my love

I love this little man.

My Oscar Bob. Look at that face! Ah. Love of my life.

He's so little and sweet and soft. He likes to nap as much as I do. And he's a good snuggler. He is always excited to see me when I get home. Shoot, even if I go pee, he's excited to see me when I walk back out the bathroom door. Maybe he has short term memory problems...

Anyway, OB doesn't mind that I'm a little messy. He doesn't tell me to pick my shoes up off the floor. He doesn't complain if I'm a little moody. He's pretty much always interested in what I have to say. He likes The Bachelor and Criminal Minds. He's such a good little pal.

All this guy wants in life is someone to throw his tennis ball.

I can do that.

They say people with dogs tend to live longer. I get that.


Movin' on

Well, thanks be to the LORD that I'm done with Psychiatry. I guess that was harsh. I mean, it was fine, but it's just not my thing. I like to do things. I like to fix things. I just don't get these people. I wanted to roll my eyes and say things like "Please." or "Stop acting like that." I don't think that should be the kind of attitude a good Psychiatrist has. Thus, I think I've checked it off my list of future careers. 

Yesterday I started ENT, and after a morning of cleaning large amounts of earwax out of old men's ears, my love of medicine had been renewed. I was strangely satisfied by those clean ear canals. However, before I move on, I wanted to summarize my experience in Psychiatry because it was definitely interesting and largely entertaining at times. There were so many good stories, but in lieu of violating confidentiality and being targeted by the HIPAA Nazis, I'll just leave you with a few quotes:

"I have no empathy for this guy. In fact, I'd like to set him on fire. Don't you? Just a little bit?"

"The cold. It's in my mouth. The jaw keeps puttin' it there." (Repeat statement x15 days.)

Patient: "Please don't make me go through the obstacle course. Especially the haystacks. I can't go through the haystacks."
Doctor: "Yeah... we should really stop making people do that."

"Can somebody explain to me why I pay this institution $14,000 a year, and I can ONLY have 2 pairs of scrubs, but the borderline who overdosed for attention then vomited all over her clothes gets to have them? And the schizophrenic with syphilis who has his own pajama pants is sporting a pair? And this noncompliant, no-pay going to Whitfield gets some? Are you freakin kidding me?! We deserve two more pieces of $5 blue cloth!"
(Next day, in a patient's room) Attending: "Let's get out of here before Laura goes into a blind rage because the patient is wearing scrubs."

"Wouldn't you be upset if (the tech) gave you a bath every morning? I can see that. Tyler, tomorrow, let Andrew give you a bath and see if it makes you aggressive. Then we'll reasses."

"Does [the 60-something year old patient] really have breast implants?"
"I don't know."
"Find out. Physical exam."
"Oh, God.."
"I'm kidding."

"[Something about nitrous oxide.]"
"Did he just say to get the patient some socks and an erection??"

"Does anybody know what just happened??"

[I can't stop laughing while trying to present a patient case.]
"Are you going to be able to get it together?"
"I don't think so. There's a bit of an exhibition going on in the group room behind you."

"Was that Santa Claus? Did you see that guy? Wow. Christmas in July, huh?"

"Sir, I think Don King has filed a class-action lawsuit against you."

"I don't get it. I just don't understand why anybody would..."
"Stop. Do not try to understand. What floor are we on?"
"Oh. Right. 7th."

"Cannibal. Butcher. That's really all you need to know."

"Bye-bye, Mr. Vampire."

"Do you want to be admitted to the inpatient psychiatric unit? We can give you some treatments to get these voices to go away."
"But I kinda like the voice. He seems nice. I'm comfortable with him."
"You don't want the voice to go away?"
"Not really. I might get lonely."

"Does anybody know how much you can buy Xanax for on the streets?"
"10 bucks?"
"Damn boy, you must be buying yo' Xanax in Eastover. Try again."

............and my favorite,

"Call Condoleezza Rice! Condoleezza knows the truth!"

It was quite an experience, to say the least, but it's time to move on.


Critters: Chapter 1, The Rattlesnake

This may be one of those you-had-to-be-there kind of stories, but I swear this is one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me.

I'm kind of minimally afraid of snakes. I mean, I guess I'd probably freak out if I had a surprise close encounter with an unknown species in the wilderness, but as long as I know I'm a safe distance, I kind of like to watch them. I like to look at them at the pet store. I have held non-poisonous ones in controlled environments. It makes me feel brave. I think they're interesting creatures. All this really has nothing to do with my story.

A few weeks ago, my dad, my uncle, my sister, and I were returning from my Papaw's visitation. My family lives in the country. I mean, the cowntry. So we pull into the long, gravel driveway in my dad's F150. We are in the woods. The sticks, if you will. He and my uncle are wearing suits. Katie and I are wearing dresses and heels. It's solemn. I remember being so emotionally and physically exhausted, I was almost numb. 

Suddenly, the quiet, sad mood was interrupted as my dad slammed on the brakes and I flew forward into the back of the front passenger seat. "What the crap?!" No response. He threw it into reverse, and slammed on the accelerator, as we all sustained whiplash. "Daddy!" Uncle Gary could see what was going on, but Katie and I, in the backseat, were bewildered. Finally, after we had repeated this accelerate-brake-reverse sequence a couple more times, he mumbled "Rattlesnake." Except I thought he said something about a rabbit. Now I thought for a split second that my father was running over bunnies. I was mortified. What does he have against rabbits?? These thoughts were fleeting, though, because I suddenly saw what we were killing. Oh my gah. It was a 5-foot-ish rattlesnake. 

Mike Arnold had no intentions of letting that sucker live. Suddenly, he grabs a pistol and jumps out of the truck. I see him raise the gun toward the snake, then he lowers it. He yells, "I can't see!" He comes back around the car door, and I see that his glasses are fogged up. I howled. Here is my dad, in a suit, trying to kill a snake at 11:00 at night, and his glasses are fogged up. It was hilarious. He wiped them off. They fogged back up. I laughed. He took them off; he still couldn't see. I was crying I was laughing so hard.

At this point, Katie has gotten out of the truck. She wants to see. My uncle is yelling at her. (My Uncle Gary will be the first person to tell you he wants nothing to do with a snake.) So he's yelling, "Katie! Get in the truck! Get back in the truck! He's not dead!" My father realizes that she is definitely within striking distance, and yanks her back toward the truck. Chaos. Yelling. Fogging. 

Everyone gets back in the truck. We drive up to the house, and these two men on a mission go inside the house. I thought this ordeal was over, and I stayed outside to make a phone call. Moments later, daddy and Uncle Gary return with my other uncle and a shotgun. Please visualize this: 3 men in suits and ties walking side-by-side down a long, pitch-dark, gravel driveway with a shotgun and a spotlight. I cracked up again. A shotgun? Really? It's not a buffalo. It's a snake. But I guess they probably know more about snake-killing than I do. Who do I think I am? I wish I had a picture. It was very Men in Black, yet very Franklin County. I could not stop laughing. A couple of cousins came outside, and I couldn't even speak. I had been so sad all day, and I don't know if I was delirious or if my soul was in such need of a moment of happiness, but I couldn't stop laughing. My stomach hurt. I probably snorted. I'm sure the snake was dead. They, apparently, were not so confident. I watch them walk down in silence, out of sight. 


Silent pause. 



The Men in Black reappeared, victorious. 

Uncle Gary, the snake-hater, was grinning. "We made him a Christian."