I'm that kid. . .

Disclaimer: This is not a pity post.  I'm not asking for, nor looking for your pity.  In fact, I don't want it.  I don't need it.  Please take it elsewhere.  This is simply an observation, some thoughts, and acceptance on my part.

I started running for real on Thanksgiving Day, 2009.  I had done some running before that.  My father used to get me up at 5 in the morning when I was in Junior High to go jogging with him.  I did some running in medical school.  But then I sort of stopped.  Something changed that November morning and I went and ran about 5 miles, a new record distance for me.

Since that time I have continued to run, though with varying degrees of success at different times.  Last year was great up until the marathon in October.  Then I sort of slipped, was really tired (ya know, residency will do that to you) and didn't do great.  But we signed up for a half-marathon and I had some motivation again.  It was great to remember again just how good it feels to go out and move across the earth.

Our half-marathon was this past Saturday.  My wife and her friend did really great.  They were faster than me by far (no surprise), and even faster than they thought they would be.  I was super excited she did so well.  But I honestly had some difficulty with her congratulating me and being proud for me as well.  I mean, she ran it well and fast.  I just ran it.  Then the metaphor hit me.  I realized what kind of runner I am.

I'm sure we all know that one kid on the sports team.  Pick your sport, it doesn't really matter.  Let's go with basketball for sake of this blog, since I like basketball the most.  But there is always that one kid on the team.  He enjoys playing, but is just not good.  He scores occasionally, but will never make the winning basket.  He has a few assists, but more often than not either gets picked off or just throws it away when trying to pass.  And he dribbles off his own foot as often as he does the floor.

His mommy and daddy are proud of him because he is "there".  He's playing his hardest, despite the fact that, frankly, he sucks.  In fact, the team would be better off if he wasn't there, but no one has the heart to tell him that.  He just doesn't realize how bad he is, and that he is never going to be good at basketball.  Everyone just cheers because they are decent people and sort of feel sorry for him.  Fortunately for him, he just hears the cheers, and doesn't care.

I'm that kid. 

I'll go out and run.  I'll do okay, but I will never win a race, never win my age division, and will just constantly "finish" whatever race I enter.  And as I cross that finish line, there will be people cheering for me.  The only problem is, unlike that kid on the basketball court, blissfully ignorant, I know I'm that kid.  I know that, without mincing words, I kind of suck.

But I have accepted that.  So I will just continue to run, even though I kind of suck at it.

Would you like fries with that?

I love my job.  Really.  I promise I do. 

Some days, though, I just don't feel up to it.  Today is one of those days.  I'm not sure why I feel that way.  It could just be pre-call weekend depression setting in (it's a real thing, I swear!), maybe it is because I am feeling a bit overwhelmed by having to deal with our new EMR this weekend, having been gone since the "go live" date.  Maybe it is just because I don't feel that I performed as well as I would have liked in the OR today.

Whatever it is, there are some days when I just really wish the toughest thing I had to deal with at work was asking the tough question, "Would you like fries with that?"

Oh that it were only so simple.  But just some days.  Just days like today.

Why do we have. . .

Dinner can be a great time of the day.  As my parents taught me, and as we have tried to do in our own family, dinner is a specific time in which other things do not intrude.  Cell phones are kept put away, everybody sits down together, and we try to talk to each other.

I do feel it is an important time.

Sometimes, this also leads to some funny, funny moments.  Such as tonight.

We were sitting there, having dinner, when Alex asked a simple question.  We were having a finger food meal.  No utensils necessary.  But we had forks, just in case.  Suddenly Alex turned to us all and asked "We do we even have forks?"

Elissa's explanation was very thorough.  "Well, sometimes when we eat, we swallow some extra air down into our stomachs.  This builds up, then eventually needs to be released.  When it does, it comes out as a burp."

The look on Alex's face was priceless.  Confusion, mixed with amusement as he looked fixedly at the fork.

That was when I pointed out that he had asked why we had forks, not burps.  Awesome.

Dusting myself off

This last week I had to write something.

It wasn't something long.  It wasn't something creative.  I fact, it was just pretty dry regurgitation of some number crunching.  You know, a few p values, a little M&M (Materials and Methods).  Yeah, I had to write and abstract.

It was hard.  Really hard.  Fortunately, it turned out well and I was able to submit it.  But it was a moment of realization.

I realized that, just as with anything else in life, if you don't do something, if you get out of practice, it becomes tough when the heat is on.  Something which had previously been pretty easy for me, writing, was suddenly really tough.  Now, some of that was due to the nature of the project, the need to be technical, precise and concise (after all, I do tend to be verbose). 

But a lot was due to the simple fact I haven't been writing anything with regularity.  I hope to rectify that. 

And a "New Moon" rises

"You have not idea how tight I'm bound." - Jacob Black

"I have to go." - Bella Swan

There is a beauty to those quotes up there.  They perfectly encapsulate the acting range of the stars of the hit New Moon.  Some may have seen that I posted on Monday night that my wife and I were going to watch New Moon.  We did.  It was amazing.

What was most amazing was just how constipated all the actors were.  I mean, really. Bella frequently clutched her abdomen as if she was in agony, as waves of bowel spasms racked her poor tortured body.  Anyone who knows will tell you that our emotional well being and our physical well being are intimately tied together.  I really feel bad for Edward, Jacob and Bella.  Even after Jacob admits to being "tightly bound" he doesn't seem to get any relief.  One would think that wolves keep things moving through.  I suppose not.

Then you have vampires.  I get that they are backed up.  All that iron and no roughage, it just isn't good for you.  So Edward has an excuse for the fact that his only facial expression is one of severe constipation.  I can sympathize.  Let me just say, when I was taking the narcs for my kidney stone, I reached a point when the back-upedness was worse than the stone.  TMI, probably, but there you go.

While watching the movie, I just hit a point though when I ran out of steam.  I did well through the first 2/3, making wise cracks for just about everything.  But I couldn't keep it up.  The constant rictus of agony on the faces of the principals in the movie got to me.  No one could act like that all the time and not have some serious bowel issues.

My Rx for Eclipse?  Metamucil with Miralax chasers.  Maybe they will actually look human then.

It's called a "butt swirly"

On an almost daily basis, we are reminded just how different boys are from girls.  Our oldest two are beautiful girls, and raising them has certainly led to some interesting moments.  But nothing compares to what our oldest son has come up with.

A week or so ago I was explaining to the children what a number of childhood torture techniques were.  You know, the classics: wet willie, Indian burn, purple nurple, dead arm, mule bite, swirly.  Along with each name, I had to explain, in some detail, what the technique involved.

Tonight, Alex was getting ready for his shower.  We heard him yelling something from the bathroom.  Not mad or upset, just yelling.  I went in to the bathroom to see what was going on.  There he was, stark raving naked, sitting on the toilet.  Only, he wasn't really sitting on the toilet.  He was sitting IN the toilet.  The toilet seat was up and he had his hind end fully in the water.

What was he yelling?  "Butt swirly, butt swirly, butt swirly!"

He looked at me, completely serious as he tried to reach behind him to flush the toilet "I'm just trying to give myself a butt swirly, to wash the poop right down the toilet!"

Seriously?  Seriously.

Coffee must hate cups

I have a theory.  Here it is.  Brace yourself, cause this is big.

Coffee hates cups.

Seriously.  I believe it can't stand the thought of being confined into this small cardboard/plastic/metal/ceramic container.  Like Freddy Mercury, coffee just wants "to break free".

I mean, why else would it be spilled more than any other beverage I have ever seen?

While I don't imbibe alcohol, I have been to concerts and sporting events at which alcohol was being freely sold and consumed.  Sure, there were some spills.  But nothing like freaking coffee.  And heck, at least those people had the excuse that they may have been a few drinks in and were carrying their beverages amidst large crowds.

No, I don't drink coffee either, so I may not fully understand this phenomenon.  I am, however, surrounded by regular coffee drinkers.  Like every day, many times a day.  Such is medicine, right?  Every day I see someone with fresh coffee stains on their white coat.  Every day I see spilled coffee in puddles on the floor, or stains on the carpet.  I see my colleagues reaching for the paper towel to wipe the coffee off their hands before it gets on their clothes.

I am a water drinker.  Sometimes I will also have a glass of milk.  But I don't usually spill those beverages on me.  Sure, everyone has the rare spill, but nothing like I see with coffee.  Is it because it is hot?  Is it a secret coffee drinker only sign?  Is a ritualistic?  Does it make the coffee taste better?

There has to be some explanation, because otherwise, I just don't get it.

The price of experience

Plane ticket from SLC to NC: $250
Medical degree from private medical school: $Lots
Live experience from those four years: Priceless

I had an interesting discussion with a physician in clinic a bit ago.  He is a very intelligent, very well respected physician here, and he and I have discussed our families before.  He was talking about convincing his college age children to choose state schools over private institutions.

His main talking point was financial.  And he brings up a very good point.  My wife and I both went to a state university, graduated with (in my opinion at least) great educations, and with absolutely no educational debt.  That last part was a huge blessing.

When it came time for medical school, I had a similar choice.  I could have stayed close to home and gone to the University of Utah.  It is a good medical school and the tuition certainly would have been less.  The competing option was Duke.  After some serious reflection, discussion and prayer, we chose Duke.

Due to that choice, I have, to be quite honest, sizable educational debt.  That debt would have been much less had we chosen otherwise.  And my education would have been comparable (no matter what the Dukies may say).

But the experience would not have been the same.

Of course, I am just guessing.  Perhaps I am rationalizing to ease the pain of the student loans.  This I know: had we stayed at the University of Utah, we would have relied heavily on family.  I love our families.  They are wonderful.  But I think that, as a family, we are stronger than we would have been because we have been without them.

In North Carolina, our church group became our family.  We had to build strong friendships and learn to rely on ourselves and our friends, rather than being able to run to family.  That growth is something I just don't think you can put a price tag on.

Ultimately, I also don't think I would be where I am at this time.  I had very different plans when I started medical school as to what I wanted to do professionally.  The change really was due to people I met at Duke.  You just can't discount that.

In the end, money is just that: money.  But experience, well, that you can take with you.

Star Wars: watching it again for the first time

I was only one when Star Wars was released.  I honestly don't remember my first time watching it.  However, the legacy has lasted my lifetime thus far.  I clearly remember the shock of the revelation of Empire Strikes Back.

Since that time, I have read books, played games, watched movies (even a mere 2 days after my first child was born!) and had a blast with the Star Wars universe.  It has been even more fun to see my children discovering the world of Star Wars.  They have played many of the major scenes of the movies in Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga.

Alex, in particular, has embraced Star Wars.  This certainly has something to do with his friend's love.  For his recent birthday, a friend gave him a lightsaber, and it has barely left his hands since that day.

However, none of my children have actually seen Star Wars or any of the other movies in the saga.  They are familiar with characters, some of the events, but they haven't ever experienced Star Wars the way I experienced it: through the original movies.  The reasons are many, but mostly because I haven't been sure they were both old enough and interested enough.

Tonight I shall rectify this.  Alex has been so fascinated by Star Wars that, after thinking about it, I decided he is old enough.  I told him as much earlier this week and the light in his eyes was priceless.  So we set a date: Thursday night.

On the way home from work, I picked up the DVD (I have the "Special-Han-Will-Always-Shoot-First-No-Matter-What-Lucas-Thinks-Edition" on VHS, but never have picked up the original trilogy on DVD) from the video rental store.  As I walked through the door, I showed him the case.  He literally started bouncing off the walls with excitement, clutching the case to his chest.

Should be fun.  It will be like watching it all again for the first time.

An anachronism in the wild: Old school Walkman

The year was 1988.  I was 12.  For a few years I had used a huge, white Crown cassette player.  This thing was pretty basic.  It had no radio, no sound enhancement of any kind.  There was no auto-reverse.  Instead of a belt clip, this monster had a black strap so you could hang it around your neck (like a millstone).  It also required 4 AA batteries, which went on the bottom so this thing was much larger than a cassette tape.

But I played the heck out of it.  It serviced me well.  Time moves on though, and this just wasn't going to last.  Christmas, 1988.  Santa brings me the WM-AF64.  This was top of the line.  Auto-reverse at the tap of a button, Sony's proprietary Mega Bass sound enhancement, AM/FM radio with three presets as well (these were analog, not digital so you never lost them when the batteries ran out).  It also had a screw on belt clip, ran on 2 AA batteries and looked sexy.

I loved this thing.  I used it every day for years, and it withstood all that heavy use.  It would be replaced in 1994 by my first Discman, the D-33.  This, too, had Mega Bass and was billed as a "car" discman, meaning it was mounted on suspensors to try to limit the skipping.  It was also a beast.  Huge, thick, and a bit of a battery hog.  But it played me sweet, sweet music.  Years later I would finally retire this (after being married and having one kid!) in favor of the D-SJ15, a Sports branded discman that had buffering, was watertight and had a handy strap to use while running.  In fact, I still have this discman buried in a drawer in my room.

But as we all know, technology advances.  Time stands still for no one.  I finally jumped on the iPod bandwagon in 2006 with a 5th generation 30 GB model.  While I still have and use that iPod, the most commonly used is my 3rd generation iPod Nano (the best model in terms of form IMO).  I love it and use it every day.  And even then, I recognize that I am a few years behind the times.

So imagine my shock as, while driving home from work the other day, I saw a women getting ready to go for a walk outside.  She appeared to be planning on exercising, wearing athletic shoes and shorts.  She put some headphones on, then I saw her reach to her waist and push play on a huge, white Walkman style cassette player.

I was aghast.

Honestly, I don't even have any cassette tapes anymore.  I did, for years, but have no idea what happened to them or when they were left by the wayside.  Heck, my CDs basically only exist long enough for me to rip them to my computer then they go downstairs into storage.  Yet here this woman was, embracing technology from 1962, carrying at most 120 minutes of music in that bulky box.  And here I sit with 881 songs, totaling who knows how many hours, in a device smaller than a credit card and barely as thick as a couple sticks of gum.

My how the times have changed.  Though I cannot deny getting a little nostalgic for the tape hiss at the beginning of Europe's The Final Countdown, especially the start of "Cherokee" on side B.  Man I played the heck out of that tape.