bit is going to be a hard one.  I’m thankful pup is around to talk to me, because I will obviously not have a hubs for quite a while.

First year had it's troubles.  With getting acclimated to living 1000 miles away, snow, and J working on cadavers, but that all seems like a magical Disney vacation compared to the feelings I have towards 2nd year.  

 -Cap

On Busyness & B Travels

The setting for the story you are about to read.

 WHEW...

Let me catch my breath.

How is it already October? Did we just skip over September? I'd like it back or at least an opportunity to remember if anything actually happened during it.

Oh wait, let's see. I hosted a fundraiser, ate lots of Mexican food, had some sushi, some Indian, felt ill and got better, toured the WV mountains, and then escaped to Alabama and SC for a whirlwind four days. That was September. Ok, I feel better.

I think that Cap and I might be victims of the Law of Attraction. We needed something to do? Well, for better or worse, I think we now have our fill.

Talk about "How to Not Murder Your Med Student Husband"--who???? I have a husband??? I want to murder him? WHY.

Because you are bored and separated from friends and family because of medical school. Remember?

Oh, yeah.

I think I have achieved busyness. Successfully? I will let you decide.

Hellooooo. Oysters.

Last Wednesday, I fled (as if a pack of rabid 8 year olds were after my soul, little soul suckers) the Mountain State for the intoxicating and magical Low Country. Five and a half hours, one gas stop and bathroom break later, I found myself in Columbia, SC. Well, I was close enough to my beloved coast to effectively imagine the thick and briny fragrance of rotting marsh grass. I cuddled my 9 day old nephew for a bit, read Peter Pan to the three and half year old nephew, and ate delicious enchiladas before forcing myself to close my eyes before Hannah picked me up at 9am the following morning (Thursday).

The stars of this story in our farm chic get-ups.

I was able to take the nephew to pre-school before hitting the road with my oldest bestie at 95-99 mph, speeding to Birmingham. We gabbed and yapped and chatted and laughed and listened to really good music as we raced the clock to Alabama and our $1,000 a plate dinner at 5:30 that afternoon. We thought we would be in a major time crunch with only seconds to dab mascara and don our boots and cocktail dresses.

The long white table.

Little did we know that we would be gaining an hour at the Georgia/Bama border. Score one for us! Of course, we didn't realize this lucky phenomenon until we got up to our hotel room, took one look at the clock, sighed in appreciation for timezones, and decided to go shopping.

Toasting Bessie.

Of course, none of the 20 lbs. of garments that I had trekked from WV would do. We spotted a cute boutique near our hotel, and I found the evening's attire on super markdown. Score two!

Drinks menu at Little Donkey.

Then, we decided we needed a drink, so we went to the Little Donkey and indulged in some cocktails, veggie fundido, and chips and salsa.

This table was the best idea ever.

This is when we looked at the clock and realized that our gained hour had slipped quickly away and we were on track to miss our 5:30 rendezvous. We had a fashion show at the hotel and applied the finishing touches before grabbing a cab to an urban farm on the edge of downtown Birmingham.

As we drove up, there were string lights crisscrossing above a very, very long white table, whose sparkly crystal and china place settings glinted in the setting sunlight. There was bourbon--lots and lots of bourbon--in mason jars with simple orange peels. There were hay bales covered in burlap for easy seating. There were huge Gulf shrimp, homemade sausage (that tasted like chicken bog, which my Pee Dee folks will understand), OYSTERS (those delicious little filters of the sea), pickled radishes and celery, oh, and bourbon.

Bessie.

The cocktail hour was long, ushering us into twilight and filled with bluegrass music and garden plot admiring. We plucked arugula straight from the ground and tasted its spice. We even grilled up a few peppers with permission from the plot keeper. Yum.

Then it was time for dinner and a stroll across the farm to the long, white table. It was time to toast Bessie. Bessie was the grass-fed, three-year-old cow that would become our dinner. They roasted her whole in a pit. We are very thankful for Bessie!

We sat down and were served family style. It started with grilled Red Snapper, fresh out of the Gulf the day before (OMG). Then came Bessie and field pea salad and corn relish, turnips, and okra. Finally, there was apple cake with fresh cream. It was a dreamy night under the stars, filled with delicious food and excellent company.

$250 bourbon. Yowz.

I would gladly drop everything to do it all over again. Thanks, Hannah!!

-b

Confessions Of A Mousewife

Today's post comes from a very hilarious and manly housewife, Rob Bishop.  Rob's significant other is a third year medical student.  Rob is a talented writer who has even published a book during his time as a medical student's slave (what a way to use up free time). He is the father of two loyal felines and owns a pretty nice film collection.

Hopefully, he will grace us with his writing again soon, but until then.... Check out his first guest post on the C&B Chronicles.

-Cap

                I do not have a husband in medical school. I don’t even have a husband. It’s not for a lack of trying. It’s not even because I haven’t quite found that perfect man for me. I have. But since he won’t have me, I instead settled for the silver medal of courting: a female medical student.

                That was a joke.

                She is more like the bronze medal.
               My trip to the podium is one not terribly dissimilar from that of your regular contributors to this blog save for one difference: male genitalia. Notice no use of adjectives to describe the size of the difference. Whether it is due to shame or humility is one of this entry’s eternal ambiguities.

                Way to connect with your audience, Rob.

                Skipping along the path a bit further, when confronted by others about what it is exactly that I do for a living --- and since I am apparently now an adult, the question does arise from time to time --- I answer with a simple, one word response: housewife. This retort is occasionally met with a chuckle, but more often than not, it is a much different look. One of pity.

The lovely Ms. Maroney is not impressed.

                What sort of man would openly admit to being a housewife? The short answer to the query is this—the same sort of man who habitually shaves his legs and eats ice cream by the pint.

                This isn’t going well. Better start being overly verbose. Maybe they’ll stop reading.

                The long answer is, you guessed it, longer, and likely a far more pathetic one. So I’ll spare you the details and instead you can picture John Travolta circa “Staying Alive.” Yeah. That’s the ticket, ladies.

                There is something wrong with you. Get back on track.

                Here goes nothing. Prior to the commencement of my four-year sentence as a medical school male housewife, or mousewife for short…

                I really hope no one calls me a mousewife.

                … I was a lean, tanned purveyor of manual labor, working a greenhouse for seven years. Despite the implication of working with flowers, it was the pinnacle of masculine endeavors, toiling away sowing geranium seeds and planting wave petunia hanging baskets, trimming azalea bushes and double-watering the perennials because we planted them in too damn small four-inch cups. 

                That sounded decidedly feminine. What is wrong with me? Insert something masculine so readers don’t think poorly of you.

                Professional wrestling. Scotch. Face tattoos.

                Good job. You amaze me.

                In between aiding old ladies with their picking the best celosia for the combination planters, I was tasked with hefting ninety pound bags of planting soil hundreds of yards from the retail store to the planting area. Sometimes, when college girls* were around, I’d throw a bag over each shoulder and make the lengthy trek. Again, picture Travolta circa “Staying Alive.”

This should help. Wowza!

                While the ball and chain worked her way through undergrad, and the thought of medical school was firmly entrenched as a ‘down the road’ idea, I was the breadwinner. And though the loaf was small and covered in aphids, it was mine and mine alone. And also those damn claw machines in the front of Wal-Mart. I have a problem.

                Seriously. Do you really expect anyone to respect you after this confession?

                My days as the breadwinner came to an end in the summer of 2010 when I put in my pink slip after over half a decade of service at Hurley’s Greenhouse and moved to Lewisburg.  It should be made clear that I was adamantly against the move.

Actual photo taken while loading moving truck.

                I was accustomed to hanging out at the gym with my friends in the morning, playing pick-up basketball after spending way too much time picking things up and putting them down. I was accustomed to going to work for fifty hours a week alongside my best friends, getting tan and paid at the same time. The change brought upon by the move was immense.

                I went from being the one bringing home the bacon to not only frying it in the pan but going to the store to buy it. And along with the bacon, I was tasked with shopping for everything from all the groceries to shampoo (it cleans your hair), conditioner (it conditions your hair) and deodorant (I still don’t know what this is). The shopping in Lewisburg was limited, and I became a regular at Wal-Mart to such an extreme that I not only knew the names of a wide array of the ladies at checkout, but they knew me probably better than they knew their grandchildren.

                Here is where I confess that I hate crowds. Not big crowds. Crowds in general. Because of this, for nearly eighteen months, I woke up seven days a week at 4 AM so I could both go to the gym without worry of people clogging up the free weights and hit up Wal-Mart without having to see the leprous, troll-like creatures native to the store during daytime hours.

Oddly enough, she's as smart as she is classy. Even more oddly enougher, she is unattached.

                Shouldn't you tell them that she was your prom date? Hell no.

                A few months ago, the story took another twist when we moved from the small town of Lewisburg to the city of Bridgeport, a burgeoning metropolis by comparison. This was good because it provided a much-needed change of scenery. It was bad because the crowds became much more commonplace.

                But for the second time in nearly as many years, I have adapted. Crowds remain a nuisance for me, but I am far more tolerable of them than during my youth. I do still get up early, albeit not 4 AM early. And I am home for good most days by 8 AM. Thanks to headphones at the gym, for the most part, I talk to only one person, my lady friend, during the day.

                One person and two cats! Freak.

                I buy the groceries and prepare breakfasts. I pack lunches and cook dinners. I watch six to ten hours of Major League Baseball a day from April through October, and in the hours when baseball is inactive, I watch films and read books. Sometimes, during the doldrums of winter, anywhere from four to seven movies a day or ten books in a week. Even my lady friend wonders how I do it. How I sit at home all day? How the only person I talk to face-to-face most days is her? To this question, I am completely honest with my answer.

                I spend every day with my best friend.

No, not Screech. But damn close.

   

                My best friend is someone I see every day. It's someone I couldn't live without.

                Here is where people are saying things like ‘Ahhhh’ or ‘How sweet’ or maybe even ‘Liar’.

                Time to yank the rug out, daddio.

                And here’s the rub. What I wrote is true, but it is misleading. I spend every day with my best friend. And even better, I spend all day with him too. I love him. I love me. Conceited? Good lord, yes. But the truth is the truth.

                So, as my bronze medal is working her way through her rotations, serving the role of being the sole source of face-to-face contact I have with the living world, I will continue to do what I do. Listening to podcasts while I wash the dishes and making trips to the grocery store in hopes of finding raspberries on sale. Driving to Target to get bags for the vacuum cleaner and spending far too much time tracking my macronutrient intake.

                She is my bronze medal, and despite my hermetic tendencies, I am dutifully filling the role of being her Trophy Mousewife.

                Way to close strong for the two people who haven’t moved on to watching videos of baby sea otters.

Cute as youngsters. Delicious as adults.

*and high school girls.   

-- r