Bili Rubin

Rabbit Stew

2007-02-10T05:14:00.000-11:00

I used to say I couldn't live in Barcelona. That was a lie. I could live in Barcelona, but I wouldn't want to for some reason. Mainly I blamed it on the food. Food is important to me. When searching for an apartment recently, I ruled out 3 perfectly good places on their lack of kitchen counter space and/or gas stoves. I keep a food journal. I update it daily. Barcelona's food isn't bad, it's just confusing and (unfairly) dissapointing. It's confusing because it sounds so appealing and usually tastes so average. How many times have you gone to Origen 99.9% for the amazing menu only to eat a bland and forgettable dinner. It's (unfairly) dissapointing because so many credible sources have called Barcelona a food capital of the world. Why? If you can't find interesting food, from unknown chefs, that tastes as good as it sounds, then it's not a food destination. So I used that argument a few times against Barcelona.

But on my tenth visit, I changed my mind. It could have been the Ducki rides, and nothing more. I have a suspicion, though. It might be that I'm beginning to like the food in Spain more than I'm willing to admit. When I returned I had a disproportionate amount of food photos. I must have forced my Dad to gain at least a few pounds on the tapas bars in Sevilla alone. And the two afternoons we spent in Boqueria completely undermined my complaint about the lack of options for grocery shopping. Even the market in Gracia is impressive. I made a rabbit stew with its bounty, and the only thing lacking was David's ovenless kitchen. So maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I just need more time to cook. Too bad it's running out.

My Rabbit Stew:

1/2 pound pancetta, 1 or 2 whole rabbits cut into serving portions, 1 cup red wine, 2 tablespoons olive oil, 2 medium onions, 1 leek and 1 fennel bulb thinly sliced, 4 carrots diced, 4 potatoes chopped into large pieces, 2 cups vegetable stock, 1 bay leaf, 1 teaspoon fresh thyme, 3 anchovy fillets, 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar, 16 oz. can whole tomatoes broken into pieces with fingers, 2 ripe tomatoes chopped. Parmesean.

1. Brown pancetta (or meaty bacon) and rabbit in skillet. Remove and set aside.
2. Deglaze skillet with red wine. Add oil as soon as wine begins to steam.
3. When oil and wine are hot, and onion, leek and fennel and sautee until soft.
4. Add carrot and potato, stock, bay leaf, thyme, and pepper. Cover and cook on low for 30 minutes or until vegetables are soft.
5. While stew is cooking, heat anchovy fillets in their own oil on low until they can be broken up and made into a kind of paste with the back of a spoon. Add balsamic vinegar and canned tomatoes. When hot, add to stew along with the fresh tomato.
6. Remove bay leaf and return rabbit and pancetta to stew and simmer until rabbit is cooked through.
7. Serve with grated parmesean.

Drugs, Meat, and Mountains

2007-01-22T16:46:00.000-11:00

A week can last a long time. Here are my suggestions for having the longest week ever:

Start by crossing between Latin American borders and only having $50 of disposable income, except in another foreign currency. It really makes you appreciate the Euro, because when you have Chilean pesos and need to calculate into Argentine pesos, but only know the exchange rates in dollars, the moments of paying for things (which are many) last a lot longer. It also makes you wistfully think about the day in the near future when you will have a salary and wont care about how much a sandwich costs. And those daydreams are another good way to make the day last longer. Especially when you try them out in a foreign language. Fun!

Then spend 5 days of vacation studying. While the alpiners at the hostel lunch table talk about climbing Aconcagua, try to concentrate on pharmaceutical flashcards. I was lucky to meet a considerate fellow who found out what I was doing and decided to join in by bringing out his mountain rescue drugs and quizing me. At the time it was a welcome distraction, but it really did help when I took the test.

Emily took another sort of test when she ate a steak for the first time ever. The Argentine's watched her steak greedily as she chewed the first bite for a whole 10 minutes. Then one of them popped up from the table and decided to help her cut properly: "uno para ti, y dos para mi." That's not quite the look of appreciation on her face.

After a long week of studying and meat chewing we went back across the Andes, by bus of course, and found out the meaning of a long trip home. The driver played the same regaton c.d. 113 times. Yes, I counted. No, not really. That's probably an underestimation. We arrived 3 hours late to Santiago, and wound up spending a painful couple hours sleeping on airport benches. But not until after taking our friends, the backpacks, out to dinner. La Ultima Cena.

Goodbye Chile

2007-01-14T16:56:00.000-11:00

It's Not Chilly in Chile

2007-01-09T09:28:00.000-11:00

There is a first for everything, and my most impressive one of this vacation in Chile is not trying the incredible lucuma desserts or having protective parents for the first time in my life (host parents in this case) or even seeing a 600 gram baby in a public hospital- nope, it's experiencing summer in January. The southern hemisphere sun penetrates even my SPF 50 sunblock, and there is no denying that life is better on the beach.

I wouldn't be here if it weren't for a nursing class, and even though it cuts down on the beach time I appreciate it because the topics are much more interesting than any undergraduate course I took. We're comparing the Chilean health care system with our own. There are many good comparisons. Despite Chile being a developing country, it has managed to acquire the health status of a developed country, with chronic preventable illness as the major health issues rather than infectious diseases. But unlike the U.S., where 50 million are uninsured, every Chilean can receive health care through their impressive (but not perfect) public health care system.

Last week I visited a rural health clinic and saw an example of aggressive preventative health care. Prevention is clearly much cheaper than diagnosis and treatment, so it serves a community with scarce resources better. Unfortunately, health promotion, education, and disease prevtion are not as lucrative for health care professionals as surgeries and MRI's. Yesterday I visited a 200 year old public hospital in Valparaiso- Carlos Van Buren- and saw how well midwives ran the show in the maternity units; tomorrow we're going to Santiago to see the university hospital and visit the school of nursing. In Chile, all nurses complete a 5 year program and a thesis exam as the entrance to the profession. They are pretty shocked when they hear that nurses in the U.S. can become licensed after an associate degree.

Overall, it's been a bit of a career directing experience. I'm anxious to return and begin nursing. If only it were summer in New York too.

Happy New Year!

2007-01-06T03:13:00.000-11:00

"Graduation"

2006-12-18T02:16:00.000-11:00

Thanks to the solitary efforts of Mikey B. and family, we had a graduation celebration on Saturday. It was pretty spectacular. Picture an unassuming Veterans of Foreign War Hall in Brooklyn full of nursing students, tables with purple tablecloths, a buffet, an real open bar with real veterans serving drinks, and a two-man-band in the corner.

We were all excited about the results. Even Emily (she's just pretending she's not in that photo). She rounded up the Puerto Rican in the room and pulled off a little dance par-te between the tables.

While I was off partying with the chicken wings...

and trying on other people's Manolo Blahniks. They were lovely when Kara pulled them out of her purse, but as soon as I put them on I felt my heart beat faster. TACHYCARDIA, friends, tachycardia.

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Last Day of Class!

2006-12-13T01:50:00.000-11:00

Roughly 15 months ago, I boarded a Jet Blue flight in Portland with 2 overweight suitcases and landed in nursing school.

My first nursing friend was Emily. This was back in the dark days before we had ever had a clinical, and months before we became roommates.

Now we're practically done. Looking back, here is my short list of things I will miss (read, not bring with me into my new life as a real nurse) about nursing school:

-Purple polyester scrubs. Above you see Emily ironing on her NYU patch. The patch I will really really miss. Especially since I only wore mine for about 3 months.

-Studying nursing interventions for 100 of the worst illnesses and then fearing that I have contracted every one of them.

-Class in a Regal Cinema! I have to hand it to our dean for arranging free admission to the Union Square Regal Cinema for 95 nursing students every Wednesday in order to attend "class" because NYU ran out of large classrooms. Yeah, I saw a lot of movies that term.

-Practicing inserting foley catheters, drawing blood, and suctioning tracheostomies on a dummy. It was fun, but it's just not the same thing as doing it to a real person that can squirm and yelp.

-Signing "student nurse" next to my name on patients charts.

-Power point.

-Remembering the answer to a test question based on an episode of ER that I recently watched.

There are many more things I will bringing with me. For instance, beans n' beer nights, my beautiful black littman stethescope (stolen from work and gifted by my mother), a love of drug handbooks, and all the nursing knowledge that I don't yet have.

Curtains Closing

2006-12-10T04:57:00.000-11:00

The last week of nursing school begins tomorrow. It looks like I have been working very hard, but that was last week. This week is the savor-it-don't-stress-it week.

A few days ago I accepted a position as a registered nurse in a large, well-respected teaching hospital in New York. I am excited to become a real professional nurse and have all the responsibilities and benefits that come with it, but what I'm really peeing my pants about is not having to solicit myself anymore. No more interviews, no more buttoned collars, no more thick cotton paper for my resumes, no more phone calls and faxes to overwhelmed nurse recruiters. It feels good.

There are other impending endings/beginnings. The dorm life experiment will soon come to a close. I used to romanticize this aspect of college when I went the first time and had to live in spacious apartments with full-sized kitchens, a double bed, and adults with normal lives as my neighbors. Well, maybe not the normal lives part. Anyway, another impression of dorms quickly replaced the imaginary one when I moved into a closet-sized place that looked like the set off of Dark Water (2005 Jennifer Connelly movie that I didn't see because the previews scared me so badly). 15 months and 3 dorms later, I'm pretty sure I'm done with this chapter.

Cold Toes and Other Sensations

2006-12-05T14:29:00.000-11:00

Friday evening I walked home from school around 8:00 in flip flops. It was December 1st and 71 degrees (that's 21 celsius to all you non-Americans I imagine are reading my blog). The temperature fell 30 degrees that night and by the time I went to work at the pharmacy on Saturday it was cold enough to freeze an uncovered pinky toe.

Life is changing almost as quickly. Today as everyone held their breath at the first sign of snow flakes, I arrived at my first job interview for a registered nurse position. In the interview, I was asked who my favorite nursing theorist is. Nursing theory may sound counter intuitive, but here's the thing: patients don't recover from a couple medications, an x-ray, and a blood test or two. It's not a math problem that works out if you have the right formula. A nurse's method of discovering the individual needs of each patient and deciding how to address them can hinge on strict science, on religion, on whim, or on nursing theory. And there are many nursing theories.

My answer to his question was Martha Rogers. When I watched an interview with her last year, her ideas about energy fields and unitary human beings went over about as well as my last horoscope, and I didn't see a way to apply it a clinical practice. I've since read more about Rogerian science and realized it's about a capacity to make changes. It's a positive theory. Unlike linear development theories like Erickson, with certian benchmarks of development (I hate benchmarks), Rogers considers life to be a process of continually repositioning oneself around unpredictable fluctuations in our environment. In a Rogers world, a nurse wouldn't assign a careplan for kidney failure, she would lend her energy toward helping the patient make individual choices about their health. All I know is if it were me in the bed, I would want my nurse to see more than a clogged artery, and ultimately when a patient leaves the hospital they will have to make their own health decisions anyway so why focus on the afflicted body part when it's the whole person that's doing the afficting. In the U.S., the most common causes of hospitalization are preventable or controllable illnesses. Nurses can't just pass out some pills and call it a day. So that's one theory.

A year ago I hadn't even finished a semester of nursing school and now I'm about to begin my career. The countdown continues: 14 days, 13 hours.

Free Press

2006-11-28T07:12:00.000-11:00

I would like to announce the grand opening of GOLDMINE, my sister Nadia's virtual store and one of many post-grad school projects. Nadia– in her Bili Rubin debut, pictured left of me and Kirsten– currently offeres a selection of imported brooches, but there are other items offered by her business partners. The link is also listed to the right, for future reference.

Gastronomical

2006-11-27T15:32:00.000-11:00

My 8 day holiday has come and gone, but the week's culinary memories aren't. Families were far away. In the American tradition though, it was still a great celebration of food. For me, it lasted the whole week. If I had my way, it would last my whole life.
I'm not sure why Barcelona is the current food capital of the world, because Catalan cuisine is filled with confused meat dishes, oily overcooked vegetables, salty fish, and insubstantial bread. But there is salvation in the produce and the butcher's specials from markets, in a small candlelit Italian restaurant in Saragossa, at the foodie shops in El Born, and in the regional wine and cheese.

Here are the bollitos of spinach, ricotta, raisins and pine nuts in butter sauce at La Contadina that I spent my whole morning walk to school today describing to Emily.

The big success of Thanksgiving, besides the turnout, was the beautifully brined turkeys. I had my doubts about the outcome of a dry salt brine, even with Cooks Illustrated and Sally behind it. For two days the turkeys sat, bundled up with salt in the refridgerator waiting to be cooked for 30 some people.

I was especially nervous while Chrissy and I bathed them and then watched them sit there on a pack of ice for the quinessential breast-cooling step. But it worked so well it brought back the merit of turkey as the table centerpiece. I relaxed when David started eating more turkey than he was carving.

What Is: Nursing School

2006-11-13T05:49:00.000-11:00

Nursing school is an elusive experience. A year ago, I thought the disjointedness of the program was a byproduct of the larger-than-ever class sizes and the new distinction of being a College of Nursing, instead of a lowly "division" at NYU. Then the second and third semesters came and went, and I felt a little duped. I have learned to act like a nurse, to talk like a nurse, and to defend the nursing profession from the media stereotypes and the oppression of the medical community; but mostly, I have learned to put up with a lot of inadequate lectures about life-threatening conditions that I will be responsible for catching when I start practicing in less than 3 months. I feel like I don't know anything, but apparently that's not a problem.

There is a shortage of nurses in the United States. A big one. By the year 2020, it is projected that the shortage will grow to 1 million nurses. An estimated 120,000 nursing positions are currently vacant in hospitals alone (see AACN Nursing Shortage Fact Sheet). Despite my anxiety about finding a job, I know there will be one (or many) out there for me come January. If these weren't the conditions though, I would feel like a pretty poor candidate. We have supposedly completed over a thousand clinical hours in this program, but because of sneaky projects and papers that somehow count toward the tally, we probably only have a few hundred actual patient-contact hours under our belts. I am not ready to be responsible for 6 - 10 patients. Then again, I'm probably more ready than a lot other new graduates, but that's not much comfort.

Today in class, we filled out an exit survey rating our experience and the quality of our nursing education. I wish there had been a box to tell them that what I really got out of the program, and paid dearly for, is a ticket to enter the profession. While the state schools are creating lottery systems and complicated waitlists for qualified applicants to enter their understaffed nursing programs, NYU is doubling class sizes for those who are willing to pay the tuition. Sure, I still took my anatomy classes and jumped through the right hoops to get accepted, but unfortunately I have no sense of pride about the education I've received over the one I would have had to wait for had I stayed in Oregon. It just wasn't that good, and I feel a little guilty that my resume will hold more clout over one from a graduate of a public school based on NYU's reputation, and not my superior preparation I've recieved

Oh, school.

2006-11-10T02:28:00.000-11:00

Coming Home to Roost

2006-11-07T15:42:00.000-11:00

I'm snuggled up in bed watching a wonderful thing on television. Dick Armey has a gloomy look on his face. First of all, what a name for a big-faced, white-haired republican man. But more importantly, Dick Armey– sorry, I just can't stop saying his ironic name- just admitted, with a wobegone tone in his voice, that Bush is wrong about politics all being local. This election is about the war in Iraq, and that's why he's is so despondent tonight. It's not over yet, but I'm savoring the dead heat and the likely future democratic congress.

P.S. Although Dick Armey was born in North Dakota, about 30 miles from my Dad's farm, we have never drank the same water. Our farm has a well.

The Day After Halloween

2006-11-01T23:55:00.000-11:00

I spent Halloween in Barcelona this year, which was of course not my reason for going but it wound up being a very nice benefit. Here I am pictured with benefit numero uno (y dos, tres...) on said holiday. Also pictured is the whip that I couldn't make work for me. It's hanging decoratively from my gold belt. I had already failed it and my servant boy by that point. The whip and rest of our costumes came directly from Egypt (see Jumping Over Egypt), which made me begin to believe my own costume and want to wear it all the time.

The whole night, from the extra spicey celebratory food to the entertainment provided by costumes, brought back Halloween's merit after years of blowing off the occasion with some extra candy and my normal black attire.

The holiday surprise came the day after Halloween though. Around noon, this scene began to unfold on the Olympic mountain, Montjuic, as moto by moto, these characters showed up half-costumed from the night before and ready to shoot a short IESE film. Amazingly, Noelle was able to direct it as her eyes probably stung from the fumes of alcohol wafting off her cast.

More Photos Here

Seasonings

2006-10-24T06:13:00.000-11:00

I began my countdown of the remainder of the semester about 5 weeks ago with the purchase of a 12-pack of Trader Joe's sponges. At the time, I conveniently noted to myself that if I changed the sponge every Friday, I could wash my way to the end of nursing school.

There are now 7 sponges left. I wore my purple scrubs for the last time EVER on Saturday. Want to give a person a great reason to enjoy taking off their clothes? Make them wear purple polyester scrubs for a year and see what happens. Celebrating the scrub shedding coincided with Kirsten's departure for flight attendant training in Orlando, Florida. Emily baked the incredible cheese-filled pumpkins shown above at bon voyage dinner so heavy that it threatened to keep her on the ground. I'm happy to report that Kirsten did make it there yesterday and she loves it so far. She informed me last night that the best part is her free hotel room, where she can spread out her toiletries ad lib.

It's pretty sad when an airport hotel room is more spacious than home, but I'm in the same boat. My place barely fits the two twin beds, let alone the two doubles in Kirsten's hotel room. And for that reason alone, I'm hoping the last seven sponges will disappear quickly, leaving me with bigger beds and better scrubs.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

2006-10-15T12:20:00.000-11:00

Ah, Mr. Rogers. Such sweet innocence. If only he could see my neighbors:

Tonight is the "last show" at CBGB's, but I can hardly believe the sea of cigarette butts and punk rock pants is over. What a strange sight to come home to. Without it though, I'm afraid the block will just be dirty.

Last Clinicals

2006-10-10T12:21:00.000-11:00

Nine weeks left of classes. And clinicals. I don't think I will have to persuade anyone who has donned the purple scrubs and big white shoes to come to a scrub burning party on December 10th, but I have to admit, I've done some pretty good things in that blaspheme of a nursing outfit.

This semester, I have Saturday clinicals in a transplant center. Most of it has been spent in the ICU, with one patient assignment. Over and over, I am amazed at how it is possible to stay busier with one patient there than 3 or 4 patients out on the floor. The patients with new transplants have lists of medications that go on by the pages, many of which are entirely unfamiliar to me, so preparing and giving meds alone can take me a good part of the day. Vital signs are every two hours and nursing notes every hour, which adds up. Drainage tubes. The Jackson-Pratt, I love. It's like the turkey baster, the way you empty out the drainage and then squeeze it before reattaching so that it continues to suck out the...juices. I'm still a little frightened by T-tubes though. Two weeks ago one got detached and all the bile spilled on my patient's bed and gown and I thought she had exploded until I found the source of the brownish yellow liquid. Sutures and staples are not so scarey of anymore, which is good because the usual surgical procedure of a transplant is to cut in a pattern that looks like a giant Mercedes emblem without the circle around it. They even call it a Mercedes suture line. It must turn into a very impressive scar.

And that's the nice thing about the transplant ICU. Patients usually come in jaundiced and delerious and leave with a new liver and a cool scar. The outcome isn't always positive; sometimes an organ isn't available and they die waiting. It's really an amazing priviledge to work with several of the 6 ot 7 thousand yearly liver transplant patients in the U.S. And in purple scrubs too. I just looked it up, and there are roughly 18,000 people waiting for a liver transplant in the U.S. right now. Moral: hepatitis C is a big problem. And don't become an alcoholic either.

Sixes and Sevens

2006-10-05T13:05:00.000-11:00

Today I rode the subway a lot. I usually like to maintain a question mark over my downtown reclusivity, and it had been awhile since I had left. I decided to get a job. Classes are pretty slow and I haven't been constructive enough with my free time to justify keeping all of it. I applied to four ads on the career website, and heard back from three. So I went to interview on the upper west side at a little pharmacy. I love pharmacies. The world has an order and a purpose inside the pharmacy. Then I left this orderly world and didn't realize I had left my i.d. with the pharmacist until I got home and needed it to get inside my dorm. What kind of order and purpose is there in that? On my way back uptown to retrieve it, two different egg-shaped women of probable midgit status fell over on me, one face first into my chest. Of course, that had to be the one that turned out to be angry at me instead of apologetic. Sometimes there is no way to hold yourself up and catch a humpty dumpty on the train.

Turnover

2006-10-01T16:14:00.000-11:00

Does anyone else think of the beginning of the year as September instead of January? I always have. I used to attribute it to the school year starting in September, because when you're 8 or 13, the measurement of time or recalling the past seems to be by grade level. I mean, when I think of events like reading my first Salinger story, dying my hair dark, sneaking out of the house at night, singing a jazz choir solo...yeah I was a little lame...it was always in terms of 5th grade, 7th grade, 8th grade. Now I'm pretty sure I have reconfigured the calendar in my head because my birthday is at the end of August, which means I am just completely egocentric.

In any case, September is over, and for me that means that things are starting to move along from my imagined beginning point of an arbitrary parsing of time into years. Classes are all relaxed this term. Emily and I were reminiscing about classes at this time a year ago. Between our crazy Chinese professor of Fundamentals of Nursing, listing all the many ways we could fail, and our dominatrix Pathophysiology professor, belittling a student in front of the class for forgetting her pencil at an exam, we were quite scared. But they scared us for nothing. That was the worst of it. Now our main concern in school seems to be negotiating a better graduation party at the end of the term. And that's important. Fun is important. In fact, I think that will be my September New Year's resolution.

Homecoming Queen

2006-09-24T22:02:00.000-11:00

Dear Blog Readers,

I always wanted to be nominated for homecoming queen, or prom queen, or one of those gay embarrasing titles for which I was clearly too cool to occur to my classmates when it came time for them to vote. My sister Nadia got nominated. Voting for her was as close to irony as highschool kids could ever come. So they did it twice, and left me with a complex.

Last night I ended up at Nevada Smith's- a bar that has a decidedly highschoolesque hype about it. One beer into it, an unattactive horde of women on a bachelorette party scavenger hunt nominated me to wear their "Awesome 80's Prom" banner, and I immediately channeled all of my repressed high school disappointment. I didn't get Rose Queen of St. Mary's Academy, but I got a sash from a very raunchy bachelorette. Can you blame me for being excited?

"You're the Awesome 80's prom queen!"

Claire, an admirer.

I was congratulated with a beer, but Kirsten was clearly much thirstier.

Back in Beans

2006-09-21T05:17:00.000-11:00

Beans n' Beer night is back. As the bean queen, I have to say it is back with a vengence. This season, the addition of a handpainted fixins centerpiece has joined the scene, thanks to Claire.

For the kickoff of Fall beans n' beer night, we also welcomed special guest Matt, from down the hall. Matt really made the whole night possible because without him, I may not have had a roommate. Thanks to his heroically honest feat of returning Emily's wallet to her with all of the $1000 in cash still in tact, life moved forward as we know it.

There was one minor hitch. Due to our downgraded room assignment, we now have to eat sitting on the floor around a stolen table from the entertainment lounge. Oh well, the bean pot is still hot!

Nebraska Binge

2006-09-18T18:22:00.000-11:00

I had the pleasure of attending a Nebraska-themed birthday party last weekend. The birthday boy was indeed from Nebraska and so were all the other Runza-loving football fanatics. So really, there was nothing too out of the ordinary about the whole affair. Except...the surreal condo building in the Financial District where it was held. Velvet curtains, 10 foot high mirrors, burgandy couches, a glass-rimmed pool table, the bar, and the pièce de résistance: a screening room showing the Nebraska football game.

Perhaps the elaborate setting was then to blame for the extravagant behaviors. I didn't catch it all on camera, but shortly before the handcuffing fight shown below, a scooter negotiation took place and resulted in a highspeed crash in the street below. I may take a lot of pictures, but that's one good instance when I clearly wasn't taking enough.
________

HANDCUFF FIGHT
________

SCOOTER NEGOTIATION

POSTSCRIPT

As far as I know, no one was hurt in the highspeed scooter crash. However, I still feel bad, as a soon-to-be health care professional, that upon witnessing it I laughed before I became concerned.

Vacation Postcards

2006-09-16T09:47:00.000-11:00

Wheat in gravel. Overly, North Dakota.

Plane over sunflowers. Pierce County, North Dakota.

Lone Pine Valley. Oregon.

Ponderosa Pines. Black Butte, Oregon.

Wine at Navarre. E. 28th St., Portland, Oregon.

Stumptown. Portland, Oregon.

Alona's Wedding. Lake Metigoshe, North Dakota.

Magic. Adirondacks, NY.

Almost Back

2006-09-14T14:01:00.000-11:00

I'm coming around to the old routine, if but a little slow, and that is absolutely fine. I say it is fine because one week I was sitting in a pontoon on a sunny Saturday in North Dakota, laughing at my friend in her wedding dress and reflective sunglassess, and the following Saturday I stood on the 14th floor of a hospital in Manhattan, next to the bed of a man so jaundiced that the sweat on his forehead looked like Mountain Dew. Last Monday I woke up in my big old bed on my Dad's farm, and the very next day in a twin bed overlooking Joey Ramone Lane. Jolting contrasts.

Today the reality of the next 13 weeks is starting to set in. David left yesterday, which is a sad way to refocus, and from this morning on I will be waking up in the cramped twin bed alone; not with him somewhere in the middle of the Adirondacks, or on a peaceful farm with my family, or with the Ponderosa Pines of Central Oregon, or in a fluffy white bed in NE Portland. This is it for a while (but only a little while).

Writing this blog is harder when there are more interesting events than the gross things I'm studying, which is a shame because I've had an eventful month and I would have liked to share it along the way. I guess the best I can do now is to go back and revisit it all.

Incommunicado

2006-08-19T12:51:00.000-11:00

Ah, the farm: stuck between paradise and Siberia. It's beautiful, especially in contrast to New York. New York is not beautiful; it's just impressive (or opressive, depending on the day), with it's elephantine skyline and expansive bridges. For the first few days in North Dakota, I wondered how to find a balance between equally satisfying but remarkably different lifestyles. Then I realized that to balance them would be to dilute them, and so I have been satisfied with the extremes.

My ten days there passed with inexplicable haste. Kirsten and I arrived in Rugby (my birthplace, also the geographical center of North America) on the 6:45 a.m. train last Wednesday, the 9th. We had flown to Minneapolis the day before from New York, and spent the evening with a family friend getting a tour of the surprisingly cool city. The train from Minneapolis was torturously air conditioned, but we made it through by watching Six Feet Under episodes on my computer. When it started to get light we were almost there. My dad and Nadia met us at the station and minutes later it was like we had been there all along.

I spent the first few days distracted by my dad's birthday and my friend's bachelorette party. Suddenly it was Sunday and Kirsten was already packing for her road trip with Heather. Heather didn't escape without first being introduced to every machine my dad owns.

And one of the neighbor's. We were having dinner last Monday, and a buzzing sound in the distance began to crescendo. Moments later, this plopped down into our yard.

Here's the video of my dad taking off with neighbor Bob and his "Big Mosquito".

Don't waste your time

2006-08-03T17:16:00.000-11:00

Please. Don't waste your time on my blog. If you want to read something incredible, go straight to Georgia's blog and read what she wrote today. I didn't see it until after I posted the stupid details about taking tests and getting drunk yesterday. If you must, come back and read about that after her story. But only after. Go on now. Click on "Georgia's blog" and scroll down to "Slappin' Ass."

2006-08-03T09:58:00.000-11:00

Well, it's 9:30 a.m. and already 89 degrees outside. I have no plans to experience anything hot or noisy until my hangover subsides. In any case, Emily and I are making macaroni and cheese for breakfast, and who would want to miss that?

As of yesterday, Summer school is over. And what a day it was. Here we are just 24 hours ago, ready to finish.

Because I missed the first midterm of geriatrics while in London, I had to take both a final exam and a midterm yesterday. Yess! The O'Connotron (that's the robotic nickname we gave our robotic professor) had four case studies waiting for me when I turned in the final. Yesss! The exams were held in one of the largest classrooms at NYU; very "airy," according to O'Connotron. The final wasn't bad: fill in some bubbles, list a few nursing interventions, do a couple drug calculations. I was more or less ready for round two. About half-way through with my midterm though, I looked up and there was no one left in the room except me (sitting in one of only 300 or so seats) and her (standing at the podium on the stage staring at me). Yesssss! I'm not so familiar with test anxiety, but maybe I had it because I don't remember much of the second half.

I did my best to forget about it quickly, but nursing students (including me) seem to enjoy bringing up disgusting topics over margaritas and buffalo wings.

So we moved on for less nursing talk. Emily and Claire did a great job: click on the word "nipple" to see the video of them planning for the golden nipple suit party.

ECTOPIC ANUS!!!

2006-07-30T21:00:00.000-11:00

While reading about constipation in preparation for tomorrow's pediatrics final, I happened upon the term ectopic anus.

ECTOPIC ANUS!!!

If you are grappling with this concept, as I was, just imagine ectopic pregnancy (egg implanted in places other than the uterus...very dangerous) but with anuses instead of eggs. Yep, a runaway anus!

Now, this is too amazing not to google. So here is an entertaining conclusion one Medline abstract provided: Posterior anoplasty with sphincterotomy is curative.

Wooooweeeeee.

(P.S. There was no google image. A novel opportunity for contributions!)

Mad World

2006-07-30T12:04:00.000-11:00

Such a strange way to wake up– humming the Donnie Darko theme song.

Soporific Sunday Summer.

I downloaded Google Earth today and found my farm in North Dakota. In the middle of harvested fields and gravel roads, there it was: a couple rows of trees, some grain bins, the combine or tractor sitting in front of the quanset. The image got blurrier as I zoomed in close enough to see a fuzzy outline of our front porch. It took a second and a half to turn the Earth back to New York and look at the traffic jam in front of my apartment.

On the brink, verge, cusp, edge . . .

2006-07-27T08:57:00.000-11:00

Ripe wheat crops and crickets chirping. Nights so quiet and I can hear the buzz of electricity going to the lamp on my nightstand. The warmth of the hardwood kitchen floor in the morning. The old brown 70's GMC pickup with the key hidden in the cloth of the soft, torn bench seat. Our big tin mailbox at the end of a long driveway lined with cotton wood trees. Fields so flat and wide the Earth curves before they are interrupred. Thunderstorms at dusk. Dinner at the creaky handcarved kitchen table. Swimming in the lake. Long grass in the pasture, giving away the direction of the wind. Airplane rides just after sunset, but before it gets to dark to land in the backyard. The smell of diesel on my dad's laundry. The occasional tornado that touches a grain bin and retreats.

School's (almost) out for the Summer. Only two tests stand between me and my vacation. I'm going home to North Dakota.

Full of Beans

2006-07-19T23:46:00.000-11:00

Too full to type. And too sleepy, now that the beans are stowed away in the fridge and it's time to stow me away in bed. Today our Eldercare research papers were due. I felt ten pounds lighter (and probably was with all that paper out of my bag) until the beans came along. I love beans. And bed. Goodnight.

The grass IS always greener

2006-07-16T23:10:00.000-11:00

Since I have to plan a field trip to actually see any grass in New York, I can safely say that the grass is always greener. Especially when this is the forecast:

That cute little sun character is so unfair. The sun will be shining on New York tomorrow, but it wont be smiling. It'll be busy cooking the rotten trash on the sidewalks and the urine and dog shit on the curbs. What good is warm weather when it's too unbearable to go out doors? Oh how I miss the other side of the fence:

Stairway to Silence

2006-07-10T23:24:00.000-11:00

I was sitting in Pediatrics class this morning, half-listening to a discussion on child onset diabetes, when an iCal alarm popped up on my computer screen, alerting me to a scheduled phone interview after class at 11:00. At first I was pleased with myself for adding an alarm to the event because I had originally scheduled it for last Thursday and forgot. Then I realized I was 15 minutes from home and wouldn't have time to make it there from campus for an undisturbed conversation. I imagined sirens going by if I tried to go to the park, students yelling at each other in the halls if I sat down outside of class, and some lame computer lab monitor kicking me out if I attempted to do it there.

When I got out of class I walked around in a panic and ended up in the nursing building. The normally quiet lobby was filled with business casual men in yarmulkes drinking beverages out of styrofoam cups. Noting this confusing sight and panicking slightly, I darted into the stairwell, which was closer and faster than darting into the elevator. I started to go up, but stopped when I noticed how quiet it was. I looked at my phone. It got perfect reception, and it was 10:59 a.m. I looked up, looked down, and heard no impending disturbances. So I sat down, pulled out my handwritten list of questions, and dialed the number of one of the most respected reproductive epidemiologists in the world. My intent? Basically, to ask if she could use a pet nursing student. If she could have seen me crouching in the corner of a stairwell with my bag dumped out and my eyes constantly moving up and down watching for traffic, I doubt I would have gotten past hello. But amazingly, she offered me a potential unpaid position in January as a nurse working with participants in her pilot study on bilateral tubal ligation. It was perfect: one day a week for about 2 months with a possibility of volunteering in her office this Fall to become familiar with her work. I tried not to sound too shocked as we conluded the conversation.

For some reason, after I hung up the phone I kept watching the flight of stairs above me. Then it occurred to me: in all of the 20 minutes or so I had spent crouching in between flights of stairs, not a single person had disturbed me or even entered the stairwell. This is the nursing building, at one of the busiest times of day. I hope the middle aged men in yarmulkes scared people too, because otherwise this realization means than no health conscious future nurses, or the people that stand and preach health to them, use the stairs.

World Cup

2006-07-09T18:28:00.000-11:00

My first world cup. No, I'm not 2 years old. In fact, I would say that at 23 my enthusiasm for soccer surpasses the average person in the U.S. of any age. But I am a novice and because of it I have a dilemma: which team am I suppose to support? Beside sucking big time, the U.S. team is no fun to watch because they have no fans and they are never going to be taken seriously when their home country doesn't know the first thing about the sport. Routing for the U.S.A. is definitely out. Does that leave me with a lifetime of ambivalence, or routing for the underdog, or worse: simply picking my teams ad hoc? I need some feedback here from U.S. soccer fans of anyone-but-us anonymous.

Damages

2006-07-06T07:27:00.000-11:00

My camera broke. It might be a minor problem that can be fixed easily and cheaply, but it is probably the kind that will total it, if you will. You see, I'm finding out that cars aren't the only possessions that can be totaled. For example, shoes can be totaled. I took my most beloved shoes- a pair of pointy toed flat black leather shoes that I got for Christmas from someone that loves me enough to know they were exactly what I wanted and needed- in to the shoe repair man and he told me it would cost at least $65 to patch the holes that are forming in the soles. If they didn't have any sentimental value, I would slap him with them and take them home unrepaired, but I can't just let them waste away like some kind of disposable Payless sale shoes. So I'm going to get a second opinion and then suck it up and pay what needs to be paid, because even if shoes had insurance I couldn't surrender this pair for a shiney new one. Love doesn't work that way. And yes, I'm in love. With my shoes.

Longing for London

2006-07-02T16:24:00.000-11:00

I was excited to see David, and not necessarily London, before I went to visit a couple weeks ago. When I came back though, I missed both dearly. People keep reacting with surprise after I tell them how much I loved London. "Why? Oh god, but London is so expensive!" (As if they weren't paying $8 in New York for a bland beer and then handing $15 over to a taxi driver to get them home to their 300 square foot, $1200 a month, studio apartment.) New York is very expensive; London is very very expensive. I never said I liked going broke in London, I simply said I loved London.

But come to think of it, I would pay the unjust prices in London over the just-plain-high prices in New York if I could choose between the two right now. Benefit of being with boyfriend aside, I would pick London for the subway stations that don't smell like rats feeding on fish and shit, for cream tea and full English breakfasts, for public bathrooms that have pink toilet paper and living plants (and no one shooting up in the stalls), for round-shaped parks, for a good salt beef, for raw milk cheddar from the Isles, and for some courtesy once and awhile. I'd trade the East River for the Thames, Penn Station for Paddington Station . . . I'd just rather live in London.

As I write this New York is particularly miserable. It's a holiday weekend in the Summer. The weather is 90 degrees and it's about 80% humidity. The only people on the streets are fat tourists in flip flops and pit-stained I HEART NY shirts. It smells like even the garbage men went away for the weekend. I suppose it's unfair to judge New York so harshly against a 9 day vacation to London, but I think it's strange that everyone wants to commit me for prefering London to New York. Should I like New York better just because the subway is open 24 hours a day and a movie costs $8 less?

Someone answer me please.

Happy Birthday Kirsten!

2006-07-01T08:04:00.000-11:00

___________________________________

My little sister is 22!

___________________________________

Catching Up

2006-06-16T08:50:00.000-11:00

A promising Summer term is quickly becoming a disappointment. I had hoped to be able to enjoy a lighter course load. Instead of 4-6 classes, we only have 2: pediatrics and eldercare. Silly me; I thought with less work I could find more time to focus. Unfortunately, it's had more of a soporific effect than an enlivening one. I'm not the only one who has suffered from the agonizing effects of part-time Summer school. Our professors seem to be sleep-walking through recycled power points, and there has been a noticable increase in the number of class nappers. Emily has even taken to wearing her sleeping bag.

Clinicals are the only worthwhile experiences, but even in the hospital I can't shake the feeling that I'm half asleep in school. To compensate, I've started working a second illegitimate job, painting on t-shirts, watching rerun world cup games and old seasons of HBO series, canning beans, and going climbing more often. Clearly the Summer is not wholly unproductive, but as my dear friend Claire alliterates: Summer school sucks.

Beans N' Beer

2006-06-08T02:16:00.000-11:00

A Wednesday night tradition.

Austrian BBQ

2006-05-31T16:06:00.000-11:00

This Memorial Day, I had the pleasure of crossing three 'firsts' off my list of 'firsts', some of which I never knew I had and would be so proud to accomplish.

It all started (and ended) in Prospect Park, which is the first 'first' on my list. Someone told me Prospect Park is almost twice the size of Central Park, and better because it was designed by the same person later on. I haven't looked up either of these suspicious party facts, but I do know that there was an important Civil War battle in Brooklyn, which makes it an appropriate place for a Memorial Day BBQ (don't you love the acronym BBQ. It's addictive. Try saying BBQ as "bee-bee-cue," instead of "barbeque" and you wont be able to stop).

As you can see, there was a lot of meat. Cured duck meat, ropes of sausages meat, skewered chunks of various meat, and a seriously fascinating salad made out of shredded bologne that I nearly convinced meat-phobic Emily was
buckwheat noodles.

Austrians love meat. They love meat so much that they force their guests to rapidly consume large quantities of watermelon in a "contest" that only they, the Austrians, get to judge, thereby protecting the meat from hunrgy non-Austrians and ensuring propriety on 2nd helpings.

Here's proof in the "winner," who was not even able to look at another weiner, let alone a 2nd bratwurst with spaetzle. The poor non-Austrians were duped again.

Witnessing, dare I say participating, in these furtive Austrian meat-worshipping festivities was another 'first' for me. I can't say it will be a last though, because I began working at these Austrians' restaurant a week ago. Two days a week, I stand in the doorway of ________, greeting displaced Austrians who file in with the glimmer of schnitzel in their eyes. If I don't get paid in meat, I will be pretty shocked.

The other Memorial Day 'first' is unrelated to Austrians, but notable nonetheless. I've crashed weddings and parties, but never a picnic. While wandering around, looking for the Austrian BBQ in a park twice the size of Central Park, Emily and I discovered a picnic that looked like a plausible group. We believed we had found our party for about 4 seconds, but in that short amount of time the beer had sent us its siren call and we couldn't back out. After cracking a couple jokes at the keg and filling up our cups we were asked to leave. We absconded 2 beers in less than 3 minutes, which is more of a recording begging to be broken than a 'first', but I had to brag.

Heather and Katy eating chips after the meat suddenly "ran out."

Non-Austrian being forced to search for any stray meat.

The fascinating shredded bologne salad.

The watermelon forcing ritual.

Unrelated unicycler sighting.

Consanguinity

2006-05-26T21:01:00.000-11:00

This morning I took a D train deep into Brooklyn for my first Pediatric clinical. As I walked down the street toward the hospital in my purple polyester scrubs, holding my coffee mug and drug book, I noticed an abundance of overdressed Hasidic children and broken appliances on the sidewalks. It was about as dreary a neighborhood as I could imagine. Fences broken, strollers tipped over in small uncut patches of grass, garbage collecting itself in drains.

When I arrived to the unit, my instructor informed us that Brooklyn is a great place to work because of the challenge: "One in ten immigrants to the U.S. comes through Brooklyn." Great. Pop on by, bring your tuberculosis to our hospitals for a visit, and don't forget to leave your broken stollers in your lawn before you make your way to Iowa. Of course that's not how I really feel about immigration. I'm actually baffled that everyone thinks the Senate is Mr. Nice Guy for the policy it approved yesterday. The Senate may be providing more ways for illegal immigrants who have already hopped the border to become legal, but they are making it much harder to get into the U.S. than the House ever dreamed of. For example, the House's Bill called for a new 2-layer fence at land borders; the Senate Bill makes it 3-layered...is anyone else reminded of taco bell? We took a tour of the pediatric floor. Half of it was under construction, complete with plastic draped over some doorways and drilling in the background, and so all the patients and treatment facilities were condensed into a claustrophobic mess.

Then I met my poor patient. She couldn't walk, talk, eat, or even sit up on her own- now or ever before in her life- and she was three years old. I picked her up out of her crib and she felt like she weighed less than my purse. I tried to assess her VP shunt (a tube running inside from her brain to her abdomen to treat hydrocephaly) but she cried and batted my hand away until my will power was completely obliterated. I got her chart and found the reason for her severe disabilities in a horrifyingly simple family tree drawn by her doctor: her parents were first cousins. Consanguinity, he wrote underneath. I returned to her room and tried to take her vital signs. Her attentive and affectionate mother hovered over me as I did my best to assess the daughter she had marred so badly. In her limited English, she explained the little girl's floppy wrists and sluggish pupils with the word she had learned: "handicapped."

And that's how I felt. Handicapped. This is not the kind of challenge that sets a person free.

Bourgeois Camping

2006-05-22T18:57:00.000-11:00

I am back from my dream vacation: one week with David and the Mediterranean. It started in Barcelona– my 6th and far from final visit– and culminated in "sailing" on the French Riviera. I put it in quotes because the sailing part of it, although clearly the highlight of the weekend on a sailboat, was not the major activity. Most of the time we were anchored in the harbor, lounging on deck or in the 3 bedroom cabin listening to Andrew's Coumari music selections, consuming delicious but unnecessary food groups: chamagne, thinly sliced cured meat, tiny cups of espresso, mussels, pain au chocolate, triple cream cheeses that stink up the cabin, Seiz beer, dark chocolate biscuits, and Pastis.

To complete the bourgeois camping experience, we wore bathing suits in the day and sat by the glow of Andrew's computer by night.

Last Night on 26th Street

2006-05-14T02:21:00.000-11:00

The wretched life on 26th Street is over. Here's how we spent our last night living at the grimey little place we no longer have to call home.

We went out.

To celebrate Claire's Birthday. Happy Birthday Claire!

And sing karaoke. Claire and Cara harmonized.

Emily and I didn't. That's about how the night went- our last night returning home to 26th Street.

2006-05-11T23:11:00.000-11:00

I just returned from 3 days with Kirsten in Puerto Rico. Puerto Rico is like the illegitimate older brother of Hawaii. Sure, Uncle Sam hands them both allowances, but Puerto Rico spends it's $2 on candy bars and throws the wrappers on the beach. Hawaii invests it's substantially larger allowance in tourist traps and glossy photographs of itself. I guess I must have a thing for the self-indulgent older brother, because I'd take Puerto Rico, in all its illegitimacy and intemperance, any day over Hawaii.

"Steps Beach" at Rincón, P.R.

"Playa Buye" at Cabo Rojo, P.R.

Go Time

2006-05-05T23:59:00.000-11:00

When one of the first hot days of the year converges with the end of a semester, there is perhaps too much to celebrate.

1:30 p.m.

Four very enthusiastic half-nurses + one amused sister are already on their way to the bottom of 2 pitchers of sangria.

Sometimes marking the end of a long haul, like this semester was, takes a little bit of zeal to compensate for the anticipation.

Which is why I was able to raise a glass that many times and still make it to bed by midnight- happy, exhausted, and drunk.

And now that it's all behind us, I can barely remember why we complained so much.

Half-nurse

2006-05-05T10:01:00.000-11:00

Today's the day of our inauguration into half-nursedom. Half-nurses know important terms such as:

**scrotal tongue: usually non-pathological, but nonetheless good to have in a working vocabulary. For example: "give him 240 cc's PO. No, make it 245 cc's to account for the absorbant fissures in his scrotal tongue." Or, how about: "He's developing scrotal tongue he's so parched." Or maybe: "bring Daddy a cold one to wet his scrotal tongue." Yes, this is a real term, and Emily's not going to let you forget it.

**black hairy tongue: black fungus of the tonuge, exacerbated by smoking and chewing tobacco. even nurses think this is gross. come on, we're not that out of touch.

**toxic megacolon: self-defined term, making it absolutely impossible not to burst out laughing in class when it's mentioned. if it shows up on our test today, i expect to have even less control over an outburst. toxic megacolon! oh, that's rich. and fatal. don't forget fatal.

Okay, 2 hours to go...

Purple Polyester

2006-04-30T22:01:00.000-11:00

Today I retire my purple NYU scrubs for an entire month. I felt comfortable in them this semester. Saturdays at Bellevue Hospital lasted later into the afternoon than any other clinical so far, but instead of being tedious, it turned out to be the experience that has made me feel like a real nurse.

I enjoyed it so much that I am not particularly excited to move on to the much anticipated pediatric rotation and leave Daphne and the ICU behind.

In other news, I saw Julianna Margulies on the street today as I was leaving the gym. She was stretching using the back of a bench. I almost called out "hey Nurse Hathaway!", but she caught me staring at her and I got embarrased and ran away. Whatever. I'm more of a nurse than she'll ever be.

What Am I?

2006-04-28T21:59:00.000-11:00

Here I am, on a blooming Friday night, under the covers with a beer in my hand. Since I feel so good about sacrificing the night to doing work, I might as well reward myself with a little procrastination.

A devoted reader of Bili Rubin commented on my previous post. First, I was thrilled to receive a rare comment. Then I was perturbed at a reader anonymously demanding to spoil the intrigue (and rather creepily alluding to the tachycardic effect of checking Bili Rubin). Why would anyone revisit Bili Rubin unless they:

A) had a penchant for nursing paraphenelia
B) expected to see themself displayed in a photograph
C) hoped to understand, one post at a time, why a compassionate young nurse is such a smartass
D) suffers from Parkinson's and accidentally clicks on David's Medora link a lot

So that is why I will not respond with details about my hobbies (making stews and dancing when no one is looking), my wildest dreams (skipping with my own herd of goats and winning an award for their cheeses), my biggest failures (not owning any hot pants or learning to throw a ball), my place of nacimiento (Rugby, North Dakota: the imprecise geographical center point of North America), etc.

You're going to have to do a lot better than that. I do hope you try harder, dear readers of Bili Rubin.

Abysmal

2006-04-25T22:09:00.000-11:00

It's come to this: the end of the semester is making my big-teeth grin lopsided. Simultaneously depressed and amused, because too much work is depressing, and the unexpected, like the theatrics of a desperate teacher who resorts to wearing an ostomy bag so he can impress a certain student with his pristine 40 year old chest, is very very amusing. I've been trundling along, wondering if being chained to school is making it all seem funnier, or if it's just lowering my standards of entertainment. For example:

This is funny, right? He looks like a happy man. Who wouldn't be happy about triumphantly stripping off an outer layer to first display an amazing t-shirt that says "chocolate boy," and then reveal an ostomy bag (pouch attached to the abdomen for defecating or urinating into) that he had filled with a bit of his iced-tea during the break? But it was a little awkward and sad too. Notice the dribble of wayward tea on his leg and the "you've gone so far it's hilarious" reaction on the student-in-question's face. No, that makes if funnier. Dribble is funny.

Then it turned to lopsided as we got back to work.

Here's team AIDS-Claire, Georgia, Emily and Mike- in the basement on a Sunday afternoon.

And here we are in the park with Mammoun's falafel...before going back to work again.

*Contributing Photographer: Emily B Sneaky*

In Thrall to NYU

2006-04-22T15:13:00.000-11:00

Somedays I forget I am a student. Momentarily, but it is enough to give me the sense that I do more in New York than fill out care plans, read power point presentations, and stare at Washington Square. But now that finals are only 9 days away, the moments are fleeting. Emily made us a rip-off calendar detailing a day-by-day rundown of remaining projects and other unpleasantries. After reviewing it again, it looks as though tearing off pages of our homemade calendar will be the most excitement I can look forward to until May 5th, 1:50 p.m., when Spring semester ends and we all run out for the time-honored tradition of drinking ourselves silly.

. . . Because future health care advocates need to engage in destructive behavior too, or we wouldn't be able to empathize with George when he crawls to us from Morningside Heights, needing a Sengstaken-Blakemore tube.

Rainbows and Butterscotch

2006-04-18T07:03:00.000-11:00

Some of the finest, most treasured things in life are also some of the most incidental. Which is why I am having trouble describing the significance of a weekend like the one I just had. The coffee was good, Jake Gyllenhall was lurking around, and many lovely knots were being tightened. No metaphors involved. It was just a well-lived couple of days.

Second to Last

2006-04-12T23:34:00.000-11:00

Only two more weeks left of Spring semester. Here are a few last looks.
____________________________________________

Learning to Nurse

2006-04-09T21:48:00.000-11:00

Most people are surprised to hear that there's a College of Nursing at NYU. I think it would be more surprising to see how it is that we learn to nurse.

Look quick though. We'll will be done in 8 months, and then released in hospitals across New York and the nation. We'll take our knowledge of obsolete devices like the Sengstaken-Blakemore tube (the upside-down, uni-testicular, balloon-phallus pictured above), and head out to soothe the ailments of our critically ill patients.

The longer I sit in classrooms, preparing for exams I need to pass to become a nurse, the less I understand the connection to my future patients. Just yesterday I inserted a foley catheter for the first time into a real patient's penis (it is a complete accident that all my examples here are related to male genitalia). I wondered, as I inflicted my lack of experience on the poor man, whether or not nursing has progressed so much since the education moved out of the hospital and into the classroom.

Nurses used to train exclusively in hospitals. I'm not advocating its return for the current curricula, I just feel detached spending so many more hours in a desk than in my scrubs. Soon, a bachelor's degree will become the minimum amount of training required to become an RN. Hell, I'll have two degrees when I start my first job as a nurse, but gentlemen, would that make you feel more comfortable as I approached you with the catheter tubing?

Unsustainable Anticipation

2006-04-03T16:26:00.000-11:00

Oh, the agony of being so close to a day that means so much. I can't think of a better example of the capacity of the mind to preside over happiness. Just the thought of it and I am in a condition that nothing in my present (dull) environment could generate.

If each day and hour is equal to the next, then it must be my own doing, this eternity. But then why can't I make it go by faster? I feel like I am in a cryogenic bubble, watching everyone move so quickly but feeling distinctly frozen nonetheless. Come quick and get me out!

The Cow in Central Park

2006-04-01T16:14:00.000-11:00

I have passed by the entrance to the Central Park Zoo at E. 64th Street several times without knowing it. Yesterday, I arrived with two returning visitors who knew exactly what they wanted to see first: the cow. Only in New York is a cow more exotic to a three year old than a polar bear.

A New York childhood is a fascinating thing to witness. Grace and Waverly's vocabularies include "cab fare" and "play date." They are toughened by being exposed to some of the busiest streets (and parents) in the world, but also isolated in a place where the most common sights and experiences, like seeing cows, are foreign.

2006-03-31T00:01:00.000-11:00

The Gradual Ascent of My Pantlegs

2006-03-30T13:22:00.000-11:00

(Also known as Spring.)

It must be here now. The weather was warm enough this week to walk to school without gloves or hat or even a proper coat. But for the real determinant, we'll have to check my pantlegs.

Sure enough, Winter is over. We've finally made it to the season of white legs. Here are the first four inches.

I might as well be a tourist

2006-03-23T22:00:00.000-11:00

Today we're going on a trip
to the Metropolitan
Museum of Art.

My favorite exhibit is outside the museum. The steps are always full of a moving picture of lunch breaks, 5th graders single-file, the strange tourists that come with their luggage, the oblivious couples, and the regulars (you can spot them because they come without big purses or backpacks, walk straight to the cashier and pay $1 instead of $15, and then proceed without their face in a map).

Come on, let's go!

Here's the great hall staircase. The lighting is magnificent. You'll have to exuse my irrepressive exuberbance (see, there I go with redundant
descriptors. I am that excited about the Met).

The Greek and Roman art on the first floor is spectacular. There is plenty of opportunity to reflect on our fascination with the human body.

And now up the the stairs to the European paintings, another incredible part of the permanent collection.
Here, the fascination turns to war.

My favorite examples are "Judith with the head of Holofernes", painted in 1530 by Lucus Cranach the Elder. Clearly ahead of his time.

And also "The Triumph of Amelius Paulus", by Carle Vernet for the French Royal Academy in 1789.

Over in the Asian art wing, an entire wall is covered with this ancient tapestry.

Right now, the special exhibitions are Samuel Palmer and Robert Rauschenberg. The Samuel Palmer collection includes a bit of everything from his life as a painter and etcher.His landscapes, for which he's most famous, are agonizing and Romantic. Really lovely. The Raushenberg "Combines" exhibit garnered a lot more attention than the Palmer paintings, but it didn't deserve to as far as I'm concerned. I shouldn't compare the two, but as far as attractions go, Palmer won.

And now for a walk down Madison Avenue. It's sunny and warm...too good to pass up.

Home

2006-03-21T16:02:00.000-11:00

Is New York my home? I came back from vacation not knowing. When I moved 7 months ago, I unpacked my things and got to know my neighborhood like every other new home, but somehow it wasn't enough. Home is a strange thing. I took for granted that the feeling I had in my Dad's house growing up would follow me.

It didn't follow me here. I felt more at home with David in Andorra (a country I didn't know existed until a few months ago) than I do in New York. Still, I love New York. It's an odd delimna. For now, I guess I'm more comfortable not having a choice of whether or not to live in such wonderful displacement.

Spring Break 2006: Photo Albums

2006-03-19T13:23:00.000-11:00

2006-03-17T23:19:00.000-11:00

2006-03-16T16:51:00.000-11:00

("Leprechoney")

2006-03-14T21:43:00.000-11:00

A day of traveling.

Itinerary: 8:45 A.m. - Pain. Cab door closes on Barcelona.

10:25 A.m. - KLM flight 1666 (honestly) to Amsterdam.

12:45 to 12:48 P.m. - ears pop for three minutes straight.

2:15 P.m. - KLM flight 641 to JFK. Bumped up to business class.

Spanning time zones and the atlantic - 3 course dinner and movies.

For anyone who hasn't seen it, I recommend Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, especially with champagne and a chocolate beignet served hot with hazlenut ice cream.

4:45 P.m. - Welcome to the United States of America. Don't forget your Dutch house souvenier courtesy of KLM World Business Class. It's a collectible and the drunk 100 lb. Korean cross-dresser in the seat next to you wants it so you should too.

5:55 P.m. - Big red and my skis made it back to New York, but they can't rest yet. We're riding this air train to Terminal 6 and starting on a whole new journey.

6:25 P.m. - Emily awaits.

6:55 P.m. - Emily eats.

7:35 P.m. - We're off to Portland

2006-03-13T17:49:00.000-11:00

2006-03-10T06:09:00.000-11:00

2006-03-08T17:56:00.000-11:00

Psychiatric nursing

2006-03-07T21:22:00.000-11:00

For the next seven weeks, I will be working with patients in Reiss 2: a 14-bed, lock-down unit in the West Village. Just yesterday I finished my maternity class, so I really didn't have time to reflect on what a psychiatric unit would be like before today.

I didn't even think about it this morning as I walked to the hospital. Instead, I noticed all the little groomed dogs on the street with their fashionably ungroomed owners, I passed by bakeries and bookstores, I day dreamed about owning one of the brownstones off of 6th Avenue... And so when I came to the unit I was perhaps more surprised by the contrast than I should've been.

My professor rang the buzzer and a long minute or two passed before someone peered through the small mesh-wire window and then unlocked the door for us. It made me feel crazy just being in there. The hallways and linoleum had an old green tinge. The stops on our tour included the electroshock therapy room, the windowless dining room, and the "television room" full of maimed furniture and flourescent lights. The list of things we cannot do (for our safety) far exceeds the the few things we can do. I don't know much about psychiatry, but it didn't seem conducive to serenity.

Climb On

2006-03-04T16:08:00.000-11:00

There was a time in my not too distant past that I could never imagine spending a Friday night going to a college basketball game and then doing some late-night climbing. But that's just what I found myself doing a few Fridays ago, again with my accomplice, and here are the photos to prove it.

NYU vs. University of Chicago (a sorry display of the sport):

Open Climbing 10:00 PM:

Here's Me (identifiable by my black jeans)

Emily's First Climb Ever!

Fire Drill

2006-03-02T12:54:00.000-11:00

If I hadn't already decided that Emily was my favorite accomplice, I did last night.

We had just arrived home to our 25th floor dorm room after a very long day: 2 papers, 4 classes, a case study and a chest-tube drainage lab. We were about to commence with our much anticipated dinner-in-front-of-the-t.v. plans when the monthly fire drill went off.

It meant shuffling down twenty-five flights, waiting out on the sidewalk in freezing weather, and then climbing twenty-five floors back up, and I just wasn't going to do it. No sir-ee. Nope.

So while our sweet little 19 and 20 year old neighbors were grabbing their parkas and grumbling their way into the stairwell, I was convincing Emily we could hide from any suspicious R.A. in the narrow space between my bed and the wall. It required a little rearranging of laundry hampers and some cuddling, but we just fit, and with a perfect view of the television.

Ready

2006-02-27T19:06:00.000-11:00

Only 9 little days stand between me and my break from New York. I would have spent the entirety of it in Barcelona, correcting as much as possible of my severe David deficit, but I munificently agreed to limit my vacation to 5 lovely nights in Spain upon learning of IESE's inconvenient final exam schedule.

I am already existing mostly in a spring break daydream. Today I mentally packed for my trip. I plan to be stern with my bookshelf, after performing remarkably on midterm exams, and leave each and every textbook behind. My compact shiny red suitcase will happily transport a fine balance of ski clothes and my most favorite underwear. What trip could go wrong when your suitcase is full of snow-proof clothing and a top-ten list of your panty drawer? (I acutually do not use the word panty. It just sounded funnier.)

Sad as it will be to return from Barcelona alone, I could not bear the thought of spending the second half of the break in my dorm room. My perspicacious roommate suggested we go to Portland instead. I wont even have to set foot out of JFK before taking spring break 2006 another 3000 miles. It will be a big trip for Emily and me both. Portland is the reason we became friends in the first place, and I was beginning to fear that if I didn't introduce her to it soon she would abandon me for someone who would. Also, at this point in my abstinence from coffee, Stumptown is worth the trip alone.

Yes, it's a fine itinerary and even finer company. I hope you return to see the results.

Midterms

2006-02-21T01:51:00.000-11:00

Midterms. Why does each class have two midterms? It means that every week for 7 weeks we'll be taking midterms. How is it possible to be scared enough to cram for 7 weeks of midterms? The semester is only 14 weeks. Does that make sense?

Sentience or Comatose

2006-02-17T19:09:00.000-11:00

I quit drinking coffee on January 24th, 2006. I'm pretty sure I hadn't gone a day without coffee since 1994, when I went to International Music Camp and let my voice coach convince me it was bad for my range. I popped caffeine pills all week and firmly established an addiction.

For half my life, I've drank some variation of a daily cup or ten of coffee. I went through an iced phase, the froofy phase, an au lait phase, and many sordid black phases. Mostly though, it's been a thick french press balanced with just enough whole milk to make it that perfect caramel color.

My coffee has religiously sat on the edge of my desk for every college final. It's christened every road trip, perpetuated every Sunday morning, and stained every white t-shirt. Coffee is synonymous with Portland where I spent the last 8 years with a viscid cup of Stumptown in my hand. When I think of summer, I think of the big clay Mexican mugs littering my Dad's front porch. When I think of love, I think of David...and coffee.

I'm working up my courage to start drinking it again on March 9th. I just wanted to last for awhile. Proudly put my happiness on hold and appreciate the directionless world that is the renouncement of coffee.

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

2006-02-13T10:46:00.000-11:00

Snow Day

2006-02-12T20:45:00.000-11:00

_________________________________________________

Central Park got 26.8 inches. I got my skipants out.
There's nothing lovelier than a walk in fresh snow.

My first stop was 71 Irving Place for a cup of Earl Grey tea
and a Balthazar croissant.

Everything looks different covered in icicles and white
instead of garbage and people.

But by tomorrow it will be all cleared away.

I made it to Washington Square without using a
single sidewalk.

And I enjoyed the view from a completely deserted
study lounge.

Impending Storm

2006-02-11T17:50:00.000-11:00

I'm sitting in bed reading about adrenergic drugs waiting for the snow to fall. Maybe it's not your typical Saturday night thrill, but I am excited. I am excited to wake up to a white glow, to wear my mukluks again and have a quiet city walk, to possibly see NYU's record of never closing get broken.

Let Us Eat Fat!

2006-02-08T21:48:00.000-11:00

Today, in the Journal of the American Medical Association, the results of a $415 million federal study on the benefits of a low-fat diet were published. Almost 50,000 women particpated in an 8-year longitudinal comparison of the effects of a low-fat versus a non-restricted diet on the development of cardiovascular disease and cancer. The shocking outcome is that there was no difference.

According to Dr. Michael Thun of the American Cancer Society, it was the "Rolls Royce of studies." It was certainly well funded and well designed with an unfathomable amount of participants, but the low-fat diet itself was far from conservative. Women in the low-fat group limited fat to between 20 and 29 percent of their calories. The non-restricted group consumed a 35 to 40 percent fat diet. Overall calories were not restricted and the women in the low-fat group didn't necessarily increase soluble fiber, fruits and vegetables, or other foods considered to be protective against heart disease and cancer. Still, women (and probably men) can give up the idea that just limiting their cheeseburger intake is going to prevent them from developing one of the top two causes of death in the United States. Especially if you're waiting until you're 50 (like the women in the study) to start cutting back.

For a less-biased, more detailed account, here's the citation for the study in the current issue of JAMA, or you can see it at http://jama.ama-assn.org/cgi/content/full/295/6/629.

Prentice, et. al. (2006). Low-Fat Dietary Pattern and Risk of Invasive Breast Cancer: The Women's Health Initiative Randomized Controlled Dietary Modification Trial. Journal of the American Medical Association. Vol. 295 No. 6:629-642.

The New York Times also published a nice summary today.
HEADLINE: Low-Fat Diet Does Not Cut Health Risks, Study Finds
BYLINE: By GINA KOLATA
February 8, 2006 Wednesday
Late Edition - Final
SECTION: Section A; Column 5; National Desk; Pg. 1

China Triptych

2006-02-05T09:05:00.000-11:00

___________________________________

This week:

I walked through Chinatown.

A Chinese man vomited blood on me.

My sister moved to China.

___________________________________

Emotional Syncope

2006-01-31T23:55:00.000-11:00

Today I saw my first birth. I say first not only because I will probably see another next Tuesday but because I hope to make it part of my career to see many more.

All births are messy. For nurses, there aren't many things that qualify as clean. It's part of our job to deal with the unsightly matters of the body (and mind). But up until now, nothing I have cleaned or patched or soothed has resolved with such an incredible event.

Someone I know who has been through a few of her own labor and deliveries recently called it an 'earthy experience.' I think this was her euphamism for all the bodily fluids and guttural screams. Even though I have become slightly immune to the former, I can't deny that scissoring through an umbilical cord and feeling a still-warm placenta have got to be about the most earthy experiences I've ever had. I am thoroughly impressed by them, but I'm drawn to labor and delivery for more practical reasons: two patients instead of eight; healthy young(ish) women instead of (mostly) older sick patients; one big moment to work toward that's not called lunch break.

And that's really what work comes down to. Almost everyone is required to find a job that consumes a significant portion of the viable hours in a day/week/year/lifetime. Very few of these jobs have anything to do with a passion we would have had otherwise, because even if you do say you love your work and you're passionate about it, you would probably have never done it in the first place if you didn't need to be there for the money. Well, like most everyone else, I need to be there for money...and to help a few mothers greet their babies for the first time.

Sisters

2006-01-25T16:44:00.000-11:00

A few nights ago, I had a double sister date. I'm still recovering. It's kind of like the Double Mint commercial, except it begins with two bottles of wine in the local italian restaurant and ends a few bars, and a lot more drinks, later. I think two pairs of sisters is too many. That's about the end of that story.

kirsten closing down the first of the three

emily, katie and me

emily and kirsten having ladylike conversation

katie up in arms

and fitz makes 5

i was as drunk as i am red in this photo

Nursing: Long-term care

2006-01-22T12:00:00.000-11:00

Last semester began with a short assignment in a long term care facility. It was my first clinical experience as a nursing student. I had high expectations, and my general impression was not one of disgust or even disappointment, but I was not pleased. I'm looking back on it now because I am about to begin three new clinical assignments. Each one will involve a different population and a different set of nursing skills than my previous clinicals. I intend to have these notes with which to compare them all at the end of the program and the beginning of my job selection.

I was assigned to a small but well-endowed nursing home on the upper west side called Jewish Home and Hospital. Overall, it seemed like a decent long-term care facility. The halls were clean and bright, the rooms were spacious, and the meals looked appetizing. Yet somehow the whole place frustrated and saddened me.

When it comes to the long-term care system in the U.S., I see a basic paradox: advancements in medicine have lengthened the lifespan of the aging adult, but have done nothing to improve the quality of life at this juncture or to otherwise accommodate the needs of the elderly. Viewing this problem from the standpoint of a future nurse makes it even more difficult.

In a long-term care facility, nurses have the most important role in the patients’ health care. Unlike physicians or sometimes even family members, nurses see the patients daily, which also means they have the most opportunity to help improve their quality of life. As I worked with my patient, AS, I realized that what she needed most was the attention and deference she got before she came to the nursing home. Although she told me how thankful she was to be alive after her stroke, the things AS appreciated most were not that her medicine was dispensed on time or that her blood was drawn painlessly. AS wanted to be a functional, fulfilled human being, and for the most part she now had to look outside of her home to find that. It is no wonder why: with only one RN or LPN per unit and 24 residents to divide their time and tasks between, no single nurse could possibly provide the kind of care to meet all the needs of every patient.

AS had family and friends who would visit her or take her outside of the facility, but many of the other patients did not have a daily visit to look forward to, or someone outside of the home that they could count on. Sure, it was depressing, but by the end of the assignment I was dealing with another conflict. I came away feeling sort of empowered because I witnessed the importance of my future job in so many people’s lives, but at the same time I felt dejected at the prospect of all the nurses who are stretched too thin and forced to go to work knowing that as long as they worked in a nursing home, they would never be able to provide enough care in one shift to satisfy all their patients' needs. It's a problem, and it's the reason why I wont be doing this kind of nursing.

Thames Whale Dies and a Russian Elephant Gets Drunk

2006-01-21T15:04:00.000-11:00

I thought that enduring the onslaught of local news was difficult: robbery, rape, drunk driving, murder, child abuse. I quit watching the local news, and television for that matter, long ago (except in hotels and other unusual but compulsory locations) and I had nearly forgotten the singular discomfort of a heart-wrenching but ever-so-disturbing piece of news.

And then came this week. Around the globe, giant animals made the news for their suffering. Human suffering has become so common, so expected, in the news. But big innocent animals. They should be as far away from a dramatic news story as possible. They should be happy and content and fat. Not beaching themselves in London and then becoming too weak to survive their own rescue mission. Not ingesting large quantities of vodka to make it through the bitterly cold Russian winter, and then subsequently destroying the central-heating system in a drunken elephant rampage.

That poor whale.

That poor elephant.

I thought they had it all figured out.

Butcher of Freedom

2006-01-20T20:21:00.000-11:00

What an endearing nickname Osama Bin Laden has come up with for George W. Bush.

Clink on the title of this posting to read the entire transcript. It is deplorable, but worth your time.

Chocolate City

2006-01-18T08:13:00.000-11:00

I am sorry to say that this delicious sounding concept is not one of my own, or even another's gastronomical fantasy. It is one of two apology-provoking ideas that New Orleans' Mayor C. Ray Nagin proposed earlier in the week, this one referring not to a decaying city rebuilt with cocoa but instead to his hope for the future demographics of his city.

It follows his publicly delivered theory, presented Monday at a speech commemerating Martin Luther King, that God punished America with Hurricane Katrina because we started the war in Iraq. For an open-minded person such as myself, it didn't sound too far-fetched. I mean, it's not like he proposed that the holocaust never happened. There's evidence for that little horror in history, but the president of Iran didn't apologize after throwing the possibility out for consideration. So apart from the meteorologist's explanation for the disaster, Nagin's suggestion is just as viable as any.

However, I do feel that Mayor Nagin owes us an apology, but for a lot more than his eyebrow-raising comments. Nagin needs to apologize for spending his time in the Mayor's office coming up with these controvesial statements instead of getting off his chocolate ass and leading the resurrection of a nearly demolished center of Southern history and culture. Only half the number of previous residents in New Orleans have returned since September. Yet Nagin stated only last month: "I can see in your eyes, you want to know, 'How do I take advantage of this incredible opportunity? How do I make sure New Orleans is not overrun with Mexican workers?'" If the French had taken the same attitude 300 years ago, we wouldn't have a creole city to bring back to life and Mayor Nagin would be writing Pat Robertson's routines instead of his own bullshit.

Tibidabo Us

2006-01-13T15:33:00.000-11:00

The high point of my winter vacation.

Malibu

2006-01-08T02:25:00.000-11:00

Malibu is exclusive: exclusive to non-functional celebrities and the tastelessly wealthy. Here is where you find the residence of Jean Paul DeJoria- Paul Mitchell hair mogul and incidently the owner of Patron Tequila. His idea of charity this holiday season was to hire a snow machine and a santa with a REAL beard, thereby creating a winter wonderland outside of his 21,000 square-foot, self-proclaimed "castle." The weather-deprived children of Malibu were neither gracious nor hungry thanks to their spoiled upbringing and the In-n-Out Burger Truck parked next to Santa's sleigh. Ah, Malibu.

L.A. Half-Weekly

2006-01-06T23:02:00.000-11:00

Trying my best to spend a large portion of my winter break in airplanes, I flew to L.A. this morning after only 2 days in New York. I arrived to 82 degree weather at Bob Hope international airport, and with Tears For Fears being piped outside the terminal, I didn't mind hanging around waiting for my ride.

Anna, friend of 11 years, lives in a relatively interesting area of L.A. called Silver Lake. There are supposed to be hipsters hanging around the neighborhood man-made lake, but unless the kids with mullets in their convertibles count, I have yet to see one. Her apartment is spacious and relaxing with a comforably distant view of downtown.

Overall, L.A. is a land of plenty. Plenty of cars, plenty of garbage, plenty of drinking, plenty of sun, plenty of skin, plenty of celebrities. Anna's boyfriend, son of Sonny Crockett, is at the very least a celebrity by association himself. When Slander, his raucous rock band, takes off I'm sure his status will be quickly elevated. But despite riding on the cusp of fame, Jesse was humble and generous enough to show me all around his city and even let me pilot his car (it was a privledge not a favor). I was also introduced to his mother, Ms. Patti Darbanville, who is the most entertaining woman I have met in a long long while. She is the inspiration for a Cat Stevens song, former actress on the Sopranos, and fantastic story teller. I pay homage to her gracious mention of my blog's namesake, Bili Rubin, in connection with her laborious pregnancy.

And that's all for day 1 of L.A. half-weekly. Stay tuned.

Countdown

2006-01-01T08:13:00.000-11:00

3
2
1
Happy New Year

A Beautiful Mountain

2005-12-30T19:01:00.000-11:00

Lately I've been dreaming of skiing. There's someone in my life that seems to help make all my dreams come true, and yesterday I got to ski (with my beautiful new skis) for the first time in 4 long years.

We woke up in a cozy cabin before dawn and drank a pot of french press coffee while piling on our layers.

The sun rose over our drive to Mt. Bachelor.

Fresh snow covered the road to the lodges.

And the sunrise followed us all the way there.

We skied for three hours until my legs felt like jello and then stopped for lunch at the upper lodge overlooking the ski lifts. It had started to snow, but we didn't stop until a few hours later when I became too tired, or lazy, or both, to get off the ski lift. As I missed the unloading point and rounded back toward the slopes, I really thought about riding it all the way down and calling it quits.

I love skiing.

Serve em' up Joe

2005-12-27T16:32:00.000-11:00

Oregon's beers are strong and they taste so much better than the watery $7 a glass drafts they sell on the opposite coast. I would definitely add this to my list of reasons for my love for Portland. Not that I need to defend it.The beer buyer at the Union Square Whole Foods informed me that many of the small craft breweries in Oregon do not ship out of state because the quality could be compromised. We wouldn't want that, but I am sure compromised-quality Bridgeport IPA and Deschutes Mirror Pond would still beat out anything Vermont or Brooklyn has to offer. Knowing that this wouldn't be possible, I tried to consume my fare share while I had the chance. I enjoyed several on location in Bend, Oregon at the Deschutes Brewery with David after shopping for ski clothes. Yep, we earned those tasty pints. I also convinced high school friends in Portland to order a variety for the table because I couldn't leave out any of the five of my favorites being served on tap. I count this idea among my better ones. It was really a good plan and they all carried it out very well. Congratulations. How about another round.

Spirits Bright

2005-12-26T08:10:00.000-11:00

I would be a miserable liar if I said the holidays, for me, were about anything other than food. This Christmas I entered the holiday food mecca for the third year running. The highlights are only partially photographed. I am a shameless carnivore, so the holy grail was the prime rib roast, cured for 5 days, rubbed with garlic and a sprinkle of magic, and roasted at a painfully slow setting until my lovely Christmas sweater was covered in David's drool. The roast was valiant enough to stand alone, but for added measure there were twice-baked potatoes accosted by butter and cheese, crab legs with a disticively spicy cocktail sauce, and a salad of mesclun and pomegranate seeds.

And that was just Christmas Eve. Before the taste of the roast had left my memory, there were the most beautiful salmon, mushroom bread pudding, a heartbreaking loin of lamb, and a breath-taking assortment of cheeses.

My stomach is small, and dessert was plenty, so I found myself in quite a predicament when faced with persimmon pudding AND cherry pie. It was one of life's tough decisions.

Emily, I don't think I'm in New York anymore

2005-12-23T08:32:00.000-11:00

Because I haven't fallen out of bed once. In fact, I've woken up on a strange soft platform that extends well beyond my feet and past my stretched out arms. This curious piece of furniture doesn't even fill up the room.

I haven't heard one honking horn and it's actually dark at night. Really truly dark!

There are landscapes filled with trees and fog (no, not smog or that steam that comes out of the gutters and building tops).

There are big back yards where a handsome man chops wood because he can, and because inside there is a real working fireplace.
No, I'm definately not in New York anymore.

Paradise looks like:

2005-12-22T09:53:00.000-11:00

After four months in New York, Portland really does seem like paradise. I blame it on the incredible contrast. Portland has just a little bit of everything good. It's a quiet, understated city near the mountains and the ocean. The climate is mild and the food is outstanding. The quality of the coffee makes having the addiction no fun once you've left. I love Portland too easily. I could get drawn in again and then find myself bored and soggy in no time at all.

Good Riddens

2005-12-22T08:27:00.000-11:00

I am guilty of having felt excited when the MTA strike began on Tuesday. Since I spent the last 20 years in Oregon during the winter, I liken it to the rare glee of discovering a 1/4 inch of snow on the ground every couple years and having school canceled because of it. Except, there were no such benefits. In fact, like most other New Yorkers who were unlucky enough to need to be somewhere, I was punished. Silly New Yorkers.

You see, I have been dreaming of Portland every day since Thanksgiving. Something about eating holiday food and seeing David made me blissfully nostalgic for Christmas in Oregon. My expectation has been mounting and I have longed for every precious moment of fresh air, no honking horns, sipping Stumptown coffee in Coffee Plant, and eating lamb and Sally's berry pies. Last night MTA came very close to disturbing this dream. Very close.

I have experienced perfect timing before. This was bigger than perfect timing. This was borrowed time. It was the impossible moment when you simultaneously realize you are too late and just in time. I was told the former, but I knew that I would end up with the latter. And I did. But first let's back up.

At 4:30 p.m., one hour after finishing my last final, I was sitting in the lobby of my dorm with Emily waiting for the Super Shuttle I had reserved to JFK. The van was already 45 minutes late and I nervously gulped down my rum and ginger beer drink. It was day 2 of the MTA strike. Usually, 4 hours would be a gratuitous amount of time to get to the airport, but not today. Traffic was nearly stopped on every avenue and crosstown through-street. When I finally did get in the shuttle, it took 30 minutes just to turn two corners. I was going to miss my plane.

I cried hysterically all the way down Broadway. The driver didn't really speak English, but I interpreted his comments as "get a god damn grip lady." I didn't. We spent two hours circling Manhattan trying to make his other pickups only to find out that they had given up on him. I was the only rider in his 12-person van, we were wasting time looking for people who weren't home, and meanwhile every desperate person trying to get to the airport was frantically waving or pounding on the van. It felt like a scene out of a horror movie.

At 6:30 p.m., the last poor soul this driver was suppose to pickup got in the van. Pablo climbed in the way-back and the two of us, plus the driver, entered the Queens-Midtown tunnel at 6:43 p.m. My plane was leaving in 48 minutes and we were barely out of Manahttan. I had two large suitcases of presents, a case of my homemade pasta sauces on my lap, and my backpack overloaded. I struggled with opposing feelings of freedom and dread as we sped toward the Van Wick Expressway. Was it possible I could catch my plane on one of the busiest travel days of the year with all this stuff to bring through security? I called the Jet Blue hotline and they told me probably not. Oh, and by the way there was only one flight a day to Portland and the next one was sold out. I started to cry again.

It was 7:21 when we pulled up to the nightmarish scene at the Jet Blue terminal. My plane departed in 9 minutes and I had no idea how I was going to get my bags to the ticket counter, let alone convince them I should be able to board the plane. Pablo's plane departed in 24 minutes, but he was kind, or stupid enough to drag one of my bags inside for me.

And now we reach that impossible moment. It's 7:24 and the Jet Blue staff is telling me I missed the plane. I know as I pound my forehead against the counter that they are both right, and that they are wrong. Even they must know it because one of them has my boarding pass, another is putting tags on my baggage, and a third is crawling over the counter with a walkie talkie in one hand and my sleeve in the other.

We gate #7 one minute before departure and as she shouted Merry Christmas, the doors closed behind me. I realized that not a single person in JFK had checked my I.D. or asked me what the hell was in my 12 jars. I think this is as close as I will ever come to a Christmas miracle, or disaster.

Lesson 3: Definitely Drink Beer Before 6pm Final

2005-12-19T17:16:00.000-11:00

Especially when you are certain your instructor wrote the exam drunk. The content is largely based on a powerpoint lecture she titled, and pronounced, "Griefing, Death, and Dying: How to deal with your patients' loses."

Here is an example of a question from the final exam in "Nurse/Client Therapeutic Interactions:"

"Your patient is delusional and is talking about his life as a locomotive driver. Which of the following shows therapeutic communication:

a) That must be an exciting career. How do you go about getting in to that profession?
b) Oh really? Would that be a coal or steam engine?
c) Sir, did you eat your breakfast? You're activing a little funny.
d) Mr. Patient, you were an accountant before you retired. Let me get your medication and we'll talk about this some more."

Not all of our classes are this pathetic. Three hours earlier, we were being tested on the symptoms of acute nephrosis, ruptured cerebral aneurysms, pancreatic cancer, peptic ulcers, and pulmonary edema, among other things. It wasn't my moment of glory, but I learned a lot and feel like I am closer to becoming a competent nurse.

But tonight I'm going to sit here and take lessons from the fat kid in Bad Santa: get a gorilla named Davey for Christmas that takes his orders from the talking walnut so it's not my bad thing.

And then tomorrow I'm going to study and finish this first semester just in time to get on my plane to Portland.

Lesson 2: Christmas is more fun than brain aneurysms

2005-12-19T07:26:00.000-11:00

Sister opens a present. 3 hours and 18 minutes until final

Lesson 1: Partial Seizures

2005-12-19T06:09:00.000-11:00

Countdown to Pathophysiology Final: 6 hours, 43 minutes

6 hours, 40 minutes

5 hours, 59 minutes

Borrowed or Stolen?

2005-12-17T12:51:00.000-11:00

An ipod came into my life recently. It's not mine. I didn't covet it or beg for it, but I may not be able to help myself from doing so come time to give it back to its owner next week. He's stronger than me and knows where I sleep, so I expect he will try to get it back by force if no other methods work. I didn't know that by bringing it along to the computer labs last week I would be changing the very fabric of my alone time from that point forward. Why did I let myself get so attached to this slipperly little object that pipes the soundtrack of my life into my ears as I float along the crowded streets of New York? How will I ever surrender it to him?

And Day Dreaming

2005-12-16T14:07:00.000-11:00

Yesterday I bought my first ever pair of skis. It has been nearly 4 years since I last set a ski on a mountain, but I am convinced that the sport will play an important role in my happiness. Already, the joy in owning a pair of gorgeous, although slightly abused, 2005 K2 T-Nine One Luv skis has added to the mounting expectation of winter break and the few days I will spend on Oregon's beautiful mountatins.

I believe part of my rediscovered interest in skiing has to do with living in a place where it snows everywhere, and not just on a surreal mountain top where you drive several hours out of a city to find another world. Of course, that's also nice. But I have begun to love the snow on the streets. When it's snowing, everything is completely calm and quiet. The ugly mess of cars and garbage cans is hidden by white. I thought I hated the winter. I was afraid of what would happen when New York started to get cold, but I think I actually love it. I just hope I can keep up this daydream until Spring.

Fantasizing

2005-12-15T15:03:00.000-11:00

Once and awhile it occurs to me that the reason I try to map out so much of my future is because I intend to do my best to keep what I already have.