I'll see you in the ICU!

Few things make me laugh this hard.

The night this aired, I nearly died laughing.

posted by sketchmonkey @ 9:48 PM 0 Comments

Bjork says it all

I really dig this Bjork song--it's been on my laptop playing almost constantly.

IT'S NOT UP TO YOU

I wake up
and the day feels broken
I tilt my head
I'm trying to get an angle

'Cause the evening
I've always longed for
it could still happen

How do I master
the perfect day
six glasses of water
seven phonecalls

If you leave it alone
it might just happen
anyway

It's not up to you - well, it never really was...

If you wake up
and the day feels a-broken
just lean into the crack
and it will tremble
ever so nicely
notice
how it sparkles
down there

I can decide what I give
but it's not up to me
what I get given

Unthinkable surprises
about to happen
but what they are

It's not up to you
well, it never really was...

There's too much
clinging
to peak
there's too much
pressure

posted by sketchmonkey @ 3:58 PM 0 Comments

The pace steps up

Test after test after test.

And it's only Wednesday.

Today, practiced giving injections, got the Evelyn Wood's speed-reading version of "everything you ever wanted to know about IVs (in 15 minutes or less)" lesson


This is pretty funny though

gave me a good laugh--ah, how I laughed.
No, seriously, Harlem has a bad rap--especially Spanish Harlem; these folks are quite nice. It's the disenchanted nurses on my rotation that really get my ire up. (do I even have ire? I'd like to think so)

I'm having a cup of tea, in my air conditioned room, while outside the heat is unbearable! My fluid intake is better since I installed the water filter, but it's still much less than I normally take in per diem back home. My food intake is completely diminished, however!

Coming from the Bay Area, and shopping at Rainbow grocery Co-op, and Whole foods, and Trader Joes, I've grown fond of my Organic, non-GMO, non-GE foods. If I have any dairy products, the label ususally states proudly "no rGBH" and I bring my happy little canvas bags, reuse my bulk grain bags, and refill my hand lotion, laundry soap, shampoo and conditioner containers (I love you Rainbow foods!) and feel better about what I put in my body, and what I'm doing for the environment.

Here, I've been living on organic carrots (something the local store does stock) and Dole (non-organic) bananas. The ocassional loaf of bread sneaks in to my diet, and I just received the rice cooker I ordered (stainless steel!--best rice cooker EVER! you know how hard it is to find a non-Teflon coated or NON-aluminum one?!) So now I can also make (organic) brown rice and at least steam some veggies.

Is it so bad if I bring back my duffle bag full of plastics and paper for the recycling? They don't recylce here and I heard a story about several barges full of trash being refused (hah, sorry, pardon the pun) by New Jersey and Florida, so they're just floating up and down the Atlantic coast looking for a place to dump it.

Disgusting.

Oh, and I officially maxed a credit card today--yay.
Ivy League.
The scary thing is the limit on that puppy was around 15K so--that's a scary thought.
Calgon, take me away!

posted by sketchmonkey @ 1:13 PM 0 Comments

The Anesthetist's support group

OK, so it's been two weeks (one quarter of the way done! Yay!) and my buddies Lacrista and Shannon (a guy) two of the 5 ETP anesthetists have confided in me that they have been also experiencing the odd treatment.

We're all equally in this nursing track for the first year. After that year, the five of us drop out for a year of ICU work and then come back to do the rest of the masters portion in anesthesia.

After talking to someone for about ten minutes the question always comes up "what are you specializing in?" and when you tell them Anesthesia, sometimes the result is a little wierd.

There were over 500 applicants for the anesthetist program and five of us were selected. This by no means indicates that we are better than anyone else, or that we're smarter or anything like that, but some people have chosen to let it mean this.

Some people have been completely snubbed, and the usual response is "oh? you got in to that specialty? Hmmm...I applied for that and got rejected..." then they look you up and down to see if they can spot what's so special about you--what magic you posess or to see from where on you the light shines.

I've been told, even, that when I go back home to work my year in Intesive Care, to keep quiet to the other RNs about going to do Anesthesia because of the attitude you can get, how hard they can make your life, how much resentment it breeds, etc.

Christ on ice skates! Is this really true?
(Jean?)

Ok, I have to go out in to the hall way to kick someone's ass for slamming their door about 45 times in the last 15 minutes. :D

posted by sketchmonkey @ 4:49 PM 2 Comments

First Clinical Day

WHAT.
A.
Nightmare!

Let me say this--I've never seen anything like it.
New York completely sucks.

For a week now, they've been pounding us with "Pressure Ulcer" talk (that's the new euphemism for Bed Sore) How to recognize them, how to treat them, how to do this how to do that...I finally couldn't take it any more and yesterday, in skills lab, I said "excuse me, but all this talk about pressure ulcers...should they NOT be happening? I have never seen one and was under the impression that in this day and age they are a thing of the past"

The reply was "oh, you'll see them, you'll see a lot of them"

???

After today, I can see why.

I don't mean to undermine ANY nurses, anywhere. But I will say this--California has got some of the best health care in the world!

I'm going to try to talk about today without violating the HIPPA.
Today, since I am fluent in Spanish, and this being Harlem, they assigned me and my partners to an elderly lady who spoke no English. She told me that she didn't know what they were going to do to her, that she had been on clear fluids because of some procedure they were going to do to her, when, she didn't know, and since she was immobile she couldn't get up to use the bathroom so she had been laying in her urine drenched sheets until one a.m. when someone finally came to change her sheets and bathe her.

Granted, she was probably an extreme case, but I also overheard a couple of nurses fighting about "attitude" and the way one had addressed the other (I had been trying to get either of their attention to see where things were kept, what the codes to the clean utility room/med room were, etc but decided they were not going to be done any time soon, so I moved on and found someone else) and another student told me about a nurse that was saying something to another about a patient and the other's response was "not MY patient" until she saw the horrified look on the student's face and added "...but I'll do it anyway--heh heh."

Outrageous.
Please, if I get hit by a taxi on the street, or something, PLEASE fly my ass back home!!!

Where nurses seem to care!

This hospital is whack, and I bet this isn't even as bad as it gets.
The look on the other student's faces made me tell them "it's not this bad, and it's not always going to be this bad, don't worry"

I was glad I had voluteered at UCSF 11 Long, because I immediately jumped in and asked around until I found the codes to the locked rooms (that our preceptor didn't even know or seem to care to find out, so she just gave us the "tour" by making us stand around the closed door, all of us looking at it and hearing what inaccessible items were on the inside) I found the unit clerk, who actually rolled her eyes at me when I asked her for the number to call laundry for more bed linens when I noticed they were all out--"They ain't gonna come!" she said to me, snapping her gum, and continuing to pick her acrylic nails. Which is better than the last time I had approached her with a question, while she was trying to add 4 or 5 four-digit numbers and just froze with a look of murder on her face, and didn't look up at me but rather ignored me as if she was going to kill me if she looked up at me.

Fuck New Yorkers.
Some of them are cool, but the ones in health care seem to be burned out and bitter.
I know it would burn one out to be in a hopeless situation where one is overworked, and understaffed. But shit. I'd never let anyone I love go there for treatment. There are plenty of other jobs you could be doing, and if taking care of people isn't something you feel strongly about, then you just shouldn't do it. The clincher was when this patient asked me to call her granddaughter, who lives with her, and I had to play detective to figure out how to get the phone to work--the operator told me no one had set up her phone, so she didn't have any service, that I'd have to call from another phone. So I went out to the nurses' staion to make the call--no one is talking to one another, they all look like they hate each other and just want to get thru the day without anyone talking to them--how do you use the phone? Do I have to dial 9 to get an outside line? Are we in the 212 area code? The only thing anyone told me was that I'd have to tell the patient's nurse, who would then contact a social worker, who would then contact the grand daughter.

I called her.

And she came--she worked on the third floor of that same hopspital. As soon as she saw her grand daughter, she burst into tears about the neglect. Poor thing. All I kept thinking is "God, this is going to be me, with no one to call, no way to fend for myself--this poor thing."

And I hope I never lose this compassion. But, also, I realized something equally important: If I have to crawl my broken body home to get decent care, I'll do it.

posted by sketchmonkey @ 4:02 PM 2 Comments

the nationwide famed Sveta

So, there are a couple of people here in the program who have less than conservative looks about them. The piercings, dreadlocks, etc will not go over well in the clinical setting, I'm sure.

Over lunch one day last week, someone actually said to me "I heard that there's a girl at USF that they made cut off her dreads"

SVETA! Shut up, she's a friend of mine :) we tutored together...

So, Sveta, you're famous, and your fame is nationwide--

so you know...these kids are from all over the USA.

How'd she get so famous?!

posted by sketchmonkey @ 7:18 PM 1 Comments

Here's my study-buddy, Arthur, and me, at the main campus...look how happy we look; we almost died from the overwhelming gorgeousness of the campus...grass, trees, and it was so clean!!!

We kept walking around saying "where are the crazy people, muttering to themselves, where's the garbage?"

posted by sketchmonkey @ 7:53 AM 1 Comments

Houston, we have filtration!

YES!
finally. And after many many many trips to the hardware store, I FINALLY have the water filter hooked up--you don't know how happy this makes me.

It's the little things. I received four packages from home--one of which was my aero bed mattress topper (ahhhh! talk about your creature comforts!) another was filled with the water filter and the housing for the filter, another was filled with my physiology books, and still another was filled with I don't remember what--my white clogs, an extra blanket, a few personal items...that kind of stuff.

But today shall be the day of total satisfaction!
I have maybe 20 different adaptors, none of which fit the sink.



In a stroke of what I mistook for brilliance(maybe it was just a stroke!) I found an adaptor at the hardware store that was pefect for the tub faucet--but I couldn't get an adaptor that would fit that fitting to the water filter, after one last trip to the hardware store, I finally ran out of options there--I asked the guy what I could to to make this work, and he actually said to me, in Spanish, "change the faucet"

ROFL.

So, I walked back "home" staring at that punk-ass adapor in my hand, thinking, thinking, thinking. When I got back to my room I said "ok--how am I going to make this work? It's GOT to work, or I'm going to die trying."

(a few of you know how damned stubborn I am, eh?)

So, there was something I just wasn't seeing, some angle that I missed...what would MacGuyver do? What would Jesus do? What would someone with more than a reflex hammer and a leatherman tool do?

Then it hit me--the SHOWER! I bathe, anyway, so I wasn't using the shower. Since my diagnosis, I've not been able to stand up in a hot shower and not faint, so I solved that problem by switching to luxurious baths. ;) always looking for a way to luxuriate more!

Anyway, the only thing I could do was to take off the handle of the shower spigot/massage thingy, and put the diverter valve on that. VOILA! water!!!



So now, I can fill my (GLASS!) water bottle, and be done with the toxic plastic. I don't have to tote heavy water back up to the dorm, and I'm pretty happy about that!

I'm so easy to please--I know. But after this much suffering, it's the little things that make you so appreciative!

posted by sketchmonkey @ 2:14 PM 0 Comments

The love-hate of New York

We have a pretty nice lounge on the ground floor—way more swanky than our rooms to be sure! It looks like it used to be a ball room—way high ceilings, floor to ceiling windows with French doors leading to the balcony/terrace, a view of the Hudson river. There are nice maple tables all around, with new looking furniture; comfy modern chairs and couches with coffee and end tables—nice!

Our network printer is right outside so we can get our assignments right off the course web pages and print them out right there. We can print from anywhere to any printer. S'nice! We’re allotted 200 pages for the summer that we don’t have to pay for, (400 if we do double sided) and 700/1400 during the regular semester. That’s pretty nice. The only bummer is having to go downstairs to log into the printer so they’ll print out. But, my room is too small for any extraneous devices!

So, if anyone wants to send me anything (Cookies are always good, or even a postcard) my address is:

50 Haven Avenue #174, New York, NY, 10032

Better get to reading—I’ve got 4 chapters on respiratory physiology to brush up on (fortunately, I LOVE respiratory physio and find it a page turner!)

Love you all,

:D

Lisa

posted by sketchmonkey @ 8:12 PM 0 Comments

We, The People...

These guys are the best.

Today, I woke up after three hours of sleep, did I say that already?I was headed out for groceries and some postcards, but my phone blingy-blinged (text message noise) and it was “Party Arty” saying they were going to go grab a bite, meeting in the lobby at 1pm. So, I went down and waited with them (I had to get the scoop on the evening’s events after Jillian and I came back!)So, it turns out we were heading toward Morningside heights (the downtown campus, also referred to as the “undergrad campus”) to the diner that they show in the Seinfeld episodes.

When I found out that the Columbia shuttle doesn’t run on weekends, I was out—the subway freaking kills me—so many damned stairs and everyone moves so fast—I was going to slow them all up, so I said I was tired and needed a nap, and they were off, with disappointment, which was flattering.

I went shopping for some food (to put in my spiffy new fridge) and got some more “help the trade deficit get bigger” crap from china, and I mean CRAP—from the 99 cent store (God, WHY do those places smell so freaking awful!? Like a toxic chemical cocktail!) I came back only to notice that I had dropped the little tray of sliced melon – damnit! Probably better for me, they weren’t organic, and they were packaged in cellophane—ugh.

So, I didn’t really eat much all day…chips, tea…a couple of cookies out of the $7 Newman’s Own cookie bag—yes, SEVEN dollars. For cookies. Not a big bag, but a bag in New York, you see.

So there comes a light little rap on my door, and it’s the feller that I thought had been a little questionable last night—I let him in, we sat and chatted for a bit, and then decided to go get some food/coffee. So, we were meeting at the famous lobby in 15.

Just then Arty texts (blingy-bling!) saying “what’s up for tonight? Meeting up at 10? What’s the plan?”I called him and said “are you insane? I’m an old lady; I can’t keep up with you youngins!” but we did meet for a quick bite and then a beer run for the pre-drinkers.

Mr. Questionable redeemed himself to me. Paid for my 3 gallon water?! And then Arty carried it back for me all the way back to the dorms—these guys rock my socks. They’ve already let me know that they’re there for me, if I need help carrying stuff, one of them has offered to carry me—you guys : ) I am speechless—what an awesome crowd.
Of course, wait til we get into it in a couple of weeks…and everyone is sleep deprived, panicked and stressed out! (nah—I think we’ll be ok)In short—I’m in good company folks—they’ve got my back and don’t worry about me back at home, ok?

posted by sketchmonkey @ 8:21 PM 5 Comments

Peculiar

you'd think at an Ivy Leage, there'd be at least one person around who knew how to spell hazard, and how to compose a sentence.

If removing things creates a fire hazzard, why are we removing them?

posted by sketchmonkey @ 8:14 AM 2 Comments

Ivy League Debacle

Ok, from here on, I will probably only have time to post once/week (if at all!)

Yesterday, they pretty much ran us around by groups—which means, you were given two tasks to accomplish per hour, and if you got them both done in the first 10 minutes, then you had to sit around and wait another fifty minutes so you could do the next two things—I guess this is an orderly way for them to deal with us.

We picked up our uniforms (basically, scrubs that will identify us as students in the hospital, and not allow us to be mistaken for anyone who knows jack shit…we picked up our supplies, then books and signed over our loan checks, and so on, funning from building to building, floor to floor, being fit for this, tested for that—put your arm out, when was your last PPD and where is Daly City?

I locked in with a cool group of peeps that I’ll tell you about here:Arthur (“party arty”) is hilarious, quick witted and admits to being a bit of a slacker when it comes to study; he expressed his concern about getting in with the “smart kids” to force him to be good. He’s from Houston and seems to be (paradoxically!) quite liberal.

Jillian is a tiny little thing, and she reminds me of Piglet in the Winnie the Pooh stories—always afraid of every little thing, and gives voice to the bad thoughts going on in her head “you guys, I got a B in physio and anatomy, and a B in Microbiology—how am I going to be able to get a B here?”

(the only A’s will go to the few folks who can end the term with 100% of the points—good lord, I’m going to try, but I’m not very hopeful.)

Shannon is quiet and turns red if you make him laugh hard—he was responding to Jillian’s “you guys—I’m really bad at math and I need help—I need to go over my 12 and 11 multiplications before the med-math test” So, Shannon starts giving her some super complicated sounding shortcut for doing it “just add the two things together and insert them in the middle—if you’re trying to do 11x12 just think 1+2=3 and insert it into the 11 so it’s 132” or something. Blank stares all around the pizza and I go “ok, Rain Man—definitely 132, yeah…” Poor Shannon laughed so hard that I thought we’d have to quickly remember our CPR on him.

Karin is brilliant and from Oregon—very witty.
Katie is from Petaluma and also hilarious, she’s partnered up with Lacrista who is another ETP anesthesia homey.

We started the free part of our day by getting drenched in the two block distance back to our dorm—the sky opened up and buckets and sheets of tepid water fell out of the sky. Not rain, I kept saying—this is fog you wimps!

By the time I got to the dorm (two minutes?) even the money in my wallet was drenched. We agreed to go ring our clothes out and go run some errands together. We rendezvous-ed back at the lobby and head out to purchase MORE books, and the required and much needed Ivy League school pride garb; Columbia sweatshirts, tee shirts, ID lanyards and so on. I got a groovy pair of orange crocs (perforated foam clogs) that are serving as slippers at the moment. With these on, if I ever need to don the respirator mask (bill shaped) I will look like a duck with scrubs on. Excellent!

So, we decided after dropping some mad cash at the bookstore to drop in for a slice. Pizza in NY isn’t as bad as I had expected, and the Sicilian-style deep dish might be close to what I like (even if it’s not got many toppings.)

Again, we rendezvous-ed on the 11th floor and watched the basketball game while we waited for everyone to show—I can’t tell you who was playing because basketball is possibly my least favorite sport—Miami and Detroit, possibly? I think one of those teams won :)

We left around 11 pm and headed for our one night of freedom before “boot camp” these next 8 weeks. To start out, everything was fine—the subway was a bit complicated and there were more stairs than I certainly like, but we got there—a pub called “the West End” which is supposedly the New York hang out for Kerouac, Ginsberg, and all the beat poets when they weren’t at Vesuvius on Columbus St. back home. It has become a rather bland and boring collegiate hang out, full of the requisite banality. It was hard to imagine great conversations occurring there.

In the group were Arty, Katie, Lacrista, Jillian and myself. We had a glass of beer (a pitcher didn’t fill all 5 glasses fully, but I was ok with that) and before you know it, another pitcher was ordered. I made sure my glass had remained about half full so no-one would refill it, and that trick seemed to work fine. I tend to laugh a lot so people probably thought I was equally inebriated. (with my one beer)

Jillian confessed to not drinking, and I had to step in and be maternal when people were trying to get her to drink “ah ah ah…tsk, tsk—this constitutes as peer pressure, and I won’t stand for it—if she doesn’t want any beer, don’t force her” She was fatigued so she looked pretty inebriated as it was, though we all knew she had not touched a drop.

Surprise, a whole contingent of around 20 Columbia ETP students walk in, and then the party got loud.

I guess we got kicked out around 1:30 but by the time we actually got everyone rounded up and out of there, it was two—we walked back to the god-awful subway (a place that stinks of diesel fumes, only heated up to about 120 degrees to hit you in the face as you descend the stairs) and in the subway car, a few of us separated ourselves out of the noisy group. The looks on the New Yorkers’ faces was one I’ve seen all over the world—here come these rich white kids, drunk on crappy beer their rich white fathers are paying for. There was no concern for how loud they were talking, their behavior, etc. At 2:30 in the morning, the kind folks riding this subway line were hard working people, with thankless jobs—and mouths to feed at home…here we all were, Ivy League assholes, oblivious to their toil and hard lives—wooo hooooooo, party!!!!

So, a hand full of us sat quietly and made eye contact with the locals, and tried to smile and look apologetic. When the subway car vomited us out onto the platform, I bet the inside of that subway car was nice and peaceful again. We spewed out into Broadway and a cry of “double cheeseburger” went out—and the herd moved mindlessly toward it. By now, with all the stairs, and approaching three o’clock, I was moving slowly, and Jillian was almost sleep-walking, so I took up the rear with her. When the cheeseburger hunt started, she stopped dead in her tracks and said she was going back to the dorm, that she didn’t want any food, and a certain fella, whom I won’t name, offered to walk her home. At this point, I thought a) that’s sweet of him to be so chivalrous, then b) he thinks she’s wasted. So I quickly said I was going to also go back to the dorms and we’d all walk together.

I suspect now, that b) was the accurate choice because as we took perhaps 10 steps away from Broadway, he changed his mind and said he was going to go for food. So, at three AM, in the thick of Harlem, Jillian and I came back to the dorms on our own, without ever sighting another living soul. The topic of discussion was the debauchery, but I was inwardly cursing this fellow who probably had had his plans foiled by my quick inclusion on the walk home.

I called George, and went to bed at 3:30.

It’s now about 7:30 am and I guess I’m back in scholastic mode—four hours of sleep and plenty of work to do!

I’m so tired from the walking, but I have errands again to run, food to buy, a student loan check to deposit, coffee to find (medicinal withdrawal prevention) and about 900 chapters to read this weekend.
Ahhh. College.

posted by sketchmonkey @ 5:41 PM 2 Comments

It RAINS in New York!

01 June 06
Right now, I’m back in my room, enjoying a moderately cold San Pellegrino (not cold-cold, but cold enough for a $25 fridge!) and I’m listening to the thunderstorm outside—surreal. New York is nothing if not intense! Thunder so sudden and so violent that twice I wanted to bolt out of my room like a little rabbit and huddle with anyone else that might be in the hallway. All of a sudden, I was four years old again.

Today was extraordinarily boring; had lectures from IT, and the reference librarian (a little Russian lady with an accent so thick you could eat it with a fork.) I was glad I did a semester of information architecture/information management at SJSU, because I was able to catch all the little Boolean search operations she was doing—I wonder if anyone else caught it…but as I looked around, most folks were making to do lists, reading the assigned reading we were to have done before arrival, or looking up stuff on their PDAs.

Then we took our New York state required child abuse certificate course—that was rough. I got choked up and wanted to leave crying when I saw some of the pictures—what really got me wasn’t so much the wounds, it was the sad little expressions on all their faces—childhood should be fun, childhood should be carefree, childhood should be innocence…these faces were telling stories of pain. I felt my eyes well up with tears and I wanted to leave the room, but thought that people might think I wasn’t cut out for this program. So I sucked it up.

Then, there was a BBQ in our honor—and I made the mistake of nursing my first beer, because when I went back for a second one, they were all out. The wait staff spoke no English, so as with most of this part of town, I had to rely on my Spanish. I even heard two Asian guys yesterday on the street talking about “una negrita” (a dark skinned girl”) all in Spanish!

There was a DJ and he played Sinatra and Dino to start out, and ended up playing the Ramones at the end. The last song was “Let’s Go!” so we took it as a clue to go and walked back to the dorms en masse. Actually, the song reminded me of my physics prof, who was playing it in his office when I went in to say goodbye. That and “Lobotomy.” So, I said this and everyone thinks I’m some kind of freak for thinking my physics prof is some kind of cool guy—LOL.

Let me dedicate some time to the friends I’ve made so far.

Arik (you and I would have said “AH Rick”, but it’s pronounced “Eric”) is the first person I met here—a very cool dude, funny, smart, and from the Bay Area. So far, we seem to always find each other when it’s time to sit down and eat, or stand around and wait—two things we’ve done a lot of here.

Shannon is another ETP anesthetist (there are only five of us!) he’s a former chemical engineer, very bright, very genteel.

Rebecca is “the other architect” and we had been hearing about each other for two days, and today at the barbeque she finally found me and sat next to me. I had been scanning the room looking for her because someone had pointed her out to me during the orientation but I wasn’t able to see her any time we were out of orientation. When we laid eyes on each other we hugged and greeted each other like we had been old friends—funny how a career in common (and the leaving of it!) brings people together!
Juliet is also from San Fran, and a very quick-witted gal. Angela, (I forget from where) and David, from Seattle are awesome. Hugh, from NY, NY (hilarious, and a roller derby enthusiast of recent discovery) Katie from Petaluma/Marin is super funny as well, and witty—in all, I can’t tell you how many bright, intimidating, funny and dedicated students there are here—I’m honored to be in their midst! It’s quite a different experience to community college where people don’t know what’s due, when, have to ask the professor things that are on the syllabus—not just once, oh no…several times.

Here they have thrown us very little info, and they occupy all our time, so getting anything done is quite a feat. I know I have books I have to get, but I have no idea where to get them—must do this tomorrow—all I know is that it’s a store on Broadway, next to a barbeque place—thanks! That should narrow it down! (no spoon feeding or coddling here!)

There’s Eric, who’s in-laws are from Buenos Aires, Gil, whom I emailed after getting his contact info from Judy Wolfe one of the times I called in a near panic attack (“am I REALLY going to come out of the ETP anesthesia program capable and competent enough to work as an anesthetist!?”) so she told me to contact Gil, who’s a former Lawyer, and he’s just finishing his first year now, and is heading off to ICU experience for one year (where I will be a year from now!)(Heh...we hope!)


Oh, and hey—I went up to the eleventh floor lounge and discovered we have a billiard table—so there will be much practicing before returning home to take up my smack-talking physics prof’s invite to “continue getting schooled, this time in billiards.”

Nice—it’s going to take some time ‘til I can get my skills back (as if! I’m not 15 anymore!) But at least I won’t totally get my clock cleaned. What was I thinking? playing pool with my physics prof? Someone who eats, sleeps and speaks in math? Am I nuts?Should be fun, though.

I bought some post card rate stamps today (after finally registering!) They looked lonely in their little machine, waiting around for someone to rescue them. Maybe I’m the lonely one, wishing that I had someone to send post cards to. There’s George, and my in-laws, my niece and nephew… possibly Dr. Reyes and Dr. Hansen (since I didn’t get a chance to say g’bye.)

I’d like to have a chance to run all the errands I have got to, let alone do things like find some postcards and write them! I have to pick up my books some time soon—(400 bucks for JUST this semester!!!) and I need to go endorse my Sallie Mae loan check, and find out what the hell is going on with my local internet connection—still no access! I have to find out about the Columbia ID and the Presbyterian hospital ID badge because I need them for getting in and out of buildings, thru checkpoints, onto the free shuttle that takes us to the Morningside campus…


Just as I was writing this, there were three pop sounds outside—sounded a bit like gunfire. Out my window, though I am on the 4th floor, the building is much higher on the side my room is on, so I’m probably more like 20 stories up.

I wonder what sort of group activity will go on this weekend—surely someone’s going to be going somewhere to do something—I hope I can find a small group to go chill with for at least one evening, because we’re headed for a rough semester starting next week.

posted by sketchmonkey @ 4:14 PM 2 Comments

Living off the fat of the land…

31 May 06

So, what a day!I know I’m paying for this, but today shall be known as the day of infinite freebies.

We went to our daylong orientation—Mon Dieu, quel drag! Speaker after speaker, blah blah blah…yadda-yadda-yadda, no one really gave us any real info, just who they are, what they do, how to get in touch with them, that sort of thing.

One thing that I found really interesting is that the police department here on campus sells good locks for your bike, locks for your laptop, etc, for cost—and they also engrave your laptop with an id number, and place a sticker on it, informing would-be thieves that they won’t be able to sell it, and if they’re caught, they’ll go to jail. They also have a software (like a lo-jack for computers) that tracks it in NYC and they’ve had 100% recovery rates for people who’ve had it installed, and have had their laptops stolen!

During the lunch break, which was 2 hours long for most students, but not for the anesthesia students, we met our coordinator for the anesthesia department, Tim Lehey, an elegant man, pushing fifty (perhaps) with a very nice, calm demeanor. I was sad to hear that he’s stepping down as coordinator and the rumors I heard back in San Fran were, in fact, correct. He assured us that the transition of coordinators would be smooth, however—and one person I talked to said he had heard a rumor that it might be a good thing he’s stepping down—but, I dunno, I got a good vibe from the guy—he had intelligent blue eyes that seemed to be smiling, and the posture of all tall doctors—hunched over at the shoulders in his grey suit. He radiated “mentor” (damnit-he’s leaving. I can only pray his replacement will strike me as well.)

He ate up an hour of our lunchtime, but then set us free to have whatever was left on the caterer’s tables. Of course, the reason they had given everyone two hours is because there was more than just lunch to be doing—there were people to meet regarding registration holds, Citibank had reps there, the campus police, the heath center, the Greek society related to doctors and nurses—basically, there were about 20-30 tables, all of them with freebees and handouts; I wanted swag, but mostly I wanted to clear my registration holds so I could register for classes ASAP!

So, I did all of that, loaded up the booty bag—a nice blue Cordura bag with the Columbia logo on it, full of booklets and pamphlets and forms for us to fill out—with all the swag to be had; a blue highlighter, a nifty desktop calculator, a guide to all the cool stuff in New York, granola bars, cookies, etc. I got what I thought was worth toting around, and then headed for the lunch table—there was every sort of sandwich under the sun, pasta salad and green salad (how my heart skipped a beat at the sight of fresh, green, non-iceberg lettuce!) and more cookies. Since there were about 20 minutes remaining, I wolfed down the food, and then as I was leaving, the dejected leftover sandwiches all looked sad and lonesome, so I grabbed one veggie sandwich, that was nicely wrapped in a plastic box, for dinner later.

I had to stop writing there for a second, because I was enjoying the first cool breeze I’ve felt since arriving! I have the window open in the bathroom on my left, as I sit here writing this, and the room windows open behind me; the beautiful cool air is just slightly moving—ahhhh!

So, where was I? Oh yeah—so, orientation was long and boring, except for breakfast, lunch and free stuff.

Afterward, I came back to the dorm room, and set all my junk down—I called George again and asked him to take care of some stuff for me on that end, to help clear my registration hold—my GP never sent the hard copies of my physical results and blood titers, not surprising.

I headed back out into the heat to go buy some more food and water, and a look for a shelf to act as headboard (a place to put my alarm clock, eyeglasses while I sleep, clamp my reading lamp, etc) and see how much one of those rolling shopping carts I saw at the hardware store cost. Two feet outside the dorm exit, is a blue shopping cart, left on the mountain of trash the students who moved out have left. I brought it in, and left it at the security desk, telling them if anyone had left it and came in looking for it, this was probably theirs, but if no one claimed it, that I just found an item in the trash that I was on my way out to buy.

He said he’d hold it for me, but made it known that he wanted it. I left the building again, thanking my lucky stars for the sudden good luck. I rounded the corner and found a perfectly new ironing board! I carted it back and my Dominican Security Guard laughed and said he wanted that, too. I left that with the cart and headed back out to look for a place I might buy some shelves.

I went down half a block in the other direction and this time I saw two white, 3’ tall shelves, just like I was hoping to find! I carried them back, and the guard laughed and said he was just going to call me “lucky lady” from now on.

I left again and went down the street, scanning all the piles of stuff people have discarded as they move out and head toward better apartments, or back home after graduation; all of them, heading for six figure salaries—they can’t be bothered with this student ghetto crap.

It’s sickening to me, as a militant recycler; as eco-conscious and “green” as I am, having been born on earth day, to see the things people were throwing away—If I were living in a traditional apartment building, I could have easily furnished a one bedroom apartment just walking around 3 city blocks—no lie; a two bedroom, maybe 5 blocks.

I went to the 99-cent store and got 10 plastic hangers for clothes, a glass bowl, for cereal, a glass plate, for food, 4 forks, two white cotton towels; the bill came to $6. I couldn’t believe it.

We don’t have places like that in San Fran—that must be why everyone says it’s so expensive there.

Then I went and bought more water and more bananas (living on those lately) and as I was coming back to the room, I found a brand new toaster oven. Maybe it’s been used once to make dry white toast—it was dusty on the outside—but that’s it! One less thing for George to ship me! (Actually, now that I think about it, there was a little bend in the face plate where the dials were—someone had pulled the door open and it snagged, and out of frustration, they probably never used it again—I took my leatherman tool and bent it back in and now the door swings open effortlessly.

In the lobby I met a girl named Rachel from Miami, who told me that she had bought a fridge off the guy on the third floor that has three outside his door. I came into my room, and wrote a little note, saying I wanted to buy one.

About an hour later, I got a knock on my door, and it was Chris, the owner of the fridges, who’s working on research this summer while working on his pediatric orthopedic surgeon courses. He was super nice and told me he’d sell me the bigger fridge for $50, and the little one for $25. I had thought about it, and looked around the room and could not think of where I’d cram the taller fridge (all of 3 feet tall) so I got the tiny little one and put it atop the dresser.

I figure that if I get to move over to the Georgian residence, where the rooms have kitchenettes, I can probably find someone moving out that will want to get rid of a bigger one.

In all, it’s been a day of infinite freebies and good deals. I spent something like $30 and have a room full of modern conveniences. Funny how little it takes to make one feel happy—hot food + cold drinks= civilization. I’m suddenly fantasizing about my next shopping trip, and being able to buy things like milk, cereal, frozen mini-pizzas or hot pockets, cheese…all the things I don’t really eat much at home, but somehow, when ALL food is hard to come by, even the things which are repugnant are somehow wonderful.

In New York, one could just live off the fat of the land (read “ off the rich white med-school kids who find it easier to discard things, rather than donate them to charity”)
It’s all out there—let me know if you need a Webber grill, a rotisserie oven, a Cuisinart coffee pot or food processor, a microwave, chairs, tables, beds, dressers, headboards, nightstands, lamps, strollers, anything you want—just write it down on your list, and walk outside—I’m sure you won’t have to go farther than a block or two ‘til you find it!

posted by sketchmonkey @ 4:13 PM 1 Comments

New York blows.

30 May, 2006

If California is a warm smile and a handshake, New York is a swift kick in the balls.

I’ve been here all of 12 hours, and I have to say my experiences have been taxing.
My bags were way too heavy for me, so I had to tip a porter to heft them around for me—worth every penny!

The cab ride would have been a horror, had it not been for the fact that I was completely sleep-deprived and delirious; everything seemed like a dream. Though I napped for about an hour on the flight over, I managed to get all my med-math reading done and I think that if I go over it a couple more times, acing the test this week shouldn’t be all that impossible.However, it’s just like Seinfeld says—there are things you observe from the back of a New York cab that somehow detach you from the reality that you’re in a car speeding along surface streets at 70+ mph. There was one moment in which I was sure we were going to sideswipe a bus, but I was too tired to care—it’s been a long time since my last all-nighter and I was out of practice!

Of course, when I got here, it was so early that I had to wait for someone from the University housing to show up for work (at 9 am.) No one ever knows what’s going on, and no one ever told me I was supposed to call ahead of time to tell them when I was arriving—all they said was “check in NO SOONER THAN the 30th,” and I did. Because it also said “mandatory orientation on the 31st.” Not much choice there.I sat in a sort of 1930’s institutional kitchen-esque thing, that reminded me of a cross between the set of the galley in “The Shining” and the institution in that movie Steve lent me, about the school for girls, run by evil nuns (are there any other kind?)

So, I must have been a bit overwhelmed, because I called home to tell George that I had arrived at 50 Haven Avenue intact, and when he answered I started to cry and couldn’t talk. I was ready to come home—why had I ever done this—what’s wrong with me to think of coming to New York…etc. It all hit me at once—the moment everyone kept saying “it hasn’t hit you yet.” Well, it hit me, all right.

I think I was just overly tired, and dreading the year before me. Feeling detached, unwanted, insignificant, and set adrift on the sea of discourtesy that is Gotham, I was feeling sorry for myself. It was not quite 8 am, and it was somewhere close to 80 degrees outside—my clothes were sticking to me, I was carrying way too much stuff, and I was crabby.

(San Francisco—if I never said it before (as if! I say it daily, baby, but this time I truly feel it) I love you!!!)

So, I must have dozed off after my call to G, because they woke me with a card to sign, and keys to a room, and I just signed (it could have been anything and I would have signed it) and came upstairs to the fourth floor to see my unique little room.

I have the only room on the floor with a bathroom—this isn’t a coincidence—I asked for it, because I faint when taking a hot shower, and all they assigned me to a room with a sink, and gang showers down the hall. I did this at Cal Poly for a couple of semesters, and you get used to it—but this time, with MS, I knew I couldn’t be standing in a hot shower and passing out. So, when I informed them of this problem I have, they were gracious enough to pull some strings and accommodate me with the bathroom. Of course, the trade off is that the room itself is 8x12, a small cell, and they must have painted the room for me too, because the stench of oil-based paint is overwhelming. I get a headache within the hour of returning “home.” All the light switches, electrical sockets, window frames and the medicine cabinet are painted over, and you have to work hard to get them free of several generations worth of paint.

I’m sitting here with my itty bitty laptop, and the wireless keyboard and mouse (hey! Finally, I got something to work!!! Even if I can’t get the Internet to work (There’s always tomorrow!) writing in Word what I will eventually copy/paste to my blog.

I went out to reconnoiter the surrounding area—doing a periphery sweep of one block radius, then branching outward to see what there was to see. I found several useful places on Broadway—a hardware store, a small grocery (akin to a truck-stop grocery—the very basic necessities) several drug stores and the like.

There’s a Mc Donald’s, and a Como Pizza (which struck me as funny, because in Spanish, “como pizza” means “I eat pizza” which made me laugh because, I surely do!)

That brings me to the other thing about this neighborhood—it’s blowing my mind! All the Black people speak Spanish—EVERYONE you pass on the street is speaking Spanish! It sounds a bit like Puerto Rican, or Cuban dialect to me, but I can’t really tell—it’s very different than the Mexican dialect we hear back in California.

Because I’m so Anglo-looking (to them) they never suspect that I know what they are talking about, and I won’t lie--it is sort of interesting to overhear what they’re saying about me. (insert Norman Bates-like smile here.)

In all, I know that this area is not representative, by itself, of New York. But it’s my first real flavor of NY and I gotta say, it’s blowing my mind.

My Radio Shack thermometer/hygrometer reads 90.5 degrees outside, 55% humidity, and a nice 80 degrees inside—I’m ashamed to say that I’ve had to have the AC on since I got here—It was unbearable! Outside, the heat is horrific and it’s worse when walking past the AC units of other buildings—the heat gets pumped outside while inside they’re completely refrigerated. I’d tough it out with open windows and a fan were it not for the MS, but the heat wipes me out now. So the ozone will just have to forgive me as I destroy it a little more—Someone pointed out to me that I don’t drive here, I walk, so I’m trading off in that sense—no greenhouse gases and exhaust fumes for 8 weeks, that’ sgot to be worth something.

Since I arrived I’ve eaten cookies, bananas, and bread that were not organic. I’ve had to buy water in a plastic bottle (GASP!!!) until I can figure out a way to adapt the bathroom water faucet to the super cool solid block carbon filter I have—good luck with THAT! I’ve also realized, sadly, that there is absolutely no concern for recycling here in this city—everything, EVERYTHING is thrown out—the bath water AND the baby…it’s heart breaking.

In the last 24 hours, I have enjoyed about two hours sleep (in about ½ hour increments, here and there) I’ve had an apple, a banana, some bread, (and a Budweiser that I got from the Rite Aid when I couldn’t resist the refrigerated promise of a cold beer, even if it was only a Budweiser!)

Tomorrow is a breakfast “welcome/orientation” where I hope to be well informed (and well-fed!) (hope all you want!) I have unpacked my bags, and gone out to survey the area twice—I guess I’m in for the night. Considering that it’s so hot out, and I’m nice and cool in here, yeah, I’m done for the night. Plus, this isn’t exactly the sort of area I would go traipsing along by myself after dark!

This reminds me of the first time I went to Barcelona. I was by myself and staying in a questionable area; I was afraid, being alone, of being out past dark. So, I often went back to my little hotel room around dusk—a room much smaller than even this one (and triangularly shaped!!) rinse out my things, and have a beer from the grocery store next door while I wrote in my journal, read the travel guide and planned the next day, or finished up my sketches and watercolors of the day’s wanderings.

Since I’m the sort that can’t just focus on the negative, here’s something that made my day today: everyone here is so medical! I was caught in a stream of med/nursing students coming back to this dorm from classes (I presume) all of them speaking their biological science talk, (really, the only non-Spanish you hear) and I was happy for the first time since leaving home. Academia pleases me so.

I will be better when classes actually start and I have more of a sense of belonging here—I guess I started crying this morning more from the utter fatigue and the being tired of the curtness with which New Yorkers treat one—they’re pretty savage.

On the whole—I would never live here.
San Fran is my home, and where I will always return though I may travel.
New York completely blows so far.

posted by sketchmonkey @ 4:11 PM 2 Comments