Damn. Can't believe a year has gone by so fast, and I'm just now catching my breath, remembering that I used to write things other than history and physicals, daily progress notes, and discharge summaries.

I'll share some choice quotes from the past year:

Cantankerous horny patient who openly made lewd remarks to me in front of his wife: "Are you gonna vote for Hillary to be president? I agree that she needs to be back in the white house...so she can return all the silver she stole!"

Another gem from the same guy: "If we elect Obama to be president, we can't call this country the United States no more. It will be Obama-nation!" (pronounced Abomination)

Guy who came up to me at the Red Door Salon: "You know, you're not the kind of girl that most of the guys here go for. But I like your type."
My response: "What do you mean, 'my type?'"
Guy: "Well, your skin is a little browner, you're darker, you know. But I just moved from California and there were a lot of girls who looked like you there, and I grew to like that look."
Gee. What a pick up line. I suppose I should have been thrilled that I found a guy who appreciated my browned skin? And ignore how hideous he was, both looks-wise and personality-wise?

Faux-martyr elderly male patient: "You know, owls and eagles are the only animals that mate for life. That's how it is with my wife and me. Once she died, I knew there would be no one else." He then made coy remarks about how pretty I was, and how he would snatch me up if he were younger. And then he promptly dropped his pants and asked me to examine his penis, because it was dribbling urine.

Manic obese female patient: "You see that girl over there"--referring to me--"she's dressed very nice, she has a pretty necklace. But without organic chemistry, she'd be a slut in a ditch smelling of Montezuma's revenge!"


There is a benefit to getting involved with a guy whose musical taste is totally different from yours. When the relationship ends, particularly in an ugly fashion, none of your favorite music is ruined by memories of him. You hear a shitty song that he liked, and you think, "Ah. Now I can really appreciate how shitty the song is, unobscured by any silly romantic associations." You hear a song that you've loved for years (like, let's say, old school R.E.M.) and you think, "Thank fucking goodness this song is not one that I shared with that guy, and I can still love it without reservations."

So what is it like to no longer be a medical intern? I'm still figuring that out, slowly remembering who I was, and the parts of me which lay dormant while I was an overworked automaton. When I was a kid, I thought it was so crucial to share myself with others--my flaws, my opinions, my beauty, my random musings about things. Now it seems strange and self-indulgent. Perhaps this means I finally am becoming an adult. But then, whenever I step into an art gallery, or watch a fantastic movie, or hear a perfectly crafted song, I think--that's what warms my insides and fills me with light. It's a bit sad that I feel more connected to humanity sometimes when experiencing art than when talking to a patient. But that's probably just exhaustion from work. I still do love learning the stories of people's lives, and getting glimpses into perspectives which are so different from my own.