Resident Wife

How to Make the Phone Ring

Waiting for some crucial return phone calls? Don’t just sit there! Make that phone ring! Here’s how:

• Get in the shower,
• Or, finally relent and take the dog out after several minutes of the “Take Me Out Right Now” dance,
• Or, call the bank’s teleconnect line because you might as well balance your checkbook while you wait, and it’s almost noon, and who the hell returns calls during the lunch hour? When call waiting kicks in, hit “Talk” instead of “Flash” on your cordless phone, disconnecting both parties.

Once you’ve attended to the business at hand, breathe a sigh of relief and take the dog for a nice long walk. While you’re gone, you’ll get a call from a loved one six time zones away.

Memo To Dr. Evil

I've had a couple of residency rants festering for the past couple of weeks, but I've held off. I even wondered if I've been a bit too harsh; after all, most of the attendings are good people. They're just trying to make the best of a bad situation: a crooked system, pressure from above, a shortage of residents, etc. And they've been supportive during the current family difficulties. (Then again, said difficulties only required my husband to take a few days off. Considering that he was once called back to work several days early from much-needed sick leave, I'll call it even. Almost.) But other events of the last few days have cured me of the Stockholm Syndrome, and I've got vitriol aplenty.

So here's a clue, Dr. Evil: if you don't like working with residents, don't work at a goddamned teaching hospital. Then again, without residents around, who are you going to blame for your bad outcomes, even if it means lying and falsifying the record? Here's a helpful hint, free of charge: learn to do your goddamned job and you won't have to stoop to defamation and libel in order to keep it.

You're trying to cover your ass to avoid another malpractice suit. Yes, I know your history. Public information is such a wonderful thing.

I've got your number, asshole. And I'm a bitch with a long memory. May you suffer an iatrogenic injury at the hands of a physician as incompetent as you are.

Another Short Conversation

Me: "Does it bother you in any Oedipal way that my birthday is the same as your mother's?"

Husband: "Not 'til you mentioned it."

I Needed A Good Laugh

Just received The Gallery of Regrettable Food and Interior Desecrations. I laughed so hard that my face still hurts. (All hail Glamaha!) What I want to know is how the hell did Lileks get into my parents' basement?

It's been a trying week. The news of the world is depressing enough; add family issues, stir well, and let fester. Then drop $400 on snow tires and an oil change. (Note to tire manufacturers: "all season" my ass!) It's enough to make you want to hide in the root cellar with a blanket over your head.

But things are looking up. The family crisis has been resolved, and my husband goes to back to work tomorrow. You know a man's been under stress when he looks forward to working a 24-hour shift. My stress level has been much lower by comparison, but even I am looking forward the garden-variety crappy days of yore. Does two weeks ago count as yore?