Thursday, October 14, 2004

what the-- ?

How are y'all finding this place, anyhow? This blog barely exists. Never mind; I know how. Clicking on my little name on some other Blogger board. I even know which ones: I finally registered with Blogger so as not to have to leave "anonymous" posts at Velcrometer and NewPatriot. (I'm so new here that I can't even make those into links yet. )

So I guess my question is, gosh, why? There's nothing here yet.

I hypothesize that the advent of the Blogosphere was inevitable, because people are naturally social. And as my grandfather and Trash from Velcrometer make abundantly clear, some people can literally start (or induce others to start) a conversation anywhere, anytime. About anything.


(not that I have to say it)

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

a note about the ER

From time to time, I will talk about what I saw and did while working a shift in the Emergency Department. I wanted to say a couple things about how I do that. The following applies in perpetuity, since it's my standard practice in person, out loud, in text, in public and in private.

1) Patient confidentiality is so important that it actually trumps a good story. There will be things I just plain can't write about. When this is the case, I'll talk about something else that's approximately (...and this is a goal, not a promise...) 75% as entertaining. That's my pledge of quality to you, the reader.

1a) There will be no real patient names used. If a patient's name is so cool I have to talk about it, I'll make up a name that's 75% as funny or interesting, in a germane and similar way. A patient named Blender DuPree might be changed to SaladShooter Delacroix, or maybe I'll save that analagous name for some other story. Remains to be seen. (Okay, suddenly I need to go write a hard-boiled mystery novel set in a Baton Rouge Appliance Mart.) Any name you see in a story is so totally fake. Don't worry about who's who. And anyway, I change identifying details all the time, unless they're vitally important to the story and keeping them specific and correct doesn't identify the patient.

2) I tend not to talk about exactly where I work. I don't like to name people, buildings, streets, or areas of the hospital that might have catchy names. Not that it's a big secret, but I am by no means a representative of the hospital in any real sense (unless of course you're a patient; if that's the case, then I'm the human face of the organization, I'm an ambassador, and because I want for you to understand how much we appreciate and value you, I'd like to know is there anything else I can do to help you today?).

And frankly, I don't ever want to have to have a conversation with a lawyer about something I once said on the Internet. That would be a really nonsensical way to mess up my career before it ever starts. Telling a story (or even arguing) years from now, about a decision I made as a resident, which I thought was right and best for a patient in my care? Well heck, that's compelling drama. Not being able to do residency at all because I alienated, mis-quoted, or accidentally annoyed someone would be crushingly stupid. And avoidable.

3) After all the above, believe me: it can still be funny. And close observers (or people who know me outside of here) will be able to piece together the not-too-subtle clues. I'm not relying on a cloud of secrecy. But I'm not speaking in any capacity other than my own personal view. That's bigger than one job at one hospital (since I plan to have many of them, in many places). At the same time, it's much much smaller, and more specific.

Capisce? Okay, then.

Friday, October 08, 2004

Lorika wins the nerd prize for first one in

sweet merciful crap! a comment! And I'm just screwing around. This is all sawdust, and stuff in shrinkwrap, in here.

Okay, yes. I'm thinking of starting a blog.

Uhhh... yeah. I'll be attending Bennington next June, and I think it's in the handbook or something that all students have to have blogs, write poetry, or LARP. To not have a place to catch all the little mental slips of paper that line the linty pockets of my wayward soul and shit, would be like, so tragic, man, y'know? (yes, this explains what looks like bad poetry earlier. in my own defense, my chosen genre is loud alterna-pop, of a kind I'm not actually competent to play or sing, but anyway that takes some lyrical pressure off.)

Plus, I got tired of posting "anonymously" in all those blogs I frequent.

fresh out of bad ideas

round enough corners and you start to see it
rounding of corners is how the world turns
love it or hate it, you soon have to be it
this is the reason the element burns