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Lately I've been listening to "The Natural" soundtrack on my ipod/phone while doing chores around the house.
I heartily encourage it.
There's nothing more to make you feel heroic when you're taking out the trash than the sound of a Randy Newman orchestration:
The arpegio of the strings swell; slowly crescendoing as I weave my way through the backyard, down the steps and into the alley.
As I open the lid of the trashcan, the woodwinds twitter in anticipation.
I grasp the top of the hefty bag with both hands and as I hoist it into the night air, the brass section kicks in:
Da da da daaaa!
The cymbals crash (crash!) as the trash lands in the can with a satisfying thud kicking up a slight odor of dirty diapers and old spaghetti sauce.
Da da da daaaaa! I flip the lid closed as the cymbals crash one more time. Crash!
There's the stillness of a short coda as the cymbal crash fades into the night.
I turn and walk back to the house, accompanied by the mournful wail of a single oboe as blackness falls on my backyard.
Hmmm - what goes better with loading the dishwasher? Punk or classis rock?
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
Facebook is evil ...
I know, I'm too old to have a Facebook page.
But I do - deal with it. Anyway, the thing is more addictive than crack.
Not only do you get to satisfy your egotistical needs by posting stuff about yourself, you also get to get a voyeuristic glimpse into the life of your friends and family - and eventually their friends and families, ad nauseum.
I think that why it's so additive. Somebody asks to be your friend (or you ask to be their friend) - and then, wham ... you see who they are friends with and the geometric progression begins.
Crack kills. Facebook kills time.
Seriously. I'm pretty busy at work and have more than enough stuff to keep me hopping from 8 am to 6 pm, but yesterday I found myself playing scrabble with my brother (who lives in Pennsylvania), IM'ing my sister-in-law (who lives in Miami) and looking at another friend's (who lives across town) funny but disturbing photos.
I looked up from my computer screen and realized that my next patient was sitting in a paper gown in a cold room waiting for me for 20 minutes. I could hear C. Everret Koop and Richard Kildare (google them, young ones) spinning in their graves.
Much apologies to Dr. Koop and his family if he is not, as I assumed, deceased.
But I do - deal with it. Anyway, the thing is more addictive than crack.
Not only do you get to satisfy your egotistical needs by posting stuff about yourself, you also get to get a voyeuristic glimpse into the life of your friends and family - and eventually their friends and families, ad nauseum.
I think that why it's so additive. Somebody asks to be your friend (or you ask to be their friend) - and then, wham ... you see who they are friends with and the geometric progression begins.
Crack kills. Facebook kills time.
Seriously. I'm pretty busy at work and have more than enough stuff to keep me hopping from 8 am to 6 pm, but yesterday I found myself playing scrabble with my brother (who lives in Pennsylvania), IM'ing my sister-in-law (who lives in Miami) and looking at another friend's (who lives across town) funny but disturbing photos.
I looked up from my computer screen and realized that my next patient was sitting in a paper gown in a cold room waiting for me for 20 minutes. I could hear C. Everret Koop and Richard Kildare (google them, young ones) spinning in their graves.
Much apologies to Dr. Koop and his family if he is not, as I assumed, deceased.
Monday, August 18, 2008
The Kid is allright ...
Peter wasn't feeling too good.
He was tired and cranky. Being a 17 month old and having teething pain ... sucks.
You know you hurt, your parents know you hurt and there isn't much to do than NSAIDS, orajel and time.
The lack of communication would be the most frustrating thing to me - all I do is talk, and type and go to meetings. To be in his world of not being able to express feelings and concerns and most of all, pain, would probably drive me or any other sensible adult insane.
So, on saturday morning we were playing in the living room. Well, we were trying to play in the living room - he was mostly whining and throwing his toys around while I was trying to keep my eyes open - it was a long night prior.
After an hour or so and maybe only minutes before a full-blown toddler meltdown, I had enough. I sccoped him up and started towards the stairs. It was naptime and instead of the usual kicking and screaming, he slumped into me, resting his head on my shoulder and letting out a little whimper.
It made my heart break.
We got into his room and I had to put him down to change his diaper - also usually a kicking and screaming event. But not today. He just looked up to me with a pleading and exhausted look in his brown eyes.
All I could say was "I know" over and over as I fastened the new diaper on and pulled his shorts back up.
I carried him over the bookcase and picked up the ibuprofen. He gave it a wary look and started to shake his head and say "No" - one of his 3 or 4 words.
We sat down onthe glider and I drew up 5ml of the thick liquid. Peter was still saying "no" but in one instant our eyes met - he was staring more intently than I had ever seen him stare before.
He held my gaze as I calmy said, " I know - this stuff tastes yucky, but I promise it'll make you fell better ... I will never hurt you. (pause) Will you drink this?"
He had stopped whining and studied my face for a good 10 seconds and then looked back at he little shot glass of medicine in my right hand. Then he looked back at me.
"Yeth", as he shook his head emphatically.
There was complete trust in his face as he slurped the goooey liquid down. He clambored off my lap, picked up his rabbit and held him in a headlock as he pointed up towards his cradle. This was the most deliberate he had ever been in anything.
I scooped him up, gave him a kiss on the cheek and laid him in his crib. He immediately grabbed his Pooh bear in the other arm and closed his eyes. He was asleep almost before I closed his bedroom door.
A few hours later I could hear him on the monitor and I went into his room to get him out of his crib. We reached towards each other at the same time as I hoisted him out.
He gave me a big hug. And then pointed out of the room - his sign language for "let's go downstairs".
I was still carrying him as we walked out of the room. As we approached the door, he patted me on the shoulder, pointed at the medication sitting high up on the bookshelf, smiled and tightened his grip on me.
Wow. I had never felt like a parent before.
He was tired and cranky. Being a 17 month old and having teething pain ... sucks.
You know you hurt, your parents know you hurt and there isn't much to do than NSAIDS, orajel and time.
The lack of communication would be the most frustrating thing to me - all I do is talk, and type and go to meetings. To be in his world of not being able to express feelings and concerns and most of all, pain, would probably drive me or any other sensible adult insane.
So, on saturday morning we were playing in the living room. Well, we were trying to play in the living room - he was mostly whining and throwing his toys around while I was trying to keep my eyes open - it was a long night prior.
After an hour or so and maybe only minutes before a full-blown toddler meltdown, I had enough. I sccoped him up and started towards the stairs. It was naptime and instead of the usual kicking and screaming, he slumped into me, resting his head on my shoulder and letting out a little whimper.
It made my heart break.
We got into his room and I had to put him down to change his diaper - also usually a kicking and screaming event. But not today. He just looked up to me with a pleading and exhausted look in his brown eyes.
All I could say was "I know" over and over as I fastened the new diaper on and pulled his shorts back up.
I carried him over the bookcase and picked up the ibuprofen. He gave it a wary look and started to shake his head and say "No" - one of his 3 or 4 words.
We sat down onthe glider and I drew up 5ml of the thick liquid. Peter was still saying "no" but in one instant our eyes met - he was staring more intently than I had ever seen him stare before.
He held my gaze as I calmy said, " I know - this stuff tastes yucky, but I promise it'll make you fell better ... I will never hurt you. (pause) Will you drink this?"
He had stopped whining and studied my face for a good 10 seconds and then looked back at he little shot glass of medicine in my right hand. Then he looked back at me.
"Yeth", as he shook his head emphatically.
There was complete trust in his face as he slurped the goooey liquid down. He clambored off my lap, picked up his rabbit and held him in a headlock as he pointed up towards his cradle. This was the most deliberate he had ever been in anything.
I scooped him up, gave him a kiss on the cheek and laid him in his crib. He immediately grabbed his Pooh bear in the other arm and closed his eyes. He was asleep almost before I closed his bedroom door.
A few hours later I could hear him on the monitor and I went into his room to get him out of his crib. We reached towards each other at the same time as I hoisted him out.
He gave me a big hug. And then pointed out of the room - his sign language for "let's go downstairs".
I was still carrying him as we walked out of the room. As we approached the door, he patted me on the shoulder, pointed at the medication sitting high up on the bookshelf, smiled and tightened his grip on me.
Wow. I had never felt like a parent before.
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