A Claire Update

Having just spent my morning getting myself and the girls ready to go to Spina Bifida Clinic, three hours and change trapped with two two-year-olds in one exam room, and having gotten them home without car napping and successfully into and asleep in their beds, I pondered a daytime adult beverage. Instead, I wrote a blog post.  Continue reading “A Claire Update”

it’s outta my hands

This is sort of how I imagine the computer that does the match. Image via Flickr user Lori and the Bell Jar.

At some point in toddlerhood, it eventually hits all of us, the “I can do it by myself!”  And from that point on, to be human is to want to be in charge of ourselves.  You’re not the boss of me! I choose my choice! I’m in charge!

Lately, though, I find myself feeling like a toddler, trying to DO IT BY MYSELF, and this thing called life keeps reminding me that I’m not always the boss of me, I don’t always get to choose my choice.  Boy oh boy does the medical education system that owns our lives right now make that clear.  You see, in three weeks, Jon will get an email that will suddenly reveal what we’ll be doing with our lives for the next three years. And it’s more than driving me nuts. Continue reading “it’s outta my hands”

stranger than fiction

Image via Twin Roses Designs, click image if you want to buy a Grim Reaper robe for yourself.

My medical-resident husband is always saying that “Scrubs” is the most accurate medical show. Sometimes reality seems determined to prove his point.

He’s working in an intensive care unit this rotation, and was on call Friday night. There was one patient whom everyone was sure wasn’t going to make it much longer. On Saturday moring, as my sleep-deprived hubby made rounds, he came out of one patient’s room to see a dark hooded, robed figure standing outside the room of that unlikely-to-make-it patient. Thinking for a brief moment that he saw Death Himself, my husband thought, “He’s come!”

But it turns out it was just a pharmacist, dressed like a vampire for Halloween.

Costume choice for intensive care unit: FAIL.


Dr. George Tiller.  Image via the New York Times.
Dr. George Tiller. Image via the New York Times.

It’s tragic that a Kansas physician, Dr. George Tiller, was murdered while ushering at church this morning by a terrorist (yes, a terrorist.  When you kill a person in hopes of intimidating and striking fear in an entire group of people, it’s terrorism).  It’s crazy to me that anyone who claims to be “pro-life” would take a life in this way.  Also crazy to me is that media outlets including the AP continue to refer to him as “late term abortion provider George Tiller.”  Really?  Which one aspect of Jon’s profession should I choose to refer to him by?  “Lumbar puncturer Jon [Bufflo]?”  Maybe “Lung sounds listener Jon [Bufflo]?” No, accurately, it’s “pediatrician Jon [Bufflo].”  George Tiller was an OB/Gyn.  Who sometimes performed “late term abortions” in the course of his care for his patients.  To refer to him as “late term abortion provider George Tiller” is to further inflame the divisions that caused this tragedy in the first place, and it’s bad journalism.

meredith grey better stay away!

Another funny hospital anecdote from my husband:

Yesterday in a conference with a patient’s family, all the caregivers were going around and introducing themselves, each saying what their role was in the care of the patient.  It got around to Jon and he was like, I’m Jon, I’m [Patient’s] doctor. That’s when Patient’s grandmother interrupted:


That’s right.  I’m married to Dr. McDreamy.  He’ll have you know he won’t be performing brain surgeries in elevators or anything.

i lub my scrub

I’m married to a medical resident, which explains most of the circumstances of the following conversation, had with Jon who is a bit of a zombie after working a 30 hour shift.

Scrubs. By wenzday01 @ Flickr.
Scrubs. By wenzday01 @ Flickr.

Jon: “I hate the PICU.”

Me: “I thought you liked it? Just the other day you were telling me how much you like it!”

Jon: “That was before this week.  Can you think of anything you’d still like to do if you had to do it 80 hours a week?”

Me: thinks for a moment. “Um, nope.  Probably not even sex.”

Jon: “Exactly.”

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