I know there is probably already a documented "law" that states the more one has going on in one's life, the less time and energy there is to blog about it. If anyone knows of such a thing, please let me know what it's called, so I can chuck it into the memory banks with all the other stuff named after people.
Beck's Triad; McBurney's Point; Morrison's Pouch; Murphy's Sign; Colles' Fracture; Boxer's Fracture, Pugilists Nose; Swimmer's and Wrestler's ears. Someday it's my hope to identify something or other that's unique and useful, and stamp it Febrifuge's _____.
Sorry I've been so silent. All that time I spent back home, in the very Emergency Department where I used to work. In my defense, we stayed at Jonny's otherwise-uninbabited house; we paid stupid-cheap rent and kept the place occupied, but there was no Internets. And as we all know by now, I only add to this blog at weird times of the day and in short random bursts.
Emergency is still awesome, even now that I've actually done it, with some responsibility. I can see the career going ahead as planned. Currently I'm back in Chicago, and back in Trauma. Aside from the nasty commute and the 4:40 wake-up time, it's pretty sweet.
Since a couple of weeks ago, I've had a special hatred for pulmonary emboli. More than that, I don't really feel I can say. I can't do justice to it. Suffice to say, everyone is someone's family, and the thing for people in my position is to remember that, but still be able to think, and act.
Last week I renewed my disgust for handguns, in re: what they do to people's bodies. The surgeon I was with said, "most people never get the opportunity to see this." True... but being part of my educational experience probably doesn't help make anyone feel better. Anyway, another random bullet in the big city, another stupid exchange of words, another overreaction, another kid who won't graduate high school. I guess if I can continue to love humanity in the abstract even when dealing with this kind of thing, I must be in the right place.