Control Alt Delete

I’ve always loved writing. When I was younger I would write vivid stories of tragic young adults, suffering from pain, abandonment, and fear. Stories of children who had been abused by their parents and decided to run away and live in the wild; children who had been orphaned and were sent away to live with a crotchety old aunt in a cold and dreary house. My mom used to joke that if someone would have read the notebooks filled with my stories, they may have thought I had dark skeletons tucked away in my closet and called Child Protective Services.

As a teen, I used writing to express the words and thoughts that were too difficult for me to speak. I wrote poems and letters with ease as my frustrations flowed onto the college-ruled loose leaf. On paper, I was the opitome of bad-assery. I always knew what to say and when to say it. On paper, I wasn’t left standing alone wishing I had said what was really on my mind.

In college, I used writing as a way to escape. I’d sporadically write in my journal, desperate to document my life journey, each time vowing to write frequently… and never living up to my promise.  Now as I approach my thirties (gulp) I have realized that writing, regardless of it’s topic, is therapeutic for me in so many ways. It allows me to put my chaotic and rambling thoughts into a logical order and if I’m brave enough, a way of sharing them with the world.

But lately, my thoughts have been too hectic and chaotic to put into words, let alone sentences and paragraphs worthy of reading. And so tonight, I try to recoup.  I try to push my mind’s CONTROL ALT DELTE and reset. Lord knows, this girl needs it.

All week I knew tonight was my night. My husband would be at work and technically, due to working part time, I would still be on my ‘weekend.’  I considered my options:

I thought about relaxing in the bathtub. Lighting scented candles, playing Enya on my iPod, piling my hair into a loose bun and climbing into a warm soapy heaven of relaxation.

And then I realized that would mean I would have to rinse out the sand left over from the little sandbox loving toes that occupied the tub earlier this evening, pick up the plastic princess and rubber ducks still littering the floor of the tub, and download a few Enya songs to listen to.

I thought about snuggling under the covers in our king sized bed. A glass of white wine on my nightstand, the windows open with sounds of crickets chirping outside, and a good book to read.

And then I realized that would mean I would have to fold all of the laundry piled high on the bed, tell my teenage neighbors to turn down their nightly backyard chat, and try to stay up long enough to enjoy my book… and wine.

Instead, I settled on snuggling on the couch, hair piled high on my head, a lavender candle burning on the coffee table, and a bowl of ice cream. It’s not what I had in mind, but if I try really hard, I can almost hear the Enya song (the only one I know) over the sound of my obnoxious neighbors, I can almost smell the pages of a favorite old book, and I can almost feel my muscles relaxing.

And so here I sit, with numerous half finished blog posts sitting in my blogspot dashboard, just begging for me to complete and hit that gratifying “publish” button. But instead, tonight is my night. My night to watch whatever I want on TV,  my night to ignore the mountain of laundry on the bed (that I will likely push over to my husbands side before I crawl into bed tonight), and my night to watch the new Taylor Swift youtube channel in which she premiers her new album and new single (which I not only find incredibly catchy, but also can totally relate to. In fact, if we were to browse through my college journal entries, I’m rather positive you would find an entry rather similar to her “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” single.) Yes, I’m a teeny bopper and yes I love Taylor Swift. Get over it.

Tonight is my night.

What do you do to reset and unwind?

Canada Conference Craziness

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Today I had planned on driving to Dearborn for a “Women’s Health Visit” CME conference.  But when my alarm went off at 6am (and again at 6:10 and again at 6:20) I decided that learning more about pap smears, Gardasil, and osteoporosis was not in the cards for me today. Instead, I asked the babysitter to come an hour later and leisurely roamed around the house before deciding to throw my hair into a greasy ponytail and throw on a fashionable GVSU T-shirt and shorts. When the sitter arrived, I bolted out the door.

A morning to myself.

Can you feel my muscles relax? Can you hear me singing Taylor Swift in the car as I drove away? Can you feel my stress decrease just a little bit?

I decided that rather than catch up on STD prevention and contraception methods, I’d spend my morning doing whatever I want: blogging, reading, working on our digital family photo album. Anything that I could do from the comfort of the Barnes and Noble that I have decided to inhabit this morning.

Last night, as I (finally) published my post on my evening with my fellow PoPoW’s I realized how many unfinished posts I have waiting for me to complete. Therefore, that will be my first task this morning…

A few weeks ago, I packed my rather large suitcase, kissed my girls good-bye and headed to Toronto for a five day weekend with my favorite PA girls for the annual American Academy of Physician Assistants conference.  My excitement was slightly higher than a little kid on Christmas morning… and probably unnecessarily so. But this was my first ever weekend away from my little girls, my husband, and spent with my girlfriends.  I may have even danced a little when waiting for Meg and Sara to pick me up.

As the three of us drove the three hour trip to Lauren’s home in Ontario, there wasn’t a second that wasn’t filled with talking and loud laughter as we quickly tried to catch each other up on our lives since we last saw each other.

When we pulled into the driveway and Lauren ran out to greet us, it was as if the three years since PA school vanished… we were almost all together again.

That night, we celebrated the upcoming arrival of little baby boy Hollis, devoured yummy home-made enchiladas, and ate way too much confetti cake. We shrieked with excitement that we were all together again with no husbands, no babies, and no responsibilities for five whole days.  We all went to bed that night, not needing to set alarm clocks or shush little kids to sleep.

In the morning, I woke feeling completely refreshed and rejuvenated. I flung the blanket off and not-so-quietly walked upstairs, convinced I slept in the latest and the last to wake. Instead, the house was silent except for the ticking on the kitchen clock which read 6:45am.

6:45am? No way. How could I possibly feel this wide-awake this early in the morning? I check the time on my cell phone.

6:45 am

Hmm. Guess not having to wake up in the middle of the night to ease nightmare fears, fix blankets, or pick up dropped stuffed animals makes a difference in the quality of sleep you can get.

An hour later, as my friends began to wake, we huddled under the blankets on Lauren’s bed and discussed everything from baby poop blow-outs, husbands who don’t pick up after themselves, and non-compliant patients.  We had breakfast and took our time getting ready for our drive into the city.  As we loaded our large suitcases into the car like a game of Tetris, the excitement began to build again. Once in the city, we would meet up with Becca and Molly and our girls weekend could really begin.

While the bulk of our trip was spent in lectures from 8am to 5pm learning about diuretics, Ehler’s Danlos Syndrome, and chronic kidney disease, the evenings were ours and they were ah-mazing.

We explored the city of Toronto, ate delicious dinners, sipped over-priced alcoholic drinks, and laughed until we nearly peed our pants at the comedy club.

We sat in our 2 bedroom hotel suite and discussed SIADH and the acute abdomen while Becca pumped and the rest of us gorged on our smorgasbord of snacks. We acted like tourists, looked up at the buildings while we walked throughout the city and stopped to take ridiculous pictures.

We took note of all our Canadian observations that left us confused, frustrated, or completely amused:

Gas station attendants still do exist and when you get out of your car, laugh at the two blue balls spinning around on the gas pump, and have absolutely no idea how to turn it on, the attendant will begrudgingly help the not-from-around-here-are-you girls.

Fountain pop is a rarity and you must go on two mile walks in the early morning hours in search of a restaurant that serves fountain pop. And when discovered, it shoots out of the machine alternating between syrup and carbonated water making you think the machine needs repair, but in fact, that’s just how it’s done in Canada.

Cheque= form of payment
Check= hitting in hockey

Driving is slightly difficult when everything is measured in kilometers and your car only measures in miles.

Mountain Dew does not contain caffeine.  (I know, if blew our minds too)

Recycling containers placed throughout a conference center without trash bins confuses wasteful Americans who are used to throwing away anything without a ten cent deposit. For example, if you were lucky enough to find a fountain pop and now want to dispose of the cup, do you throw it in the paper receptacle, the plastic receptacle, does it really matter? Where the hell is a normal trash can?!

The music selection in public places is simply fabulous. In one afternoon, our ears were graced with the sounds of Gansta’s Paradise, Pump Up the Jam, and numerous Backstreet Boys ballads.

Canadian convenience stores surpass all Walgreens, Rite-Aids, and CVS’ in “the states.” Where else can your forgetful friend purchase a breast pump at 8pm on a Saturday night when she is in desperate need of relief?

Bottled pop is ridiculously expensive. However, when you desperately need caffeine to survive eight hours of lectures, you will agree to pay $3.00 for a 20oz of Pepsi.

Michigan accents are very similar to Minnesotan accents. We speak through our noses and have ‘nasally accents.”  For instance, we say “mam” instead of “mom” and “an” instead of “on.” (Go ahead, say it out loud, it’s true)

There are no pharmaceutical commercials on Canadian television channels.

Hotel pools with a depth of 1.2 (meters) just looks weird.

Toilet paper in public restrooms dispense like napkin dispensers.

Asking to have all your nacho toppings placed in a bowl and your chips kept separate (in order to dip your chips into the nacho goodness) is ‘very strange and must be a USA thing.”

And the number one Canadian observation that completely baffled us American girls…  milk is bought in plastic bags, not plastic jugs and put into pitchers once at home. (weird huh?)

Although I was excited to return home, to sleep in my own bed, and hug my girls and husband, the five days in Toronto with my PA girls went entirely too fast. Thinking back, so did our time spent in PA school.  The days were long, the tests were difficult, and the stress level was indescribable, but those three years were over within the blink of an eye and sometimes (only sometimes) I wish we were back in PA school. Studying at Panera, sipping gallons of caffeine-filled Mountain Dew, and drawing diagrams to better understand neuropathology, the RAAS system, or the coagulation cascade.  Other days I am beyond grateful not to have to sit through another TBB lecture or type up Clin Med objectives.

But no matter what, I will always be grateful for my PA friends that I obtained through the way.

Nothing compares to a friend who can relate to the frustrations with noncompliant patients, discuss pap smears and the whiff test without gagging, and laugh at your medical-related jokes that are often lost on everyone else.

Nothing else compares.

Momma Needs A Night Out

Every once in awhile, in the middle of ordinary life, an extraordinary thing happens. A mommy puts on clothes that aren’t covered in boogers, lets her ponytail down, slathers on some lipstick (not chapstick, but actual lipstick), kisses the husband and little ones behind and dashes out the door to a world she has long ago visited.  A world, that for a few precious hours, she does not have to be a wife or a “Mom… Mom… Mom… MOM!” 

For most mommies, this happens rarely and is cause for a grand affair. Having planned my “Momma Needs A Night Out” evening several weeks in advance and having it circled on the calendar in bright red ink (several times I might add), made this a night worthy of greatness. Worthy of curling my hair, wearing skinny jeans, and sporting my red shoes.

Might I say, it did not disappoint.

What I had anticipated to be an awkward night out with girls I have barely seen since graduation over ten years ago, ended up being a fun night out sharing hilarious mommy stories and catching up on each others lives.  It was a night where I was free to be, well me.  Better yet, not only did I get to lose my mommy and wife title for the evening, but I was also taken back in time, back to 17-year old me. Back to being Katie.  I was able to make inappropriate jokes, share silly gossip, and use the F-word way too often (Sorry Mom. Pretend you didn’t read that).

Despite what my husband may think, we didn’t do anything crazy or wild. Our ‘ladies night out’ was far from the stiletto-wearing, tabletop dancing, bar hopping scenes depicted in the movies. Instead, we listened with empathy as other mommies shared their birthing stories, gasped a few “Are you serious-es?” over juicy gossip, and laughed to the point of tears sharing ‘hemorrhaging’ stories (one of my personal favorite stories from the night).

 Goodness, I would love to know what the people around us thought of our conversation!

What was supposed to be an ‘I’ll-definately-be-home-by-11pm” evening, turned into a sneaking-in-the door-at-2am kind of night…. which was quickly followed by an “is-it-really 8am-already-why-are-the-kids-louder-then-usual-will-someone-please-get-me-a-Gatorade-and-Tylenol” kind of morning.

But it was so worth it.

Perhaps next time there will be dancing.