I went to the Gyn today - routine visit.
My doctor upon walking into the room said "So are you getting busy?".
I quickly answered "Yes finally - very happy".
He and I were both talking about my clinical practice at work, but not sure the nurse standing in the room knew the context. Can only imagine the conversations she is now having with the other ladies in the office.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Cease Fire
For the last several months, my body and I have been at war. We'll call me the freedom fighters. I simply wanted to free my body from a measly 10 lbs that it has had in its possession for the last 15 years. My body, which we will call the Rebel forces, has stubbornly refused to concede so much as a pound.
I have tried everything, and I mean everything. I did a flush and a cleanse. I severely calorie restricted. I lowered my carbs. I massively increased my protein and tried higher calories. I gave up caffeine and sugar. When none of that worked, I consulted a nutritionist. She had me give up dairy, gluten and soy. I could now eat comfortably with the cave men.
I increased my training to three days a week. My trainer is pushing me so much that random people come up to me in the gym to comment on how hard she works me out. I run, stair master and elliptical 3-4 days per week. I have never been stronger or in better shape in my life. However, the scale hasn't budged a single pound.
I was slowly going crazy when I actually stopped a minute to think. I truly feel wonderful. I have tons of energy, and for the first time in my life, I actually feel athletic. I no longer obsess about calories or when my next meal is coming. I truly eat when I'm hungry, and stop when I'm full. I am at a perfectly acceptable weight, and can wear everything in my closet. Why am I so obsessed about a number on a scale and flat abs?
I then started to think of all the things my body has done for me. It puts up with a ridiculous schedule that rebels half it's age would struggle. It tolerates sleep deprivation, sporadic feedings, dehydration, long periods between bathroom breaks, endless hours upright, and a ridiculous level of stress. All without complaints, and without ever truly letting me down.
Therefore, I have decided to call a truce. At the end of the day, both sides are working toward the same goal - a healthy old age. If it is happy with an extra 10 lbs, and has some odd moral objection to flat abs - so be it. I concede. I will continue to work out and eat cleanly because quite frankly I must admit that I like how it makes me feel. In return I simply ask that it continue to allow me to survive and even thrive on my crazy life.
I have tried everything, and I mean everything. I did a flush and a cleanse. I severely calorie restricted. I lowered my carbs. I massively increased my protein and tried higher calories. I gave up caffeine and sugar. When none of that worked, I consulted a nutritionist. She had me give up dairy, gluten and soy. I could now eat comfortably with the cave men.
I increased my training to three days a week. My trainer is pushing me so much that random people come up to me in the gym to comment on how hard she works me out. I run, stair master and elliptical 3-4 days per week. I have never been stronger or in better shape in my life. However, the scale hasn't budged a single pound.
I was slowly going crazy when I actually stopped a minute to think. I truly feel wonderful. I have tons of energy, and for the first time in my life, I actually feel athletic. I no longer obsess about calories or when my next meal is coming. I truly eat when I'm hungry, and stop when I'm full. I am at a perfectly acceptable weight, and can wear everything in my closet. Why am I so obsessed about a number on a scale and flat abs?
I then started to think of all the things my body has done for me. It puts up with a ridiculous schedule that rebels half it's age would struggle. It tolerates sleep deprivation, sporadic feedings, dehydration, long periods between bathroom breaks, endless hours upright, and a ridiculous level of stress. All without complaints, and without ever truly letting me down.
Therefore, I have decided to call a truce. At the end of the day, both sides are working toward the same goal - a healthy old age. If it is happy with an extra 10 lbs, and has some odd moral objection to flat abs - so be it. I concede. I will continue to work out and eat cleanly because quite frankly I must admit that I like how it makes me feel. In return I simply ask that it continue to allow me to survive and even thrive on my crazy life.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
I promise to never do it again
So after almost a year and a half on the job, I finally decided to take my first vacation last week. Will never make that mistake again. The vacation - fantastic. Spent a few days at home, and then a few days here on the beach with my sister. Capped off by Broadway Across America production of WICKED. Excellent. The coming back to work - excruciating. Going back after vacation is never fun, but I am pretty sure it shouldn't be physically painful. Overbooked clinic to make up for the week off. Both partners out of town, so covering all the patients and consults. Oh, let's add some transplants to the mix. Following a heart harvest, a lung harvest, and subsequent lung transplant, I finally crawled into the sleeping bag on my office floor around 4:00 am today. No use going home as I had to be back for a 7 am meeting, and I have three elective cases today which I couldn't cancel. So now here I sit, two cases down and one to go, waving my white towel. I promise to never take vacation again if you will just make the beatings stop.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Pep talk time
Okay, I have been trying to give myself a pep talk the last few days, and must admit it just isn't working. I think all of those years of surgical training when I tried to convince myself it wasn't really as bad as it felt just made me skeptical.
What dreadfully bad task am I trying to psych myself up for you ask? Swim suit shopping! Oh the horror.
Problem is that I live in sunny southern Florida, where you can pretty much wear a swim suit 10 months out of the year. Second problem, my last swim suit came from Target, several years ago. It is time to suck it up and go buy a couple of new ones. However, a weekend getaway to Libya sounds more pleasing to me than walking into a store and trying on new suits.
Is there any woman out there that actually likes to go swim suit shopping? And if so, can you please let me in on your secret?
What dreadfully bad task am I trying to psych myself up for you ask? Swim suit shopping! Oh the horror.
Problem is that I live in sunny southern Florida, where you can pretty much wear a swim suit 10 months out of the year. Second problem, my last swim suit came from Target, several years ago. It is time to suck it up and go buy a couple of new ones. However, a weekend getaway to Libya sounds more pleasing to me than walking into a store and trying on new suits.
Is there any woman out there that actually likes to go swim suit shopping? And if so, can you please let me in on your secret?
Friday, March 18, 2011
Age is more than just a number
As much as I joke around about aging, I must honestly say that I never really give my actual advancing age much credence. I think it is partly because most of the time I don't feel old. I certainly don't feel like what I assumed 37 would feel. I can rise unassisted from a seated position; I have all my own teeth; and I can still recall where I left my car keys. It probably helps that I didn't get my first "real" job until a year and a half ago. When one plays Peter Pan for all those years, you really start to believe that your life is just starting. If my career is just beginning, I certainly can't be old, right? Lastly it helps that even though they skipped the blue eyes, thick wavy hair and height genes, my parents gave me pretty good aging genes. Considering what I have put my body through for the last 37 years, it has held up pretty well.
All of that being said, I felt everyone of my almost 38 years this week.
It is spring break here in South Florida. One local junior high school student had asked to shadow me for a couple of days to get an idea of the medical profession. I love what I do so am always happy to share my enthusiasm with others. He jumped through all the necessary paperwork and institutional hoops, and showed up to my office bright and early Wednesday morning. My assistant had walked back to my office to let me know that a very attractive young man was here to see me. When I walked up front, all I saw was a young kid. Sure he was cute, but most 4 year old are pretty cute. Sure this child was taller than me, and can legally drive a car, but he looks like he should still recall the taste of baby food.
As usual, cases were a bit late getting started so I asked if he had any questions. His parents are both judges, so he wanted me to explain the "process" to get to where I am. As I started listing the steps (college, medical school, research, residency, fellowship, etc), I watched his eyes get bigger and bigger. I had mentioned that although certainly not the norm, I had trained for 10 years. He was quiet for a moment when I finished. I could see him doing the math in his head. He was obviously raised well because the question he asked was the average age of most people when they start their first job. I smiled and told him my age. When one is 16, any age that starts with a 3 sounds old. Any age that will soon start with a 4 sounds ancient.
His reply - you could almost be my mom. It caught me a little by surprise. Not because it wasn't true - my mom was actually exactly my age when I was 16. It caught me by surprise because I was sitting in my office discussing college and senior year of high school with this very put together and well-rounded young man. I barely feel old enough to take care of myself most of the time - is it really possible that under different circumstances this semi-adult could have been my responsibility for the last 16 years? In the exact moment when the truth of that statement hit me, I must admit that I all of a sudden felt exactly like I imagined 37 would feel.
I asked him to help me out of my chair, and we made our way to the operating room.
All of that being said, I felt everyone of my almost 38 years this week.
It is spring break here in South Florida. One local junior high school student had asked to shadow me for a couple of days to get an idea of the medical profession. I love what I do so am always happy to share my enthusiasm with others. He jumped through all the necessary paperwork and institutional hoops, and showed up to my office bright and early Wednesday morning. My assistant had walked back to my office to let me know that a very attractive young man was here to see me. When I walked up front, all I saw was a young kid. Sure he was cute, but most 4 year old are pretty cute. Sure this child was taller than me, and can legally drive a car, but he looks like he should still recall the taste of baby food.
As usual, cases were a bit late getting started so I asked if he had any questions. His parents are both judges, so he wanted me to explain the "process" to get to where I am. As I started listing the steps (college, medical school, research, residency, fellowship, etc), I watched his eyes get bigger and bigger. I had mentioned that although certainly not the norm, I had trained for 10 years. He was quiet for a moment when I finished. I could see him doing the math in his head. He was obviously raised well because the question he asked was the average age of most people when they start their first job. I smiled and told him my age. When one is 16, any age that starts with a 3 sounds old. Any age that will soon start with a 4 sounds ancient.
His reply - you could almost be my mom. It caught me a little by surprise. Not because it wasn't true - my mom was actually exactly my age when I was 16. It caught me by surprise because I was sitting in my office discussing college and senior year of high school with this very put together and well-rounded young man. I barely feel old enough to take care of myself most of the time - is it really possible that under different circumstances this semi-adult could have been my responsibility for the last 16 years? In the exact moment when the truth of that statement hit me, I must admit that I all of a sudden felt exactly like I imagined 37 would feel.
I asked him to help me out of my chair, and we made our way to the operating room.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
The Company You Keep
My mom always advised that I should be careful about the company I keep. Her theory being that you are less likely to get into trouble if you don't hang out with people who make getting into trouble an art form. Not sure what she will think about this.
I just finished some CBLs (computer based learning) modules on human research. I want to enroll patients in a new study so I have to learn how to "treat them ethically." As one might imagine and hope, there are a million rules in place regarding research on humans. In fact there is a whole government agency called the Office of Human Research Protections (OHRP) that controls said research. A few of the rules seem ridiculously obvious - must have consent for research, must explain risks, must not lie to subject, etc.
There is one rule I find particularly disturbing. The OHRP has established certain "protected groups" that are either prohibited or extremely restricted as candidates for research. For example, children, mentally challenged and institutionalized patients have severe limitations on their use as research subjects. This I understand completely. However, one such "protected group" is classified as subjects in "Extreme Hierarchical social situations". Who falls into this group you might ask . . . military personnel, prisoners, and oh yeah - medical professionals.
I just finished some CBLs (computer based learning) modules on human research. I want to enroll patients in a new study so I have to learn how to "treat them ethically." As one might imagine and hope, there are a million rules in place regarding research on humans. In fact there is a whole government agency called the Office of Human Research Protections (OHRP) that controls said research. A few of the rules seem ridiculously obvious - must have consent for research, must explain risks, must not lie to subject, etc.
There is one rule I find particularly disturbing. The OHRP has established certain "protected groups" that are either prohibited or extremely restricted as candidates for research. For example, children, mentally challenged and institutionalized patients have severe limitations on their use as research subjects. This I understand completely. However, one such "protected group" is classified as subjects in "Extreme Hierarchical social situations". Who falls into this group you might ask . . . military personnel, prisoners, and oh yeah - medical professionals.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Weekend Wrap-up
I titled this entry weekend wrap-up, but not sure which weekend I should wrap up. It has been a roller-coaster of a few weeks. Where to start? To borrow from Lewis Carroll - "Begin at the beginning, and go until you come to the end: then stop."
The beginning - well I guess that would take us back to the end of February. It was a beautiful time to be in Miami, so of course I left. I headed out to Scottsdale, Arizona for a meeting about lung cancer screening. The weather was awful - it was cold and rainy the entire time, but the meeting was actually quite good. It sparked a few ideas as to where I want my academic career to go and allowed for some great contacts. It was also quite entertaining. The conference was kind of a catch all of groups. There were thoracic surgeons, pulmonologist, medical oncologist, internist, radiologist, and basic scientist involved. The meeting is also quite international with large contingents from Japan, Italy, France, Israel, Germany, Canad, United Kingdom as well as US. You have never seen such a Hodge-podge of people and personal styles in your life. I joked to a colleague that an Anthropologist would have a field day. It was very obvious that "you are what you wear". It was very easy to place people into a profession and usually a country based solely on what they were wearing.
I flew back from the conference, and had barely recovered from the jet lag when I was off again. This time for a Women in Surgery Career Symposium. I wasn't exactly sure what to expect, but ended up enjoying it immensely. There were no communal bra burnings or male bashing parties. It was simply a group of women who all happened to be surgeons across a spectrum of ages and career developments coming together to see if we had anything to teach each other. Turns out we probably do.
I think it is reaffirming to hear that your story is not unique, and that other women face similar challenges. It is also great to hear how they manage said challenges. No use re-inventing the wheel is someone else has already figured it out. There were lots of talks about work-life balance, surviving a male-dominated culture, academic achievement, and being the woman in charge. I picked up great tips, and heard some interesting statistics. On the upside, women in Thoracic surgery is up almost half a percentage point. We now constitute a full 2% of CT surgeons, and 10% of current fellows are female so the number should continue to improve. Even better, we are no longer in last place - neurosurgery was kind enough to take over that spot.
More sobering was a talk by a economist from the WAGE project. It stands for Women Are Getting Even, and is a look at the gender gap. Don't you just love that title? (By the way, Jessica you should probably be sitting down for this next part away from all sharp objects that you could throw.) As a college graduate, a woman over the course of her working life time will earn $1 million dollars less than her male counterpart. For those of us who obtained professional degrees, the difference is $2.25 million. All I can say is that is a lot of shoes!!!! Part of the talk was a call to arms, but it was also part how to negotiate a fair and equal salary. They have workshops around the country that I would highly recommend to anyone interested.
After the meeting, my roller coaster veered a little off the tracks. It started when the Valet notified me that my car had a flat tire. It got worse when he admitted that they had noticed it the day before, but had failed to notify me. You would not believe how hard it is to get a flat tire repaired on a Sunday afternoon in Clearwater even with Roadside Assistance and AAA. Was eventually off, and headed back home.
Unfortunately, the closer I got to home, the worse I felt. I shrugged it off, and went to bed. Monday was a catch up clinic day for me, so I barely had time to breathe. I was still having GI upset, but assumed it was something I had at the conference. Tuesday I went for my yearly physical, and was pronounced to be in good health, but old. My fault for being called old really - I walked right into it. My doctor was complimenting me on how much weight I had lost since my last visit, and "how good I looked." I expressed my frustration to her about the last 10-15 lbs that don't seem to go anywhere regardless of what I do. Her medical advice - she reminded me that at my age, certain bodies are just unobtainable without plastic surgery. Can we just say ouch.
I shrugged it off, and went back to work. By Tuesday afternoon, I felt so poorly that I actually went home at a decent hour. The rest of the night was mostly a blur. I spent most of it curled up on the bathroom floor in a fetal position constantly examining my abdomen to make sure it wasn't "a surgical belly". I came into work early Wednesday and sent my PCP an email explaining my issues. She obtained some blood work, and promptly started me on some antibiotics. The working diagnosis was e. coli infection. The antibiotics helped with the abdominal pain, but it was Saturday before I could tolerate anything by mouth other than Gatorade.
Since I was not feeling well, I decided to take it pretty easy. Fate was fairly uncooperative. I had a full clinic on Thursday which I followed with a lung transplant, and then got up early on Friday for the second lung transplant. As long as I didn't challenge my body with food, it left me mostly alone. Not ideal, but it worked.
Saturday morning after rounds, I decided to even attempt a work out with my trainer. Luckily she took it pretty easy on me because I had been sick, but must say it wiped me out. I spent Sunday at a "team building" retreat. I don't really understand the science behind these retreats. They mostly seem to devolve into a complaints session, and since it started at 7 am on the morning we all lost an hour with the time change - I can assure you that there was much about which to complain. I finished up the day with a pedicure.
Which I guess brings us to the end. I am now back at work and on my way to my afternoon clinic. I have a relatively light week this week which is good. I have some paperwork to catch up on, and want to get to work on some of these Academic ideas that sparked. It also wouldn't kill me to start in on my now four weeks of laundry. I always new some good would come of my shopping addiction.
The beginning - well I guess that would take us back to the end of February. It was a beautiful time to be in Miami, so of course I left. I headed out to Scottsdale, Arizona for a meeting about lung cancer screening. The weather was awful - it was cold and rainy the entire time, but the meeting was actually quite good. It sparked a few ideas as to where I want my academic career to go and allowed for some great contacts. It was also quite entertaining. The conference was kind of a catch all of groups. There were thoracic surgeons, pulmonologist, medical oncologist, internist, radiologist, and basic scientist involved. The meeting is also quite international with large contingents from Japan, Italy, France, Israel, Germany, Canad, United Kingdom as well as US. You have never seen such a Hodge-podge of people and personal styles in your life. I joked to a colleague that an Anthropologist would have a field day. It was very obvious that "you are what you wear". It was very easy to place people into a profession and usually a country based solely on what they were wearing.
I flew back from the conference, and had barely recovered from the jet lag when I was off again. This time for a Women in Surgery Career Symposium. I wasn't exactly sure what to expect, but ended up enjoying it immensely. There were no communal bra burnings or male bashing parties. It was simply a group of women who all happened to be surgeons across a spectrum of ages and career developments coming together to see if we had anything to teach each other. Turns out we probably do.
I think it is reaffirming to hear that your story is not unique, and that other women face similar challenges. It is also great to hear how they manage said challenges. No use re-inventing the wheel is someone else has already figured it out. There were lots of talks about work-life balance, surviving a male-dominated culture, academic achievement, and being the woman in charge. I picked up great tips, and heard some interesting statistics. On the upside, women in Thoracic surgery is up almost half a percentage point. We now constitute a full 2% of CT surgeons, and 10% of current fellows are female so the number should continue to improve. Even better, we are no longer in last place - neurosurgery was kind enough to take over that spot.
More sobering was a talk by a economist from the WAGE project. It stands for Women Are Getting Even, and is a look at the gender gap. Don't you just love that title? (By the way, Jessica you should probably be sitting down for this next part away from all sharp objects that you could throw.) As a college graduate, a woman over the course of her working life time will earn $1 million dollars less than her male counterpart. For those of us who obtained professional degrees, the difference is $2.25 million. All I can say is that is a lot of shoes!!!! Part of the talk was a call to arms, but it was also part how to negotiate a fair and equal salary. They have workshops around the country that I would highly recommend to anyone interested.
After the meeting, my roller coaster veered a little off the tracks. It started when the Valet notified me that my car had a flat tire. It got worse when he admitted that they had noticed it the day before, but had failed to notify me. You would not believe how hard it is to get a flat tire repaired on a Sunday afternoon in Clearwater even with Roadside Assistance and AAA. Was eventually off, and headed back home.
Unfortunately, the closer I got to home, the worse I felt. I shrugged it off, and went to bed. Monday was a catch up clinic day for me, so I barely had time to breathe. I was still having GI upset, but assumed it was something I had at the conference. Tuesday I went for my yearly physical, and was pronounced to be in good health, but old. My fault for being called old really - I walked right into it. My doctor was complimenting me on how much weight I had lost since my last visit, and "how good I looked." I expressed my frustration to her about the last 10-15 lbs that don't seem to go anywhere regardless of what I do. Her medical advice - she reminded me that at my age, certain bodies are just unobtainable without plastic surgery. Can we just say ouch.
I shrugged it off, and went back to work. By Tuesday afternoon, I felt so poorly that I actually went home at a decent hour. The rest of the night was mostly a blur. I spent most of it curled up on the bathroom floor in a fetal position constantly examining my abdomen to make sure it wasn't "a surgical belly". I came into work early Wednesday and sent my PCP an email explaining my issues. She obtained some blood work, and promptly started me on some antibiotics. The working diagnosis was e. coli infection. The antibiotics helped with the abdominal pain, but it was Saturday before I could tolerate anything by mouth other than Gatorade.
Since I was not feeling well, I decided to take it pretty easy. Fate was fairly uncooperative. I had a full clinic on Thursday which I followed with a lung transplant, and then got up early on Friday for the second lung transplant. As long as I didn't challenge my body with food, it left me mostly alone. Not ideal, but it worked.
Saturday morning after rounds, I decided to even attempt a work out with my trainer. Luckily she took it pretty easy on me because I had been sick, but must say it wiped me out. I spent Sunday at a "team building" retreat. I don't really understand the science behind these retreats. They mostly seem to devolve into a complaints session, and since it started at 7 am on the morning we all lost an hour with the time change - I can assure you that there was much about which to complain. I finished up the day with a pedicure.
Which I guess brings us to the end. I am now back at work and on my way to my afternoon clinic. I have a relatively light week this week which is good. I have some paperwork to catch up on, and want to get to work on some of these Academic ideas that sparked. It also wouldn't kill me to start in on my now four weeks of laundry. I always new some good would come of my shopping addiction.
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