Small Girl. Short Fuse. Big Heart?

My new favorite mental hobby is switching between being thankful for the opportunity to be in medical school and being completely fed up with the process.

Case in point. At Sunday dinner I was asked what kind of doctor I want to be. My reply was met with another question - "So you're not going to be a real doctor?" If you want to see my eyes glaze over and my head spin around, imply that I'm half-assing my life. Work half as hard as I do, pal, and then ask that question again. I certainly don't need praise and adoration, but I'd be lying if I said that the implied lack of respect doesn't fucking hack me off.

But then I see a person near retirement-age working at Taco Bell and I get weepy and thank every known deity for the chance to educate myself. Because, really, I can't think of a better way to spend my career than being a good doctor, even if people don't think I'm "real."

Even 3+ years in and 11 months away from graduation, I have yet to feel any sustained calm about being a doctor. Is this my "calling" or just my job? I've never felt a calling to do any one thing. I have a whole list of things that I want to accomplish with my life, and it just so happens that going to professional school for the better part of my twenties was on the list. I also plan to be a kick-ass wife, a good mom, get an MBA, surf averagely, buy a home, and avoid buying a mini-van at all costs.

It's all good. Most of the time.

Physician, heal thyself.

“At some point everyone realizes that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that like it or not, we are who we are; that despite the infinite abundance in the universe, nothing good can come to us except by working that little plot of land that we are given to farm.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Love Stinks (Yeah, Yeah)

I've been thinking about love a lot lately. Unfortunately this doesn't happen unless it's 3:00 am on a work night, essentially ruining the quiet moments that my brain so desperately needs.

My conclusion? I don't get it. At all.


I can't understand why the gut-punch feeling of a broken heart creeps up and, well, punches me in the stomach when I'm folding clothes. Or why other times I just want to giggle and listen to sappy songs and think about the big, bright world and all of the love waiting in it.

Then there's the cliched question asked in power ballads and rom-com plots a million times over; is love enough? Why are such intense emotions experienced between two people compartmentalized and felt so differently? Pragmatism and reality are just too damned sad sometimes.

I see my patients and can't help but notice the way illness affects their relationships; how roses-and-sunshine romance has turned in to wiping drool off of a chin. Never mind a passionate kiss under the Eiffel Tower, I want the kind of love where I know that I'll have help getting a sponge bath one day. The tenderly mundane acts of affection are what make me believe in love. Medicine, if nothing else, keeps me humble.

It's hard to wrap my head around why I have to feel these things and where love (of all kinds) has gotten me. I'm almost 27 years old, still in school, unmarried, living off my parents with several years of training left ahead. It might not be the life I pictured for myself 10 years ago, but it's mine and I chose this route even though it occasionally sucks. I can still cry with patients, get googly-eyed over a song and I 100% believe in the power of a good hug. I am pretty sure that wearing my heart on my sleeve (a flaw to some) is going to work for me in the end, but we'll have to see how and where.

Until then, I need some sleep.

Ode to My Dudes

This post is in appreciation of every quality male friend that I am lucky enough to have in my life. You all have spoiled me rotten with your example of what it's like to be good men in a sea of douchebags. Flaws included, you are high-class people.

Your Momma Gnome loves you all.

NOTE: The above photo is not nearly all-encompassing of the dudes referred to in this musing.

I HAVE PEOPLE SKILLS.

Rarely do I ever just settle with a simple answer. I like thorough explanations and rationale. So it's natural that I want to put a name or label on this funny feeling in my gut that's been keeping me up at night. I've felt like I'm on the verge of some personal epiphany, or at very least some calm in this (so far) emotionally unstable year.

Guess what, kids. I've figured it out!


The number one thing I've learned in the last few months is that one needs to know their limits AND, this is key, be comfortable with them. At this point in my life, it mostly pertains to what I can and can't handle in a career environment, like whether or not I want to see patients on a continual basis or just "treat 'em and street 'em." I have to be honest with myself; I take things personally. I get overly emotional and cry a lot. Are these traits that are conducive to a career with the mentally ill? Or even seeing sick people in general? I don't know anymore.

Obviously this goes a lot deeper than just medicine. For a long time I didn't pay any attention to my internal barometer and ended up feeling deflated and foolish. My family, both blood and friend-family, brings a lot to my table but also takes their fair share from the buffet (bitches, get your hands off my cornbread!). I think I always knew where I wanted to draw the line with my inner circle, but because I love them, lines got fuzzy and I got sad. Sacrificing my personal sanity doesn't do any good in the long run if I'm burnt out and resentful.

I like the fact that I'm going to be a doctor in 13 months. I also like the fact that I can emotionally connect to someone, and I don't want to lose that after seeing a career's worth of pain and ugliness. Where my balance is, I'm not 100% sure anymore, but I think the questions now are worth the outcome in the end.

So there you have it. Another "duh" moment from your favorite doctor-in-training.

Silver Lining

Sometimes it's the saddest things about my day that make me 100% sure I made the right decision.

I think I'm wired funny.

-ology v. -iatry

I realized this weekend (for approximately the 34th time) that a lot of people don't know the distinction between a psychiatrist and a psychologist.

Let's do a Q&A, based on common inquiries about my career choice.

1. "Psychiatry? Don't you mean you're getting a PhD?" - Why no, that's not true at all! Psychiatrists are, in fact, medical doctors, aka MDs. They can prescribe medications and write orders for lab work. Some of them actually use their stethoscope a few times a week! Psychologists can have either a Master's degree or a PhD/PsyD in psychology and are unable to give you anything stronger than good advice and a box of kleenex.

2. "But I thought you wanted to practice medicine." - Ok, skeptics. Just because you can't see a shortage of serotonin or an overzealous dopamine-producing neuron doesn't mean it's not there. Last time I checked, the brain was an internal organ and, based on precedent, internal organs can misbehave. If you have high blood pressure, your doctor will use clinical judgement and treat thusly. Same goes for schizophrenia; it's a legitimate medical condition like hypertension, except it makes you go bat-shit crazy. Bottom line? Psychiatrists fix sick brains, and that seems pretty darned doctor-like to me.

3. "Aren't you going to get sick of listening to people's problems?" - There are a lot of talented psychologists and social workers that will talk to patients 'til the cows come home about the root(s) of their feelings. I, however, don't really have an interest in doing therapy. I want to know your symptoms, what makes you feel better or worse, and how long it's been going on... medical-ish things. The goal is to find a legal drug that will get you on the road to feeling better.

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A good friend and future psychiatrist described the difference between practitioners of psychology and psychiatry like this: think of them like physical therapists and orthopedic surgeons; both fix musculoskeletal problems, but they do that from completely different angles. It's an efficient and accurate explanation.

Now that you've been educated, spread your new-found knowledge to the masses. Only YOU can prevent psychiatry confusion!