It has been awhile, I know, but I
have been a wee busy lately. My last blog started out that way too. Seems to be
a theme. So to pick up from where we last left off, said boy had been living
with me in what I thought was peaceful harmony, and one day out of the blue, he
broke up with me. The night before we had an argument about how I felt like I
took care of him more than he did for me, and the next morning he said he
wanted out. He didn’t want to talk about it, he just was done with me, and he
was moving his stuff out that night. I went to work bawling, somehow did not
have patients scheduled for that morning, went for a run and packed my bags for
my trip to California. I sat down at one point and felt physical chest pain,
and I could actually feel my heart breaking. I had never felt that before, and
I never hope to again.
The next day I was headed to
Stanford for the last interview on my ridiculous whirlwind tour of 12 different
U.S. cities in 3 months. Within that time, I saw my darlings in NYC, including
my hilarious sister, an old friend from childhood, my girlfriends from college,
and my Tony-nominated best friend on her Broadway show. I got on the plane,
picked up my rental car in San Francisco, bawled a good part of the way, said,
“Pull it together, Davis,” somehow was charming and delightful on my interview,
then drove to Napa. I can tell you one of the best solutions to a break up is a
classic Napa wine tour. You are allowed to drink as much as you want, everyone
tells you how pretty and strong you are, and you get to catch up with seriously
funny friends (if they happen to live there). I just don’t recommend you see
the friend interact with the BEST husband in the world, because that just
doesn’t make the greatest case for being single. Ok fine, it was worth it.
Two
days later, the boy tells me he made the biggest mistake of his life, will I
please take him back, I am his everything. Then December 17 hits, and I am eagerly awaiting my match
results for my glaucoma fellowship.
(Medicine has this absurd system like fraternities where you rank your
top choices, they rank you, and a computer algorithm conveniently determines
your future.) I pull up the website, logon, and see where I’ve matched.
“Lindsay Davis: no match.” I reload the page, as clearly this is a mistake.
Still the same perplexing message. After I come to my senses, I realize after
my whole interview season that I don’t have a job. The next day was a
“scramble” period, when you basically just cold call all of the positions left
unfilled. There was one position for glaucoma left in Ohio. That was it. I call
them and booked a trip for Columbus. Then I hear of one that was not listed but
unfilled in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I start emailing my CV and calling,
meanwhile I am operating every day Monday-Thursday of this week. Friday comes,
and finally I feel a sense of relief. I am leaving lunch on my way to my
clinic’s Christmas party, when some SUV T-bones me. You can see why it’s been
awhile since I’ve written. My wrist was sprained, my chest bruised from the
seatbelt, and my car totaled, but I’m alive, and it could have been much, much
worse. Could’ve been better if she had insurance, but eh, details. Thank God
for my dad who donated his car to me. Ugh I love my people.
I
wrote that in February, and now it’s July. I wanted to end it on a high note,
but I was exhausted just recapping my past few months that it never came to
fruition. I am now living in Chapel Hill, NC, and I got the aforementioned
sweet job that I was hoping for. When I came for my interview here, my bosses
were incredibly nice and kept making comments like, “when you come here,” and
“you can adjust that if you want when you’re here,” so I was getting a pretty
solid vibe. My boyfriend (yes, he’s back to that designation) just helped me
move for 3 exhausting days in a 16-foot Penske truck with my car towed behind
it. We had been rocky since D-day, as I like to call it, but I think the boy
really likes me and was just having doubts. We all do, but especially boys,
since they smell and have cooties, so it’s hard for them to be mature like us
ladies.
Oh
I also graduated from residency, which was a beautiful ceremony. My new program
director was amazing and talked about all of us individually from childhood to
the present without any notes, and it was so great seeing everyone we had
worked with over the past 3 years. I will miss my amazing co-workers. As rough
as residency was, I would not trade working with these people. I got a new
little family, and I am so lucky I became such good friends with my pretty
co-lady surgeon.
Back to the trip: James did so much
work packing me up, driving through the Smokey mountains and through small
Goodwill parking lots in that beast truck/car combo, unpacking, and being all
around a good boy that he certainly gets brownie points. That’s not to say I
don’t use the break-up card whenever I want to definitively win an argument,
because I do. Oh, I do. And I
stopped into East Texas to visit with my lovely med school friend at her
parents’ home and into Nashville to see my boo from college, her husband and
her cutie baby. Even though it was a ridiculous trip (Google said it would take
22 hours; it took 32), I’m glad I got to catch up with those ladies and have
some quiet time with James and my baby beagle Zoey. She’s 9 now, but she is still my baby beagle.
My
first day on the job was Monday, staffing residents, had electronic medical
record training Tuesday and Wednesday all day (short and sweet: I miss paper
charting, EMR is probably worse for patient care, but I won’t get into the
politics), and had my first day in the operating room today. My bosses did the
surgeries, thankfully, because I was nervous about just learning how to use the
operating microscope and where my locker was. The day went well, and people
seem to be very laid-back here. Granted, I wasn’t operating, so there were no
bosses yelling at me to do something different, but I think it’s a good sign.
I’m excited for the year, AND I learned I’m not on call on the weekends, just
Monday through Friday. Yeah I know that’s gross, but it shouldn’t be too bad
for glaucoma call. Knock on wood.
I’d
like to take this opportunity to talk about Chapel Hill. It’s a cute town in
the “Triangle,” which consists of CH, Raleigh and Durham. Apparently there are
more PhDs per capita here than anywhere else in the U.S. The people are crazy
nice, and I keep resisting the urge to ask what they really want from me.
Unsolicited but sweet advice on buying crabapple versus black raspberry jelly?
How much do you want, lady? There is this amazing store called Southern Seasons
that’s like Sur la Table + Central Market + local farmer’s market, and it’s
basically my Disneyland. There are delicious cheeses, beautiful local flowers, lots
of wine and Chapel Hill Toffee, legit table settings and my favorite,
miscellaneous kitchen tools. I… have a problem. I went in saying I wasn’t going
to get a shopping basket, then ok, I’ll get a basket, then, well the wine is on
sale, I might as well get a cart.
People
keep saying this is a foodie town, and so far, I agree on the grocery, organic,
and farmer’s market part, but I haven’t been totally impressed with the
restaurants. We went to one place called Acme in the hippy section of town,
which had really nice well-cooked fish (I’m a stickler for overcooked fish),
and great fried green tomatoes, but some of the dishes had too much cheese
& bacon for my taste. Maybe it’s a Southern thing. Plus the inside was a
little kitschy for what is considered a nice restaurant. We went to another
place called Elaine’s, which was actually very good, appetizers being better
than the entrees, but just too expensive for what you get. It is there I
learned I don’t like getting whole fish: too much work, and too much risk of
getting tiny bones jammed in your esophagus. James said I should start food
blogging, but considering it’s been over a year since my last blog, I have a
feeling we all know how that’s going to go down. For now, I will stick with my
at-home cooking, featured above. Pesto pasta, kale and beet salad (ok the beets
are from Southern Seasons, but the feta is all mine).
I
think 3 pages of material out to do it to summarize my year. If you’ve made it
this far, congrats on staying completely up-to-date with Dr. D, and I hope
you’ve been at least mildly entertained.
¡Mil besos!
~dapper doctor
