Daniel's nine months old, and we have news again!!!

Okay, okay. So I'm a bad blogger. I have been avoiding the blog mostly because I sincerely don't have time to brush my teeth these days, much less write...but secondarily because I'm embarrassed that I haven't even shared here that I finally gave birth...um 9 months ago! So the short of it is that I have a lovely, energetic, strong willed, can't-seem-to-sleep-through-the-night son. Oh, and he has me wrapped pretty tightly around his little yummy digit.

I could bore you with the details of my child raising days, but I won't. It's funny when DH comes home from working an amazing day in the hospital where he's treating patients and warding off death, I start to discuss my day which consists of: woke up, ate breakfast, played, went to the gym, napped, ate lunch, played, napped, played, ate dinner, bathtime, down for night (up again in a few hours :)). When I start to share the details, I realize how mundane it sounds. But alas, it's much more challenging than any other job I've held before...and much more fulfilling than anything I could ever imagine.

Well, you might want me to get to the second part of the subject. We have news again.....WE JUST ADOPTED! That's right! You thought one was enough, but there was a certain longing...a hole in our lives, so to speak. So please welcome, Russ. Russ - our 1981 Westfalia VW Vanagon.



Oh, we're so looking forward to taking camping trips in big Texas. There are so many state parks here, it would be a shame not to explore a little while we're Lonestar State bound. And little Daniel loves the camper. I remember my friend's mom had one when I was growing up. And it was so cool to have the little miniature fridge, sink, and stovetop...it was the perfect little clubhouse. I think Daniel feels the same way about Russ.

We might just explore beyond the state and make it to your neck of the woods. So keep the light on for the Brimberries!

Third trimester - not too much longer!

Here I am at 26 weeks....before we struggled getting all my belly into one frame of the picture.

I am now 32 weeks along and am surprised to say that I am enjoying this third trimester much better than the other two.

The first trimester was the pits. Between the hormone fluctuations, constant nausea and vomiting, all combined with absolutely zero energy to devote to much more than complaining...I was definitely questioning what we had gotten ourselves into.

In the second trimester I lightened up a little (the mood, that is) and started gaining more energy. I didn't really gain a good appetite, but was assured that our little bean was getting along fine with what I was taking in. We enjoyed a last hurrah vacation to Mexico during this time. We brought back an unanticipated souvenir in the form of a virus that knocked Matt and me both on our butts. Back to the nausea and vomiting again! I thought for sure that I would never recover, but after roughly 3 weeks, I started to feel better. Again, the little bean was very content regardless of my state.

Now in the third trimester, I am getting much more excited about the road ahead. We are preparing little Daniel's room, starting to cram with all the birthing and breastfeeding classes, and preparing my work for the time I will be off.

I have no idea what to expect from the arrival of our new little bundle, but I am so very excited nonetheless. I know daddy Matt will be great with his new son and I just can't wait to meet the fellow that's been practicing karate in my belly since the fifth month. He seems to be a night owl as he finds the best time to get his high kicks and punches in is between 2 a.m. and 5 a.m. The sleepless nights have begun!

I haven't been good, if you haven't noticed, of keeping an active blog, but I will try and check in more often to share!

Fiesta

there is a city wide holiday in San Antonio we are experiencing for the first time. It's called Fiesta.
Some consider it a local celebration full of cultural flair. Others, I have heard, consider it a week long drunk fest.

Schools and businesses will even close for a day for this event. what a city!

Other interesting things I have learned from my new city, San Antonio.
1. When you stop to scream out, "The stars at night are big and bright" there is always one person that does indeed continue the song with a clap and reply "deep in the heart of Texas!" (if you don't believe me, try it)
2. You are definitely an outcast if you don't put the proper hispanic accent on hispanic words and names...even if it is clear you are whiter than white and don't know a lick of Spanish. In my office, it is very unprofessional to call Anna, Anna. Her name is Ah-na. Big difference. Also, Marina? Its Mah-dee-nah. She won't even respond if you address her like she's a boating depot. I am still trying to adjust to this.
3. In San Antonio, ma'am is turned into miss. I quite prefer this, actually. All day students are addressing me as miss...makes me feel younger than my former ma'am status.
4. It was 102 degrees this week. It's April. This is not an interesting fact. This is the terrifying portion of the blog.
5. The majority of the city is fat. My husband kindly calls this epidemic "the tortilla factor." we have both agreed that if we live here for too long, we too will fall prey to the disease.
6. Another one of his observations (and current novelty joy)...all meals are served with rice and beans. When ordering eggs for breakfast, he still giggles with delight when the waiter asks, "would you like rice and beans with that?" He promptly responds, "Hell yes, I want rice and beans with that!" in a tone that denotes to the waiter he shouldn't even have to ask.
7. There are actually residents of the city that I have met in person that don't even know where Arkansas is.
8. Spurs fans hate the Lakers. Don't even bring up the Pistons.
9. Directions to locations in the city always include a " then turn right/left at the Taco Cabana. If you gone to the Bill Miller, you've gone too far"
10. There's a neighborhood nearby that has ferral peacocks running loose. Some people can't get into their homes for fear of being attacked by a peacock while trying to run to the front door. Instead of being concerned citizens of the problem, all outliers visit the neighborhood to observe the shenanigans as entertainment.

What's the quickest way to a man's heart?

(originally posted 11/28/05)
"What's the quickest way to a man's heart?" DH asks me.

Thinking this was a romantic riddle of some sort, I smile and come up with what I think to be the correct response.

"Food?" I say coquettishly.

He, knowing I won't guess the answer correctly no matter how many tries I take, cuts to the chase to answer the question himself.

"The quickest way to a man's heart," he says, "is with a sharp knife through the fifth intercostal space adjacent to the sternum."

"Oh." I say with an air of confusion and shock mixed together. Clearly, he isn't trying to be romantic after all...morbid is more like it.

I then realize his goofy joke is the result of his gross anatomy class. On this particular day, he learned how to cut out the heart of his cadaver. It all starts to make sense now.

Little did I know, however, I was going to need to pay close attention to the answer for this would be the first of many times he asks me this question hoping that I can remember the correct answer. I think he’s secretly formulating a comedy routine for the two of us.

Oh....and I'm the monkey in the routine.

A couple of days later, while in the bathroom getting ready for the day, he asks me the question again, “What’s the quickest way to a man’s heart?”

I freeze.

"Um, with a knife to the space left of the fifth ventricle next to the supersternal notch?"

I didn't know what I was saying; I was just meshing together words that I had heard before in doctor shows that I thought might closely resemble the correct answer.

Not a chance. He caught my bluff instantly.

"No, silly!" he jokes, "remember? It's with a sharp knife to the fifth intercostal space adjacent to the sternum!"

"Oh, right!" I say again feeling awkward. I quickly apply my mascara and take off.

After a few more of these caught-off-guard moments, the strangeness of the question dulled and I finally was able to answer him exactly the way he trained me. When prompted with the question, my eyes would glaze over and in a monotone, robot-like trance I would rattle off the answer perfectly,
"With a sharp knife to the fifth intercostal space adjacent to the sternum,” I drone.

His pride abounded and we have since taken the act on the road.

I have yet to receive the kippered herring reward that should be thrown in the air for me to catch in my mouth for a job well done.

They pee on their scrubs...who knew?

(originally posted 11/4/2005)
I was folding laundry last week when I noticed a bleached area on DH's new scrubs. Digging into my imagination where I see him in class mixing dangerous, toxic chemicals together while working on complex mathematical equations on the board and cutting out the cadaver's heart with pristine precision all at the same time, I conclude that he probably dribbled a little toxic chemical on his pants. The image of DH in the gross lab learning to save the world concludes as he takes a shower in the hallway - the shower reserved for people who get chemicals on their skin or in their eyes. Everyone crowds around the shower and chants cheers of heroic valor because his chemical spill somehow led to the cure for cancer.

Fade to black.
Cut to reality.

When I ask DH what happened to his scrubs...he immediately diverts his gaze elsewhere as he proceeds to shuffle in the place where he stands. After a few moments of this, he gets the courage…and in a higher octave pitch that is typically reserved for embarrassment and reluctant apologies… he explains that he washed his new scrubs with bleach so that his scrubs didn’t look so new and people would think he’s a more advanced medical student…maybe third or fourth year…rather than a first year.

This confession, of course, makes me laugh hysterically. Knowing how silly it sounds, he joins me in a good hearty chuckle.

My imagery of his gross lab victory fades a bit as I giggle.

Then the mood gets serious as he confesses that he has trouble using the restroom when dressed out in scrubs. He explains that no matter what kind of techniques he uses when finishing his chore, there always seems to be a little bit that seeps though the fabric of the scrubs.

Now my image of him saving the world in the gross lab fades almost completely.

This is something I have never thought might be a problem for those donning scrubs, but after researching “peeing in scrubs” on Google, I find he is nowhere near alone in this problem. I start to read a thread that I think might answer his problem on studentdoctor.net called “how to avoid peeing on your scrubs (for guys).”

Studentdoctor.net is full of bulletin boards that students post messages on in order to connect to other student doctors around the globe. When I begin to read through the peeing on scrubs link, I start to question the types of people we will be entrusting our health and lives with in the future of medicine. What I read reminds me the types of banter that was exchanged in fifth, maybe as late as seventh grade.

Here are some of my favorite answers to the peeing on scrubs dilemma found on studentdoctor.net:

1) “Get pee-colored scrubs so that any pee on it will just blend in”
(I really enjoy the pee-colored scrubs option…let’s together imagine what these might look like in the halls of medical school. I know, very disturbing)

2) “How about just giving a little shake... if you do it more than once your playing with it.”
(classic)

3) “Shake it like a polaroid picture”
(even doctors can enjoy entering a well-known Outkast lyric in their posts…nice)

4) “I'm on board with the three-shakes rule. Also, if you hustle to the sink afterward, you can make sure to carelessly splash some water drops on the front of your clothes. ;)”
(this, my DH confesses, is something he’s tried)

5) “Isn't this why they invented the long white coats... so only the med students look like they have pissed themselves.”
(student doctors are forced to wear short white coats rather than the more prestigious white coats we see on our doctors)

6) Finally, my absolute favorite from Doc2b (who I will warmly refer to as THE TODD like on the show, “Scrubs”):
“I just tuck mine in my sock, that's the only place that I get wet. What are you guys talking about getting it on your scrubs.”

I am not sure DH has ever figured out the right formula for leaving the restroom embarrassment-free or if bleaching his scrubs has created the desired effect. One thing, however, is clear. While he is working daily toward helping advance the future of medicine, he and his cohorts are really no different than you or me. They still experience insecurity, self-doubt, humiliation…and occasionally dish out a bad humored joke.

With this knowledge, my hero imagery of him has changed a bit. In my mind he still does tough equations on the board while operating on his cadaver and mixing toxic chemicals. Once he accidentally splashes himself with dangerous chemicals, he runs to the shower in the hallway in his bleached-out, pee colored scrubs while the other students follow him singing lines from Outkast’s “Hey Ya!” reminding him to “shake it like a polaroid picture”…then congratulate him for finding a cure for cancer….

P.S. My friend Shannon was poking fun at my other posts saying that I should have the “Doogie Houser” theme playing in the background because my writing reminded her of the young doctor’s diary entries at the end of each show. Thanks for the idea, Shannon!

Lend me your ears....literally

(originally posted 10/11/2005)
As I sit in the kitchen....alone....at 10:22 p.m. I am pushed to think about how things were before we moved here so DH could attend medical school. Here are some differences I recall now that he's not around as much.

Before and after traits of a new medical student:

Before medical school: He would look deep into my eyes wanting to discover my soul
While in medical school: He looks deep into my eyes looking for new parts that he discovered on his cadaver, Rose, earlier that day.

Before medical school: My constant complaining of stuffy nose due to allergies didn't phase him
While in medical school: My constant complaining of stuffy nose due to allergies allows me the "couple time" I have been craving so he can stick his whatever-its-called-scope up my nose for examination. And wouldn't you know it, he concludes that I do INDEED have allergies after all! How romantic.

Before medical school: words like hypoglossus would reference a neglegence of applying enough lip product for the evening date.
While in medical school: words like hypoglossus being chanted by DH would reference that there would be no need to apply lip product because there won't be an evening date. (I think the word really has something to do with the underside of the tongue, for those interested)

Before medical school: gift lists consisted of novelty tees, music, books, motorcycle gear
While in medical school: gift lists consist of scrubs, instructional cds, medical books, and medical gear

Before medical school: simple questions like "what would you like for dinner: pizza or spaghetti" would be answered immediately with 100% confidence in answer.
While in medical school: simple questions like "what would you like for dinner" make him cringe and pound his head for the correct answer.

Before medical school: I used lists to remind myself of what I needed to buy at the store later in the week.
While in medical school: I use daily lists to remind myself what questions I have for him so I can ask in the sliver of time I have his attention.

Before medical school: when the cats jumped in his lap, he would promptly pet them at their request.
While in medical school: when the cats jump in his lap, he will promptly poke and pull at them while studying their features - they respond through retaliation.
Later in medical school: the cats don't jump in his lap anymore (and he has had the privilege of putting his suturing skills to practice...on himself.)



Don't get me wrong. I am not unhappy with our situation, and I admit that some of these are exaggerated. It is true that the dynamic changes in the relationship when medical school starts. And from what I understand, this doesn't change once he's out of school.

There might be times when I get jealous of the other woman. No, not Rose the cadaver, but her meaning medical school. He puts more energy into her, gives her his money, his time, and attention. But I've got something she doesn't...
the ability to listen and smile at his excitement of it all.

The Doctor and Mrs. Wifey

(Originally posted 8/25/2005)
Well, he doesn't call me Wifey to my face, but I have heard him say it a time a two when "I have to ask the wifey if that's okay" or, "let me see what the wifey thinks."

I don't know how many people in this world know me only as Wifey, but I don't mind. I have always led a somewhat independent life even after marriage (AM). I like being married to my dear husband (DH). The label he gave me as wifey to the cable guy or the electrician was cute.

I can't blame him for giving me that name. I mean, come on. I just said cable guy and electrician to describe people.

But he just started medical school a month ago...and I think a lot more people are going to know me as Wifey as he continues his journey. I wonder what it will be like to be married to a doctor? Will I become more the wife of a doctor and less a me?

I doubt it.

But I do wonder because really, when you think of it, can you recall what the wives of your doctors did other than be doctors wives? Yeah, me neither. Doctors, by default, hold important roles. But doctors wives....they don't seem to hold that same status unless they are doctors too. You know?

I just quit my job at an advertising firm where I worked for four years. So temporarily, my career identity is somewhat up in the air which makes me succumb more into the wife role. I am not sure advertising suited me, so I am off to see about identifying with another cube. Wish me luck.

In the meantime, as I look for my next meaningful occupation, I want to reflect in this blog what going through med school with my husband is like.

Who knows, in the end, I too might have a new tag on the end of my name. Instead of M.D., I will adopt D. W.....Dear Wifey.

Look for more posts of useless insight to come.