Finito Mosquito

It was a rush. It was not anticlimactic at all.

I had been warning myself not to build up in my mind the last moments of medical school and the thrill of being done. So many milestones have felt disappointingly bland once they were reached.

Well it turns out that finishing medical school is not one of those milestones.

After a week from absolute hell (which I will get into once my medical degree is firmly planted in my hand) I arrived on Thursday morning for the last set of OSCE's (clinical exams). It was 12 five minute stations of medical or surgical skills. My last station was giving discharge instructions to a patient and when the buzzer rang, the actor patient stood up and shook my hand to say, "Well done!! You're done!!" The examiner said "Congrats!" and I emerged from the cubicle to see my friend, JM standing there with a huge grin on his face.

JM was the very first person I met in our class. We met in Toronto while taking the elevator up to our interviews. He surmised that I was there for the same reason and asked me where I was from, what I did for a living etc. When I told him I was living in Whistler, working in the emergency department there he stopped me and said, "Wait, so you live in Whistler, you have a job you love, yet you're planning on giving it all up to move to a different country and become hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt to be a doctor? Why?"

Well, when you put it that way. I had thought about his comment many, many times during the last 4 years. Why, indeed.

So when I saw his face as I stepped out of my last station I had to chuckle at the perfect end to medical school. We gave each other a rib-crushing hug and he said in my ear, "You know why this is a perfect finish don't you?"

I laughed and cried a little and said "YES! You were the first person I met on this journey!"

Then I randomly hugged a few other bewildered, exhausted, adrenaline frazzled classmates...I may have pounced on a few invigilator bystanders as well. It is all a bit of a blur.

We were then put in a 'holding tank' room in the hotel for over an hour as the other groups of students hadn't gone in for their exams yet. We weren't allowed to use our phones so as not to text anyone what cases were in the OSCE. I came prepared though. One little bottle of Champagne in my handbag which was quietly popped and then poured into the coffee cups they had provided for tea. A "CHEERS!" and few gulps to my pals that were also in the group. Shortly after the Prof of Medicine arrived and was asking us how it went. We were gathered in little groups chatting away, so when he approached we had just finished our Champagne. He said, "Are you having drinks soon?"

"Er.....well yes! In fact we've already had a little Champagne!"

You could see him mulling over this fact...hmmm are they allowed to have alcohol? This is an exam...hmmm...it's only 1030h...

Then he said, "Of COURSE you've already had Champagne! You're DONE! Good thinking on packing some in advance!!"

Phew.

We were set free.

I went and had an Indian head massage (best idea ever) at the spa, and spent the afternoon in the steam rooms and saunas with my dear friend, Emma.

The evening contained all the predictable events. Champagne. Great dinner out. Drinks at pub. Eventually going to Nancy's (the bar I LOVE to HATE). Having a drunk Irishman spill an entire pint of Guinness on me. Heading home with soaking wet jeans and a blister from my high heels.

And then it was over.

But I know it isn't the end. As a friend of mine on FB said, it isn't even the beginning of the end! 

I MATCHED!!!

Into what specialty do you match the girl who loves everything?

RURAL FAMILY MEDICINE!!!

I felt that this post needed to be written today. So despite the fact that I am running on 1.5 hrs of sleep and am still trying to grasp the outcome of yesterday's events, I wanted to update the blogosphere. 

The last few weeks seemed to drag on with painful anticipation. I spent many sleepless nights trying to sort out how to rank, and trying to decide what I truly wanted to be. After I submitted my list to CaRMS I started really doubting my list order. I mean, really started doubting. I had what can only be described as pseudo-panic attacks where I would go around and around in my head all the possible outcomes of the match. What would make me happy now? In 5 years? In 10 years? What was going to be able to give me the life that I wanted outside of work? What could provide me with the chance to write, maybe do some more work for CBC, travel, have flexibility, allow me to keep my athletic pursuits up, and also just enjoy big and small adventures with Duncan (I know, I know...I am introducing this character late in the game but he deserves his own post later). I've been wrestling with my first love (emergency medicine) and my new love (obstetrics) and trying to decide which of the two I wanted to do. Then I would be in clinic and see a few kids and think, "But...peds! I LOVE PEDS TOO!" or I'd meet the most fly 87 y.o lady who'd reinforce my hope for aging awesomely and I would mourn the loss of elderly patients. Also? It turns out I really enjoy continuity of care in my life. It just brings a whole other layer to job satisfaction for me.

I know, could the writing on the wall have been any more obvious?! I love getting off the beaten track, away from throbbing mega-hospitals and being somewhere that I know the radiographer's names as well as the name of the woman who serves the casseroles in the cafeteria. I don't want to live somewhere that people look at your handbag, not your face when they see you in the street. I don't want to take a subway to work or require reservations every time I go out. I am a country girl who loves country medicine. I don't know why it took me so long to come back to that, and accept it! 

So when I saw that I matched in rural family medicine, I thought..."Of course!!!" But I've forgiven myself for not knowing this a long time ago. I allowed myself to contemplate other areas of medical specialization to the furthest degree. When I said that I was going to just experience medical school and see what I liked, without preconceived ideas, I DID that. And this is where I ended up. It feels very full circle-ish to me. Now I get to do everything! Peds, obs, emerg, women's health, sports medicine, chronic disease management, surgical assist, palliative, hospitalist and down home family medicine. 

Some weird and wonderful things that have crossed my mind in the last day. 

I matched in the first program that I interviewed at. I adored the program, the people, the location. But I was guarded and wondered if part of my swoon was attributable to the fact that I was fresh and excited about interviews. I mean, initially I was so delighted with the place that I thought about not going to any other interviews. But then realised that would be a ridiculously bad idea for someone like me (a lowly IMG). I kept going back and comparing each subsequent program with that first one. Wondering.

When I was driving into the town (where I ended up matching) I came to a bridge and had a very strong sense that I would end up crossing this bridge a thousand times. I loved the look of it, I think partly because it reminded me of a bridge near my house where I grew up in Alberta. It was one of the few photos that I took during those two weeks of interviews, but it is my favorite. Looking at it, I can remember exactly that sense of predicted familiarity and how my heart had already started to feel tied to the place. It was strangely powerful and most unexpected.

Then last week, I had a dream that I matched to my program. In my dream I was shrieking and celebrating and telling myself that this was the perfect thing, and that I was so happy with the way things worked out. Of course when I woke up I felt the stress and worry creep back in as consciousness returned. The dream had been so vivid. That was where I wanted to go. What if I matched somewhere else?

I recently started on a new rotation with a congenial, fiercely intelligent, slightly quirky, banjo-playing dermatologist. When we met he asked what specialties I had interviewed for while I was in Canada. I told him, but I didn't say where in Canada any of these programs were. I told him about my previous life as a nurse in Nunavut and the NWT. A little while later he was introducing me to a patient and said, "This is ABB, she is going to be a family doctor in northern Saskatchewan". Now, again I will say that I hadn't told him where I was interviewing, and I have yet to find many Irish people who can even pronounce "Saskatchewan" let alone use it in a sentence. I mean, most Irish people know Ontario because their cousins always live in Toronto, and they've all been to Niagara Falls. Funny because it is true. So the comment from Dr. R threw me a little, but I didn't say anything to him about it, I just made a mental note. Innnterrrrresting. 

And now I am here. A little like a dog spinning around before he lies down. I still haven't fully grasped that the uncertainty, that has been hanging over me since I started on this journey over 5 years ago, has lifted.

I have a job as a doctor in Canada.

Let me just say that again on the off-chance that it sinks in.

I have a job as a doctor in Canada.

And it is a bloody good thing (as I am ~$250 000 in debt!) And an exciting thing. I am beyond grateful and excited to start on July 1st. I feel like I've been in the starting blocks for years. As a nurse I hoped some day I would become a doctor, and then as a medical student I had to deal with being slightly taken away from direct patient care. Mostly watching others do the nursing and doctoring. I've been striving, waiting, chomping at the bit for this responsibility.

This past week especially I've had a most distractible mind. My normal regime of night-before ironed work clothes, packed lunches and leisurely breakfasts has disintegrated to eating dry cereal and turning my underwear inside out instead of finding time for laundry...

But tonight I eased myself back into life. I cooked a delicious pot of veggie chilli, did loads of laundry, and sat down to write this post. The lack of sleep last night is catching up with me but I am happy.

It seems I've gradually started living my way into the answers. I cannot believe that I can actually say,

"I am going to be a rural GP!"

At the risk of extending this stream-of-ramblingness any more I just want to also say that over the years this blog has given me a great outlet and a wonderful connection to people all over the world. Even when I've felt like a tiny medical student, hidden away in a dark study room for weeks at a time, I felt connected to the people that read and commented, or took the time to write. I have made great friends and kept in touch with old ones through Asystole and I feel like it has given me many gifts on this wild ride.

And so writing this post for those of you that have been following along, gives me so much pleasure! Thank you all for the words of encouragement, advice, offer of cars, couches, lifts from the airport...for mailing forgotten bathing suits, buying me giant soup pots, sending mugs, meeting me at airports, buying me lunch and even the odd train ticket.

Expect the unexpected. Or maybe what was right in front of you the whole time.

Passive Agressive Notes

I am packing to go home, and preparing for another move which means going through all belongings with a scrutinizing eye. Used book stores, second hand clothing stores, and recycling plants--brace yourselves! I love a good purge, being the anti-pack-rat that I am.

So in this process I stumbled upon a little book of quotes that I kept during first year (yes, cue the nostalgic montage). One quote is from a weekend when Keith came to visit. For those of you who don't know Keith, he's one of my oldest friends. We met when we were 14 at a volleyball camp in Jasper, Alberta. We were both going through a "skid" phase and wanted to become doctors some day. Hence, fast friends. 

About 8 years later I managed to convince him, over a Boston Brute, to become a nurse with me. We also got our first nursing jobs together, as employed students on Unit 62 (the acute psychiatric unit at the Royal Alexandra Hospital). 

He's now living in London, England and has a masters in nursing (my attempts to get him to join me in medical school were ill-timed due to his masters!) He's this total kick ass, published, saving the world one abandoned patient demographic at a time nurse now. He's currently specializing in schizophrenics suffering with HIV. He also specializes in being awesome. 

London 2012. Almost at the 20 year mark!

Anyway (longest pre-amble ever) he came to visit at the very beginning of medical school. I was living with three classmates at the time. A few necessary points required to understand the passive aggressive note Keith left George (one of my roommates). 

We had a MASSIVE whiteboard in our kitchen. 
George had recently been published for some melanoma research he'd assisted with.
I had complained to Keith about how George always drinks from the Britta and never fills it up. 
Keith gets belligerent when he drinks beer. 

Georgey-Boy. 
No. You cannot leave the Britta with 1cm of H20 in the bottom. 
Unacceptable.  I think you're slipping. You're never going to get published again unless you refill the Britta. 
I'm just sayin'. 
Fer realz, Bro-ski. 
Love Keith. 
P.S Best note ever. 
P.P.S Yer momma.  

Stumbling sleepy eyed into the kitchen on Saturday morning George discovered this note written on the white board. We had been sitting there having our morning coffee and had completely forgotten about the note until George stopped talking and was clearly reading it. It was like one of those slow motion

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! [dive roll attepting to grab paper towel to erase it before he actually read it.] But it was too late.  

George, ahem...failed to see the humor in the note, I believe. Being a rather serious chap. Things were a little chilly for the next two days but I sniggered to myself over it for ages. And Georges still brings it up when I mention Keith. Coming across these little gems is the one and ONLY upside to packing / sorting / moving hell. It still makes me laugh. Nothing like a dear old friend leaving passive aggressive / yer mom notes for your new roommate to really make things awkward. 

Love ya, Keith! xx

 

Holidays, Day 1.

I am disappointed that I haven't been able to keep up the blog more regularly this semester. It's been such a wonderful and horrible few months. It makes me sad to know that a lot of it will be left undocumented. I was going back through old posts and was amazed at how much I've already forgotten. I am so pleased that I put the time in during those early days. Maybe I'll print the blog again when I am done medical school and read it on the beach somewhere before residency begins, to remind me of the twists and turns that got me there.

Seeing all those posts gave me the impetus to summarize what has been going on lately. I try to remain an upbeat person and I also try to keep my issues in perspective by reminding myself that I'm lucky to have first world problems. But.

That said.

I am so ready to kick 2012 to the curb. There were some major low-lights.

My mom's house was hit by lightening and burned down in August. She was physically unharmed, though understandably shaken up by the whole thing. She's handled it amazingly well though, and has demonstrated what a tough and philosophical woman she is. Go mom!

Mom's kitchen.

My aunt on my dad's side died of lung cancer (also in August). It was really tough seeing her this summer before I left. I knew that she'd probably die before I came home for Christmas, and I was really sad to miss the funeral. She was a very tough lady, remaining stubbornly independent right until the end. She became aphasic for the last couple of months due to brain metastasis, which was a cruel twist. I hated watching her struggle to find words after a lifetime of sharp wit and story telling. Plus, it was like saying goodbye to my dad again by losing that connection to his last living sibling.

Love the shirt, Auntie Rita!!

In October, some crazy junkies decided to try to light my house in Ireland on fire after attempting to break in. Nothing like waking up to police and firefighters on your front lawn. That was by far one of the most frightening nights of my life, to date. You just don't realise how much refuge and security you get from a house until you don't feel safe and relaxed in it!

Seriously?

And overall it has been the toughest semester of medical school. With the Canadian boards, the residency application process, my research projects, my Grand Rounds presentation, and student society work piled on top of the hospital rotations, I feel like I've been flying by the seat of my pants since arriving in July. I've been on a "take this one day at a time" regime as main method of survival.

But yes, I cannot ignore that it has also been a fantastic few months, with a smattering of high-lights too.

I was blessed with a great group on my hospital rotations. No sociopathic gunners, no drama queens, no gossip generators, just pleasant folks who were trying to learn and get through the challenges of being a medical student.

I was living in a beautiful house, with my dear friend and ideal flatmate, Margaret. She's the type of flatmate whose car you're happy to find in the driveway when you get home. The kind that doesn't borrow your clothes or blast trance music, leaves no dishes in the sink, likes her own space but is always up for a hospital debrief and cup of tea when needed. Win.

Yes we are wearing matching sweaters, thanks for asking.

My pediatric and obstetric rotations were fantastic. I am partial to tots and tums, so I had been looking forward to these electives for ages. I even had the great pleasure of being at the mall and running into one of my former patients whose labor I attended. She gave me a giant hug and kiss and proudly showed me her 7 week old daughter. Those are the nice treats in medicine that remind you why you're going $300 000 in debt and forsaking a normal life for years on end.

Though it has mostly been work there have been a few little adventures that have kept me sane. Three weeks ago myself and two Besties went on a trip to Belfast for a pediatric/obstetric review course (and some evening shenanigans).

For the record, Eileen (in the nerd glasses) was trying to look...sexy?

We did manage to get a lot of work done as well, despite the shenanigans. Though Eileen did nudge me halfway through the Saturday morning session to show me an addendum she'd made to the schedule...

The lightweight.

So yes, I suppose I cannot complain too much. But I am ready, oh sooooo ready for my Christmas holiday in Canada. Once again I plan to adopt full pajama wardrobe on most days. Yes I will be working on a literature review and writing up my 10 000 word reflective journal assignment...but...those can be done in aforementioned pajamas which makes it bearable (just). (And no, sadly I cannot just submit the blog as my assignment!)

Here we are, Dec. 1st and I am officially half way through final year. Bring on the eggnog, festive sweaters, and (hopefully!!) residency interviews.

Happy Holidays! From me and my Nerd Herd. xx

RBC Revisited

12 years ago Keith took the train from Montréal to Halifax to meet me for a mini holiday while I was doing a French immersion program in Pointe D'Eglise, NS. We had very little money and very little idea about local geography, apparently.

After getting halfway to Charlottetown by hitching rides, we somehow found ourselves on the wrong side of the highway with our sign labelled "Bridge". It was only after a couple of long hours that some kind passerby pulled over, manually rolled down the window of her Mercury, and shouted at us that we were on the wrong side of the road if we wanted to get to the bridge.

I should also mention that during that time the sun was hot and we had one line of "Hold me closer, tiny dancer" in our heads. Singing it over and over and over again without knowing any more of the words but being equally incapable of thinking of new songs to replace it with.

We finally arrived in Charlottetown and blew our last $32 on a lobster meal. Somehow we had made a miscalculation of our finances which caused us to discover (too late) that indeed neither of us had any more cash. This was before the days when banks let us have visas or lines of credit. We called Keith's sister (collect) in a panic to have some money wired to us but it was going to take another day to arrive. I knew I had $15 dollars in my bank account so we went on a mission to find a bank machine that doled out cash in $5 bills.

Cue Hallelujah chorus from Handel's Messiah

Eventually we found one and were able to extract my final $15 to make it to the next day. We stayed at a barn shaped hostel run by a tyrant who wouldn't allow any lights on after 2200h. But life was good.

I had completely forgotten about this adventure until I went to visit a fellow blogger / friend this weekend. When I saw the RBC a faint halo appeared around it in my mind and I felt I ought to make a pilgrimage to the automated teller that saved us.

Funny, I thought I was poor then! Oh I had no idea how poor I could go. Sure, I can get wads of cash these days if I want, but I am also six figures in debt with no tangible thing to show for it yet.

Basically, I have the equivalent of a mortgage on the contents of my brain.

Excuse me while I go and put on a bicycle helmet. Always.

Rolling Stone

Feels like I am back to my nomadic travel nursing days. Once again living out of suitcases and buying tinned fish and microwave meals to avoid over-using kitchen spaces. I had to chuckle when in one day I received emails from several different people all with the same subject heading "Where Are You??". My friend Kara says she has a separate page in her address book just for me. The phone numbers and addresses have changed so many times that she's erased through the paper in some places. I think I have "Z"  all to myself.

I've been planning to spend a few days on the west coast but hadn't quite nailed down when I'd be in specific towns. Kara knew when to expect me (roughly) so I called her yesterday to firm up when I'd be arriving at her house. I had forgotten that I was calling from my friend Erin's American cell phone.

"Hi Kar, how are you?!"

"Hey! Where are you?"

"Sorry I haven't been in touch this week. It's been really crazy and my phone doesn't work outside of the major cities because I am on a crap network--".

[she cuts in]"--Where are you??"

"I am in Squamish! I was thinking of coming to your place....tomorrow?"

"You are in Squamish? Really? Because your phone number says Idaho and if there is one person in the world who could plan on being in the lower mainland but end up in Idaho, it is you."

I think I am going to take that as a high compliment, a reflection of my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-wanderlust tendencies which I often think have long faded away. 

You Know You Live in Ireland When...

Driving home from the race today we hit a bit of a traffic jam.

Eventually they decided to let us pass...

Never a dull moment behind the wheel in this country!

Scenes From A (gastronomical) Canadian Winter Holiday

I've been rather unplugged the last few weeks, in the wintery wilds of Québec. My slothful existence has mostly starred red flannel snowflake pajamas, a reading chair, exquisite food and drink, late mornings, a stack of books, my mother, Tobie, his family, strong coffee, a grand piano, and a few brief appearances by friends (that means you, Liz, Lisa, and Not House!)

Other than my uninterrupted, daily rumination on what will I be when I grow up, will I ever get accepted in a Canadian residency, and how can I somehow turn lead into gold to pay next year's tuition...I threw medicine on the back burner and let other areas of my life simmer. It's been great.

Shortly after my arrival in Québec, Tobie and I swept the car off and made our way to Montréal.

When we were car-less, job-less, penny-less and living in residence 2 years ago, we'd sometimes go on imaginary dates in Canada, pretending our purple comforter was a magic blanket that would take us anywhere. We would try to outdo one another with elaborate descriptions of these dream dates. Montréal was a frequent destination when Tobie was choosing the city. We took our magic comforter to go Christmas shopping at Simon's after a crammed lunch at Schwartz's deli. Then we'd walk the dark and snowy streets looking for a quiet place to duck in for some nice wine or sugary treat. After that, it was a chilly ride back across the Atlantic.

Finally, this year we were able to live some of our magic carpet dreams. And probably shorten our lifespans a little in the process. (Apologies for the double photo posting, but until more than 10% of you look at my tumblr account, I won't feel too bad...)

I give you the lean smoked meat sandwich at Schwartz's.

 Belly up, boys! Take a moment to imagine pure deli chaos: the clink of dishware, the holler of orders, scrape of chairs, splash of fries into the oil, murmurs of 'mmm', the ring of the cash register, the smell of spiced and cured meats, salty pickles, and cherry soda. There, you have it now.

I call this photo of Tobie below, "Quintessentially Canadian".  Next to that is Perside, his sister, presenting her Jaime Oliver turkey recipe extravaganza. This was Christmas dinner, when I ate until I developed an upper right quadrant cramp. Similar to a running stitch, only this one was from eating instead.

Below is the classic 'driving home from Christmas dinner' scene. I miss being five years old, falling asleep during the ride home, having mom carrying me (while I pretended to be asleep) into the house, and being put to bed. These days it'd be an improbable feat of superhuman strength for Tobie to haul my somnolent butt out of the car, coat and all, to tuck me in.

Me proving that yoga can indeed be done in yoga jeans. Tobie reading a rag while we were waiting for our table at La Paryse. Seriously, seriously great burgers. The poppy seed bun is well worth the risk of post-meal embarrassment.

Below we are back at Schwartz's for more smoked meat love, this time with my momma-bear. She was fresh off the plane and ready for a week of gastronomical delights, including our own 'food tour' of Montréal. We all should have worn jogging suits for the trip. Not because we were jogging, but because elastic waistbands would have suited our needs a little better. Mind you, we did stand outside in -20 degree Celsius weather for over 20 mins waiting in line and shivering does burn calories. Oh yes it does. Pretty sure my lips were frozen onto my teeth in this photo.

Dinner that night at DNA. OK people, take your bucket lists out now and add, Eat At DNA in Montréal.

No, I am not getting any kickbacks for the endorsement (I wish!) I just need to convey that this was one of the most fabulous nights of dining I can remember. You need to experience this place before you die. Period.

Momma-bear had the lamb (on the left), Tobie and I had the suckling pork loin, slow cooked for 7h and then topped with salsa verde, sweet spaghetti squash, and some pureed goodness that tasted like possibly butternut squash and apple. The photos poorly represent the outstanding presentation, but it was the best I could do.

Tobie tucks in. 

The dessert was no disappointment either. 

Tobie and MB had the lime-tart (I was thinking, lime tart? What, are we eating at a hospital cafeteria in the 1950's??) But the joke was on me because the lime tart should have been called, 11 Minutes of Uninterrupted Eating Bliss involving light and (quite) sharp lime, tempered with soft, fluffy whipped cream, and a crust that would make most pastry chefs weep.

The New York cheesecake was no slouch, topped with their house-made rhubarb jam and a wafer of almond and caramel. And by no slouch I mean that it was the 'Goldilocks and Three Bears' of cheesecake--not too heavy, not too light, not too cheesy, not too bland. Juuuuuuuust right.

Not only was the food brilliant, the decor was very chic in an unpretentious way, as were the house staff. They cure their own meats in the basement and sell house-made pickles, jams, chutneys. All ingredients are locally sourced and seasonal. WIN!

After dinner we cabbed our way over to Pullman wine bar and took in the people watching, deliciously fermented grapes, and their funky atmosphere which included a chandelier of inverted glasses.

Then we returned to the hotel, drank some water, and went to bed.

Just so you don't think we're food snobs, I'd like to direct your attention to the place-setting at the restaurant where we ate dinner the following evening. Let's just also mention that the walls were wood paneled, the waitress was passive-aggressive, no, just straight-up aggressive, and all meals came with white buns and gravy. 'Nuff said.

This is what happens when Tobie chooses the restaurant.

New Year's Eve heralded the invention of a new cocktail (see my recipe posted here), more homemade gourmet feasting (courtesy of Tobie's phenomenal sister), watching fireworks from the living room window, and drinking herbal tea while discussing novels with my mother. It was all very serene. 

Speaking of serene have you ever seen how pretty a preserved hibiscus flower is when it is sitting in a little puddle of gin?  Feast your eyes.

Also, when was the last time you had a drink mixed for you by a blogger in a solar system blouse? Too long ago I bet, too long ago.

And so, another year came to a close. The last few days of my holiday were spent trying to fit into my clothes, packing, and saying goodbye to my near and dear ones. I'm so grateful to have had the opportunity to unwind a little. I know this will be the last long Christmas holiday that I will have for years, which is why only a small dose of daily guilt for my slovenly and sub-academic behavior crept into my awareness.

I'm hoping that 2012 will bring new recipes and races, great reads, light westerly winds, mentorship, adventure, and a few surprises...good surprises. And of course the answer to some of my questions...

Here's to you, 2012, whatever you will be.

Cheers!

The Apples Do Not Fall...

In a complete blog non-sequitar I'd like to present a post by one of my good friends, Ryan. It's like cute overload if you're into children and skiing.

It made me laugh at least.

Oh how I miss Revelstoke, and the great people there (and killer skiing)!

Where Am I Going Again?

As I mentioned on twitter this afternoon, when I pack I am sort of like a dog circling a spot before lying down. Only my ritual seems to involve spinning around for hours. Packing has the tendency to flare up an attention deficit problem and I find myself vacuuming, baking, cleaning my hard drive, flossing, and online shopping while stuffing random articles into my suitcases.

This trip home is exciting and a little unsettling at the same time. I haven't been back to Canada for Christmas since 2008 so naturally I am looking forward to watching some crisp moonlight snowfalls with the Nana Mouskouri Christmas album playing in the background. I can't wait to see my mom, Tobie, his family, my good friend Liz...the Arab grocery store in Montréal that I love.

The unsettling part is that I don't know how long I am going for, and where I'll be for January. It is a little difficult to pack when you don't know if you'll be spending a month in Arizona or Nunavut, a GP office or an O.R. We're talking a lot of variety here. Heels? Hikers? Nylons? Blouses? Scrubs? Sneaks? Not to mention which books I'd bring based on the place / rotation. I am still trying to arrange something but my most recent lead is looking unlikely now as well. I found out this week that I also didn't get any electives at the University of Ottawa for the summer. Have I mentioned that I am tired of feeling like a medical pariah an outcast? Is this blog post turning into a pity party? Maybe...

So now, instead of coming back to Ireland at the end of January it looks like I might be flying straight back after New Years. Sigh. I just want an opportunity to learn, and to get some hands-on experience.  It is really disheartening to constantly feel doors close in my face when I am working hard and putting myself out there. It is true that at every turn medicine asks, how badly do you want this??

OK. That is enough whining. 


On a happier note...the ginger cake that I made today turned out beautifully. I may be turning a corner in this whole baking thing. Yes, yesterday my kitchen did look like I'd had a seizure in it while holding a bag of baking soda and I probably ate 4000 calories of "broken" brownies oh I can't bring the broken ones to the Christmas party...but with each event the baking part gets a little easier and the results get a little more edible. Maybe I should try to get an elective at a pasty school...hmmm...

Last Day

Tomorrow is my last day in the hospital. I cannot believe that I am halfway done third year already.

Does life always move this fast? Everyone said it would, but I didn't believe them.

I am really going to miss the hospital. I've only just figured out the best shortcuts through the wards, the codes to all the change rooms, where the best coffee is served, the names of the nurses, the passwords for the diagnostic reports, lab results. Not to mention I'll miss some of the lovely working relationships I've made and friendships that have formed.

Now I will be in GP land until May. A new set of people, codes, computer systems. Another adventure.

I was hoping to go to Dalhousie for a 3 week elective in January, but unfortunately it fell through just recently. Now I am trying to figure out what I should do with that time. I need as many weeks of electives back in North America as I can get. So many schools don't even take international students, and the ones that do want you to apply 9 months in advance. I don't know where or what I am going to do now. (And no, a holiday isn't an option. With international medical graduates the competition is so fierce I am going to have to basically invent my own specialty and write a textbook on it by next fall if I want to study in Canada once I graduate!)

I shouldn't be thinking of all this now, it is so late, and I'll never sleep. Reflecting instead on the past 18 weeks...

Have you learned the lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside for you? Have you not learned great lessons from those who braced themselves against you, and disputed passage with you?
 

-Walt Whitman

Indeed, Mr. Whitman, some great lessons...

Why My Roommate = Awesome

Today, while loading up my car with race gear, I found this stuck to the seat of my bike. If that isn't ridiculously sweet, I just don't know what is.

Sunday Riders

So today Pádraig (the surgical SHO) and I decided to do a reckie of the road biking portion of a race he's competing in next week. We started at the Gap of Dunloe (a.k.a Kate Kearney's Cottage) and ended at the Torc Mountain waterfalls. A fabulous ride in part due to the spectacular scenery the entire way, and a delicious visit to my favorite purveyor of fine Irish food: The Avoca Café.

I also learned a couple of things today. For instance, my tiny little sewing-machine of a car can fit two road bikes in the back and two people who love blood and guts in the front. GO TOYOTA YARIS!

Another lesson learned was that not only are directions from Irish people usually nonsensical and obscure, the road signs are equally unhelpful. Unless, of course, you are looking specifically for tea and scones or a farmhouse with ensuites. Have you reached a fork in the road on random back country lane? Are you searching for a particular town or road number? Sorry. Can't help you there. Tea and scones? Take a left.

I've been to the Moll's Gap Avoca a couple of times but have always approached it from a different direction. So after a particularly sustained uphill we decided to pull off and have snacks, figuring the Avoca was at least another 20kms or so away. After some Clif bars and trail mix we started up again on the bikes, only to come across the "AVOCA, 500 METERS" sign within about 3 mins of departing.

I did hear Pádraig scream "NOOOOooooooooooooo!" through the fog.

I think he made up for the disappointment in having already eaten lunch by putting himself into a pre-diabetic-coma with the most delicious banoffee dessert evah.

And it was all downhill from there, friends. An outstanding day, topped by my new routine of sauna / ice-cold shower / sauna / ice-cold shower at the gym.

Ain't life grand?

New purple Icebreaker, for the win.

Little Things, Like Spicy Pickled Eggplant

"I'm Paul Kennedy, and this...is Ideas"

Because sometimes it really is a collection of little things that make me oh so happy.

The Blasket Blast

Last week I was whining to Paddy (our surgical SHO) about the fact that my bike needed a tune up, M.C overheard and kindly offered to get it road worthy for me. From this, the topic of the Blasket Blast road ride came up. It is an organized bike ride that goes around the Dingle Peninsula, along some of the most breath taking scenery that this country has to offer. So M.C asks Paddy and I if we want to enter the event with him as he's going to be participating. In true ABB form, I agree without asking any questions (you know, shoot first, ask questions later). I either didn't hear that it was 150 kms or figured that he was exaggerating.

I forgot all about the discussion until a few days later when M.C informed me that he'd paid my registration. Paddy was out because he was on call and couldn't get anyone to switch (how hard he tried is unknown!) Right, so at that point I started asking for details because the longest road ride I've  done is ~70 km in Prince Rupert TWO SUMMERS AGO. He tells me it is 150 km and 8 days away, that was when I started to get really, really worried. This was compounded the day my roommie met M.C and uttered immediately afterward: you are so screwed! He looks seriously fit. Great. Thanks.

Thus began my week of fretting and bike riding. I did ~80 kms last Sunday, then two 35 km rides during the week. I had no idea what was going to happen but I figured I better give it a lash. 

I did enjoy the carb loading part of the whole thing and took it to the next level...indulging for several days before the ride. You know--popcorn for dinner, hummus and crackers several times a day, granola by the handfuls...and chocolate mousse the night before (there are carbs in chocolate, right?)

A scene from the night before, all the food and water ready. And spare socks. Of course my riding shoes with clips were nowhere to be found so I busted out the sneaks. Awwww yeah.

First coffees, just after the summit of Connor Pass.

So there were two rides, one that was 110 kms and one that was 150 kms. We were doing the latter with about 40 other people, men in tights to be specific. Ok, there was one other woman doing the long ride...at least we think she was...a woman. If you note the biker in the background you'll get an idea of the one-piece spandex jumpsuits and waterproof clip booties that everyone else was wearing. All the long riders were SERIOUSLY decked out. We looked like we'd found our gear at a garage sale the night before, by comparison. Both M.C and I were also the only people wearing running shoes. We got some very disappointed and looks and clucks throughout the day due to our athletic faux pas of epic proportions!

And then there was the flat tire. The guy who stopped to radio the support car with a foot pump informed us that he hadn't gotten a flat in 4000 miles. We were undeterred though our place at the end of the line was definitely secured.

And then we got stuck behind some sheep. As you do, when you're riding the Tour De Irelande.

 

Some lovely scenes from the day. 

The Blasket Islands.

 

The above photo shows the Irish version of a 'highway', and how wide a bike rider can expect the shoulders to be. 

 

First lunches. And a latte from a road-side bus! This was my kind of race. 

 

 At the 95 km mark we decided it was time for ice-cream.

And a photo op of the old ABB and her bike.

Finally! Several hours, 150 kms, 2 pairs of socks, 2 lunches, 3 coffees, 1 ice cream, several rainstorms, and 3 pee breaks later we arrived back at the start. We had a really fun day, actually. I even managed to pull out my last bit of juice on the final summit and trash talked M.C all the way to the top.

And it was GREAT!!

I am so glad I did it. I love it when I surprise myself! Go Team Sneaks!!