Weather

Those of you who've read our other blog know that I post a lot about the weather. Let me just make this brief....I love it right now!! Fall is my absolute favorite season of them all! There is nothing more amazing than the changing of all that green into glorious reds, yellows, and oranges. That's probably why I didn't like living in Utah as much. It was too brown.

On a side note, now is the time of year that has me nostalgic for being a student. Though I guess I'm technically still a student since I'm doing an online master's program, I'm not a student in the back-to-school/summers-off sense. I miss buying new books, paper, pencils, and back-to-school outfits. I miss that exhausted feeling you get when you switch from sleeping 'till noon to waking up at dawn to catch the bus. I've been working full time now for almost 2 years and this year I'm especially nostalgic this year for college and thus Utah. I miss crazy roommates (who'd have thought?), walking to campus, the mountains, weekly devotionals, dorm life, meal plans, football games, and the proximity of the temple. I miss the testing center (I worked there), Dr. Hatch's lab in the Widstoe Building, the Wilk, mountain biking, swing dancing, and my in-laws. I don't miss taking tests, but I do miss studying. Ah well. At least we are all still students of life.

RIP

My grandma passed away yesterday after a long and full life. She lived to the age of 89 and was surrounded by her family and friends. She passed quietly in her sleep. I miss her very much, but I'm not totally sure it's hit me yet. I hadn't seen her in a while. I am comforted, though, by the fact that I know that she is in heaven with Grandpa and that I will get to see and talk to her again some day.

I dunno.

I don't really know why I don't like doctors, but I can speculate. It's not as if I was born with this dislike. I don't remember particularly hating going when I was kid. They gave you cool stickers and I don't remember it being scary. My grandpa was a doctor. We didn't live to close to him growing up, but I remember my mom telling me lots of stories about her dad. She'd tell me how he had sewn her toe back on without anesthesia (!) when she had accidentally cut it off on a piece of lamp she broke and tried to hide. I now realize this must have been an exaggeration to get me not to hide my mistakes, but nonetheless the idea has stuck with me. The only thing I can think of stems back to several experiences that I had in high school.

The first was that I took 2 rounds of Acutane for really bad cystic acne and it still didn't clear everything up. I had horrible acne as a teenager, and still to this day have it (though thanks to BeautiControl and perhaps those Acutane treatments it is decidedly better). Taking Acutane required not only taking a different number of pills each day of the week, it also required monthly visits to get my blood drawn. It was there that I discovered that my blood is exceedingly difficult to draw. As a result, I always endured multiple pokes in each arm. This instilled my first ounce of fear.

The second was an experience with a rather unsympathetic female doctor who wouldn't believe a word I said, but refused to talk to my mother because I had just turned 18. It was a sort of catch 22. I was too young to be trustworthy and too old to have my mom step in as an advocate. This instilled the idea in me that doctors don't get a rat's hiney about how I'm really doing.

My third experience that comes to mind served only to expand my fear. I was deathly ill at the end of high school. I'm not sure how long I was sick or what exactly made me sick, but suffice it to say that it was nasty and laid me flat on my back for most of the summer and almost kept me home from my first year of college. It again, required crazy amounts of blood to draw, only this time I was sick and it was harder to get it. They'd poke me about 3 times in each arm, start eyeing the tops of my feet, than finally settle on the back of my hands where they'd again poke multiple times in each hand, and then dig around until finding a vein.

I can think of several other experience that could also make the list, but I don't want to bore you so I'll spare you the details for now. I guess you can say that my dislike of the doctor is justified. I hate taking pills and I hate getting blood drawn. Most of my medical problems are cured only by changes in diet and exercise. Thought I haven't lately, I do think that I generally do a pretty good job of regulating both. The other thing I hate is their boat sized egos, but I'll save that for another post.

The first time is always new...

On several occasions, my husband has made the observation that he has no idea why I married him because of my strong dislike/distrust of doctors. My mom has echoed these sentiments noting that I swore that I would never get married, let alone marry someone from Utah or someone who was a doctor. I typically counter with, "yes, but he told me he hated Utah," or, " yes, but he wasn't a doctor yet." Technically, he's still not a doctor so I guess we're in the clear for now, though I have no idea how I will enjoy being married to a full-fledged doctor. In just working for one, I've come to decide that I really hate the medical field and I can't imagine why in the world anyone would ever want to work in it.

In all seriousness though, I love my life. I may not enjoy what I have to do each day, but there are many things about my life that I do love. I have if not the best, one of the best, husbands in the world. He is kind, caring, a helps out around the house. He is supportive of my dreams and wants me to be happy. I also love my business, friends, and family. However, I am often struck by how strange and different with how my life is turning out versus what I had planned/imagined for myself. I had always thought I would be happily perusing a graduate degree in neuroscience right now, unmarried, perhaps living with cats... I never dreamed I would be married to a medical student, working for a surgeon, and trying to start my own business. This blog will be an attempt to chronicle the second two years of our medical school experience, residency, and then life as the wife of a doctor who doesn't like doctors.