"I wanna be like her when I grow up." (Part 1 of 2)

The first rule of the residents lounge: Everyone Bitches about their Attendings.  It's the Goldilocks of patient management - this one is too Mean, this one has No Cojones, and that one never answers their phone so I guess I'll figure it out on my own.

Dr. D was the only person who was above lounge bitching.  She was fair, kind, capable and had an amazing bedside manner.  The kind of attending who didn't have to rip you a new one when you screwed up, because you were already berating yourself - "How could I have done something so stupid in front of Dr. D?"   Plus, she always looked professional and put together when I was still rocking Dansko clogs and dress pants that were always a little wrinkled.

In contrast to today - when I had a casual lunch with Dr. D, while we talked about balancing work and kids schedules (try and get as much as possible done before 9 AM), how the babysitter she helped me find was doing (fantastic) and the key item to making work outfits mesh with a White Coat (cardigans)

In truth, she and I were part of a rotating table of fantastic women in medicine, passing through during a special Holiday Lunch Service in the lounge - several were my colleagues, who freely exchange Tirades over weak admissions as well as hand-me-down baby clothes.  Others were subspecialists who I've worked with and looked up to for years and am now finding that their lives aren't so different from mine at this point.  (Heck, some might even be reading this - Hello!)  

The one thing we all agreed on, in between keeping small ones settled on our laps and checking the clock to make sure we were still on schedule is that paying full-price for any piece of Child's clothing is insane.  

Decades ago, the understanding was that a Doctors first and most important commitment was always to their patient.  They would come and see their families once the work is done, but if that was after dinner and bedtime, so be it.  (The scene in Scrubs where Dr. Cox bursts into his son's room, story in hand only to find him already asleep hits home for me)

These days, I have to figure out a way for my patients to get the best care I can give - but seriously, the Daycare closes at 7:30 and I have to be there.  And so I am relieved to see the physicians I respect and admire, who do provide excellent care day after day happen to also be mothers and active participants in their families day-to-day lives.  

I wasn't positive I could do it, to be completely honest.  I had to go back to work when small one was 5 weeks old - not even old enough for day care.  (Thank God for Grandparents and Dads who take extra vacation...)  

I dealt with this fact in a very mature fashion: spending one memorable morning holed up in the office crying and eating a box of leftover Christmas Cookies.  However, once the hormotions (hormonal emotions) passed, things did get easier.  I started to see the ways that Dr. D made things work - planning ahead, finding (and then trusting) people to help you, and always having a backup plan.

5 years later and my, how things have changed.  I have traded orthopedic footwear for stylish flats and paid a hip young person to tell me what clothes will make me look fun and professional (while camouflaging rogue booger wipings).

I still want to be her when I grow up, though.  

When we last left our heroine....

(Two freaking YEARS ago...)

I was a wee baby hospitalist.  I was finally "not a resident", but still too intimidated to actually EAT in the doctors lounge.  I had also just finished my first real season of derby, where I actually made rosters and scored points.

The not-blogged about fact what that my husband and I made the agreement to "stop not trying to have a baby... but y'know, after the holidays."

I was pregnant by February.  :)

So 2013 was the year of learning new skills: in the first half of the year, it was how to professionally exit a patients room in order to go vomit, and doing my level best to come up with reasons why I had to miss 6 weeks of derby practice.. "Oh, y, know... work..."  Later, it became how to scoop up Derby girls from the track and intubate patients even though I had... well, a person in the way.  

With our beloved Bone Collector temporarily relocated, I filled in at the team's medic for the season, still attending practice when I could and watching my fresh meat class grow.  :)

Happily, I birthed a healthy baby girl in November, enjoyed my holiday maternity leave and even got right back on the hospitalist horse 5 weeks later. (I may have cried and eaten leftover christmas cookies in the office for a few of the mornings... but I got back to it!)

  And of course, returning to derby!  The excitement was building.  After months of keeping all manner of hormonally boosted emotions bottled up - AND no booze, I was certainly ready to "hit a bish" as we say on the track.

My first practice back, I pulled myself out after an hour because I couldn't do one of the drills in what I felt was a safe manner - seems that gestating does take a bit out of your endurance and cardio status.

So imagine my surprise when at the next practice, I fall and break my ankle doing a totally routine, no impact, low speed, fresh meat drill.

FUN FACT:  You lose a significant percentage of bone density while post-partum and nursing.  Guess when I learned that fact?



Yeah, it sucked.  When I am old and sharing stories with all the other old demented ladies at the nursing home, I'm sure I will repeatedly tell the tale of how I broke my leg and was non-weight bearing for 6 weeks with an infant at home, in a two story house and a husband that worked 24 hour shifts.  (And still going to work!  And nursing!  For every woman who's weighed whether she can have a glass of wine between feeding sessions, I learned how to stretch out a Lortab like a champ...)

Thank God for my parents.  For serious.  Especially because my orthopod nixed my plan to just deposit Diana in the little basket in the front of my three wheeled push scooter.

So 2014 was unfortunately not my triumphant return to skating.  I did sell the shit out of some merchandise, thanks to an adorable little helper.  :)

And where does that leave us now?  Well, my good reader - now that I have finally come to grips with the guilt that defines almost every working mother (see future post "You HAVE to shower" for details).  I'm starting to train back up.

And I'll tell you about how I actually talk to other attending physicians now.  Sometimes I even call them by their first name.

Except for Dr. R.  Because I suspect God himself wouldn't call someone that badass simply "Jim."