Two Week Roll of Toilet Paper

You know you are never home when one roll of toilet paper lasts you over two weeks.
And I'm not talking about being conservative with it. And it's not one of those giant rolls that have the cartoon bears doing their business in the forest. It is a normal old roll of toilet paper. It is just attached to an abnormal life.

I'm never home. When I am here, I just fall asleep. Sometimes on top of the covers. Sometimes under the sheets. Sometimes on the couch. Occasionally I wake up and rummage through my rapidly becoming barer cupboards for something fast to eat before I fall back asleep.

I got home from work today at 9 am, after being there since 6 am the previous day. This was actually a treat since I got out three hours earlier than expected. I came home and slept. I'd been up most of the night finishing my off service notes. I woke up at 3 pm and ate a bowl of cereal. I'd had nothing to eat since the ice cream sandwich around midnight the night before.

See what I mean about an abnormal life. Who lives this way? I mean really.

I just heard from another friend of mine from med school who is now a surgery intern in Oregon. He just eats and sleeps and works, too. And better yet, his time at work is spent lancing perianal abscesses (butt puss bags). I've done a few of those...they aren't fun...especially for the patient. Even the toughest guys writhe in pain when you're getting all the puss out.

The worst my patients have on their tooshies is a diaper rash (cholestyramine in aquaphor, no scalpel required).

This last call day was my last in the NICU until my third year. I was actually a little sad to leave. It is a funny little world but when you spend enough time there it becomes your own funny little world in part.

Several of the parents of my patients were in last night and I spent hours talking to them (part of the reason I was up until 4 am finishing the rest of my work). One mother in particular who I talked to for a good hour and a half. She had many questions about her twin premie babies.

Someone has told her when they were born that she shouldn't buy them anything or get too attached because they might not make it. True, they are sick and tiny, especially the little girl who was my patient, but in my opinion that is no reason to not love them. I talked with her about it a lot and told her that if anything, loving them helped them heal. If she lost them, it could be hard for her, that is true, but if that is a risk she can accept, then love them. Love them all you want and more. I don't think love is ever wasted if it is whole and true. She kissed the isolete and mumbled to her daughter in Spanish as she was saying goodnight to her. "Te quiero," I overheard. "I love you."

There was another little girl born last night--a term vaginal delivery. We usually aren't called to these unless the OB residents already know there is something wrong, so when the intercom squacked, "Peds to LDR 1," we figured something was funny. We go there and the baby was already out. We bulb suctioned and dried her. She was sort of blue and quiet so I rubbed her feet to irritate her enough to cry and breath. She did and ended up breathing fine.

But she looked different. She looked like she had Down's Syndrome. Often this is something that parents will know before the delivery. But for these parents (mother was age 40 which increases the risk dramatically) it was a complete surprise. The dad looked older too, but you could tell right away that he loved his daughter, "Que linda," he said as he kissed her repeatedly and gently on her little forhead. "How beautiful."

Later when we had the baby in the nursery, the aunt and friend were holding her. The aunt had to leave because she was crying. This baby would change their life in ways they had not imagined. She would not be the "normal" little girl they'd expected. Now they didn't know what exactally to expect. All they seemed to know is that they loved her anyway.

A few days previous to her birth, we'd had a little boy come in with Treacher-Collin's Syndrome. He would have a 95% chance of developing normal mental functioning, but he also had several facial and auditory features common to the syndrome that could compromise his airway, hearing, and his future social interactions. He was the first born of the couple. The father never left his side through all of our rounding and consults and discussions. He just stood there watching his son and staring at him. He didn't know what to think. He was stunned. It was like he was deciding how to be with this little person who, again, was not what he and his wife had expected. Even knowing what could happen, you never expect it...and even if you do, there is no way to prepare.

This afternoon when I woke up I cleaned up my room which had become nothing more than piles of stuff with a path from the door to the bed. I hung up some pictures. I vaccumed. I took a shower. I went to meet some of the other interns at a bar in the neighborhood, but they weren't there very long and I was on the phone getting half of my check out for tomorrow. I am taking over for two interns, which means I'll probably have a good 14 patients and have to be admitting more on top of that.

So I ended up just getting food and coming back home. I didn't feel like having cat tail in my face as I ate today so I closed Charlie in P's room. He has been meowing his head off ever since and when I checked on him I saw that he'd already pooped three inches in front of the litter box. He's staying in there tonight. And I'm wearing ear plugs.

Overall, it's worth it to have the toilet paper roll last two weeks. I'm exhausted and I'm frusterated and I'm lonely, but I'm learning about healing and love. It was my choice and I entered it knowing the sacrifices I would have to make.

Plus I haven't had time to go to the store to buy more toilet paper.