And the beat goes on...

Things that have happened since August...

Well, now I'm halfway through my final year of residency, hurtling toward fellowship.  I have, as of last week, registered for my AP/CP board exams with approval of my license and medical school diploma.  The registration relieved me of 2200 dollars from what is thankfully my now dwindled educational fund.  I spent my last thousand (minus what the hotel costs will be) on a cute small collection of books from the "Biopsy Interpretation of" series, because I know how to have fun.

Thank goodness for that educational fund, man.  When you're interviewing for residencies, find out how much it is.  Even if your salary is higher, that salary is going to be taxed, and if you're doing income based repayment for your student loans, that'll shave it right off, but the educational fund is free of all that.

So between May and June, my colleagues and I will be flying to Tampa to take this heinous double part test, which means I'm in the beautiful time of the year where fourth years begin to prepare for hibernation and become utterly useless for everything else.  And I'll be returning to studying once I complete this blog post, actually.

So the training journey is nearly at an end, minus that whole cytopathology thing.  At that point, there will be *another* licensing exam and I will hopefully stumble out of this whole mess as a triple boarded pathologist who will then be swimming in job opportunities (please?).

It's still a bright scary world out there.  Texas provides at least a stopping point on the road to "being grown" but after that, it's a big black hole.  The man and I kind of fell in love with Denver during the Great American Beer Festival, so maybe they'll open a spot for a youngster in a year and a half.  But still, everything is sort of winding up, and so much faster than seemed possible.  It seems like yesterday I was "covered in bees!" panicking to Grenada, and now I'm trudging toward an exam so far beyond the scope of the Step 1 that it makes the Step 1 look like SAT prep.

I have a weekend left of call... this weekend actually, which I traded for a lovely weekend in Asheville back in August.  Then I can finally do what I keep saying I'll do which is retire the scrubs.

I now have my permanent license in South Carolina.  One is necessary to apply for boards, and that lovely educational fund covers it, so it's official.  State law varies, but in South Carolina, IMGs such as myself cannot apply for permanent licensure until they've completed three years of training, so with that finally behind me, I have the unrestricted medical card.  Of course, I let my DEA license expire in the way back so I can't prescribe any of the fun drugs with my unrestricted license, so sorry guys, no illegal scrips for you.

Really feeling the whole "last of" tour of Charleston.  I've been steadily moving things off my bucket list (carriage ride, rooftop at Vendu, go to the Macintosh) and feeling the kind of "last Christmas here" sadness.  I've also been kind of wandering through apartment listings in Houston, and they seem nice.  Gotta make the commitment at some phase, and I will definitely need to get a bike.

When I'm not buried in microbiology lectures, I've been on kind of a health kick that was initiated by both getting cooking bling (Kitchenaid from last Christmas and NOW an overly expensive Vitamix blender) combined with getting suckered into running a half marathon in Florida in February despite nearly being killed by the bridge run, which was less than half the distance.  Still, I'm running for Save the Children, and they're a good cause, so if you want to toss a couple bucks my way in the name of securing me a permanent knee injury, the address is here.


You even get to see me dressed up like Alice, and I'm contemplating wearing the costume if I can make it without dying.

Running is an insidious creature.  It's been my go-to exercise off and on because it's cheap and easy, and kept me from going crazy (er) in Grenada.  Most of my running save for in Grenada has been on a treadmill, for years even, and it's only been lately that I've been pushing into the great outdoors, and I have to say, I kind of like it.  But I keep getting sucked farther in.  For years, I'd run on the treadmill, go all out for the first mile as fast as I could, and then walk/jog the rest in gasping bursts.  No strategy, definitely a no no for accumulating injuries, and thought a 5K was really all I was ever going to be able to do.

Well, and then a 10K, because the Cooper River Bridge run is a quintessential part of charleston, and why not, right?

Now I'm following my NikePlus trainer and arranging happy hours around when I can get the best mid-dusk run on the waterfront and working toward the half marathon.  Where I'll stop, really.  I won't get sucked into a marathon.  Well, at least I won't get sucked into an ultramarathon.  Check with me in two years.

Doing the training correctly has been helpful though, and now I use the first mile to actually warm up rather than suddenly sprint as fast as I can until all the bits and pieces holding my lower legs together start to snap and pop, and it's allowing me to really again appreciate how beautiful Charleston is (and how dangerous its drivers are).  My longest run so far without stopping at all is 6 miles, and the long runs are starting to feel better and better or at least "not as terrible as before".

And then with the work hours decreasing and the study crunch requiring more "can't sit around or will go crazy" ness, I've been cooking up a storm lately.

Few things... I've been poor for a while, and the story of the last ten years of my life has been accumulating things that 16 year old me would have scoffed at.  150 dollar running shoes?  Please, shoes are shoes.  Yeah... but the glycerines really help my plantar fasciitis.  Artwork for the wall?  So long as Rolling Stone still has full centers of Trent Reznor, you're just a few pieces of tape away from home decor!  Yeah... but frames.  Frames even make counter culture stuff look nice.  Cookware??  I mean, you can get a hand mixer from a store for 5 bucks.  What's up with these stand mixers?  It kneads dough for me.  Well, at any rate, I can tell you I'd *never* pay 500 dollars for a damn blender.

Sigh.  Last year, when I got my kitchenaid, a friend of mine said "The two things that changed my life were my kitchenaid stand mixer and my vitamix blender".  I trust said friend's cooking opinions, so I went home and googled vitamix blenders since I was poor (see above) and had no idea what they were.  My first response was laughter, obviously, because who would pay that for a blender?  In my defense, my blender is a combo gift from my dad and my boyfriend, if that justifies it.  All that's left for my Martha Stewart kitchen is a set of expensive knives and a set of expensive pots/pans.

But I'm liking cooking a lot, and I'm loving the fresh ingredients, though I'm being careful not to be one of "those" people.  "Yes, I'm making a smoothie with pomegranate seeds and chia seeds but I will absolutely *not* refer to either as a "super fruit/food"".  I'm finding a lot of fun recipes and enjoy challenging myself with them.  When I completely run out of medical school/residency related themes for this blog, I'll just start posting recipes.  I'm also having fun making my own flour.  The boyfriend is diabetic so I'm trying to keep the glycemic index low, and you can pretty much grind up *anything* and make fake flour.  There's about three cups of chickpea flour now occupying my cabinet because I found a bunch of dried ones on sale and went "Ooh!!!  This will be like magic!" because I have never had a good blender before, thus the art of changing the state of something (like beans to flour) still stirs a certain sense of magic and wonder in me.

The whole foods approach is also making it easier to make absolutely anything without needing to scrap around for ingredients.  No salsa?  Tomatoes, cilantro, peppers, and onions.  No guac?  Avocado, tomatoes.  No pasta?  Flour, egg, and water through the pasta maker.  No ice cream?  Milk, ice, frozen berries.  No rice flour?  Rice in blender.  I'm a year out from killing my own chickens.

So that's the update.  A six month crunch to boards and moving, punctuated by the growls of "pulse mode" when I'm making my morning smoothies.

We don't need no water... wait, yes we do

F*** indeed, neighbor.

Went to the scene today and chatted with some of the neighbors, including, I believe, the one that took this video, so we have some record of stuff.

Long story short, absolutely nothing left. I was captivated by the sound of the broken glass and tinder crunching under my new boots. My closet, I was told, fell outward, which sparked a brief hope of finding my bedbug costume, and one of my displaced neighbors, Superman, as we all call him, started climbing through the collapsed stuff to pick through the things that looked like clothes. Half of a pair of jeans, I think.

Lots of people were driving by to loiter, and I didn't really mind that, because it's probably what I would do. I gawked at the house on Rutledge that burned earlier this year. I took some pictures of my place just for the hell of it, not because I think I really need to document anything. But one of the landlords from across the street saw me and the neighbor and were like "do you live nearby?" and I'm like "I'm the third roommate". "Ohh... Was yours the red car? It was a trooper." "No, mine was the black nissan." "Oh... It exploded." "I know." "Do you have a place to go?" "Yup."

I went to the hospital today, one, because one of my attendings kept insisting that I do so, and two, because in an amazing show of foresight, I kept some of my insurance paperwork there, and the degree of support and concern was amazing and humbling. I've only been at my residency for six months but everyone rallied. I got hugs and offers and even though I immediately called a friend needing a roommate as soon as I heard, people were all "Where is she staying" and eager to make sure I wasn't sleeping in a Red Cross shelter. Despite everything, I feel really lucky.

I think that's one of the keys in a residency program too. Not "Who will hug me if my house and car burn down" because that is an oddly specific question to ask at the pre-interview dinner, but just how close knit a program is makes a huge difference in overall happiness. Our department has happy hours, parties, and an open door policy that nurtures an environment where someone could come home from vacation with nothing and find everything she could hope for, to get back on her feet, within her program's walls.

Family has also been absolutely amazing. Getting the news was surreal, and occurred around the small cousins, and it's difficult to know how to react in any appropriate fashion since presumably singing four letter words in the major and minor scales is not recommended for the TV-Y crew. I was helped out, taken shopping, given clothes, and perhaps really importantly, distracted so I couldn't dwell on it.

I'm safe and sound tonight back in Charleston. Things are moving along; I'm trying to release my car to the insurance company and get a lease agreement moving along. Good times.

A funny thing happened while I was in Houston...

My house burned down. And the car out front.

As ya do. As they say.

I'm not entirely sure what the proper response is. I'm trying for the dark humor. The "fire sale". The "blackened fish tacos". Everything I own is gone. My new car is gone. The roommate's dog, whom I love, is safe. No one is hurt. But there is decent coverage on all of Charleston's news outlets, that show my home, and everything I own, save the suitcases I have in Houston, up in flames. My neighbors talking about how hard it is on them, because the firefighters evacuated them before saving *their* homes. Not mine. There's only so much they can do. By the news report, I'm the "fifth person", after the Red Cross helped four, who is "out of town", as the news reporter says, "thank goodness". As do I.

I have family. I have friends. I have a general worthlessness to the things I owned. A Wii my mom got me. A regifted futon. An Ikea dresser I got in New York. A computer that was already on the fritz. A brand new car that was engulfed in the front. But I have friends, I have family. I have a job and a place to stay. I have a roommate's big sloppy dog that's not dead. I have... I don't know... a fresh start? It's not a fresh start. It's a charred start that hurts when I think of the emotional losses. The med school diploma. The pictures from Prague. The episodes of hell, Dexter, the show that named my car, who's dripping melted plastic in a parking garage downtown. My external hard drive. I had a flashing minute, before I left for Houston, where I thought "I should put that in my file drawer at the hospital" before I thought "nahhhh, what could happen". The blackmail photos of my roommate and my friends in New York. It's done.

I'm in Houston. I'm not sure what the response is. I'm not sure how I should feel about the arsonist speculation (which I don't really believe) and they claims to my insurance company. I'm moving in with someone I really like. But I feel odd; I feel disconnected. I feel like never going back to pick through the condemned wreckage to see if I can find the necklace I bought in Venezuela, the luck dragon my boyfriend and I got in Chinatown when I was hammered, that I used as a puppet to order tickets to a midnight showing of the Dark Crystal, the few bills of Costa Rican money, my checks that couldn't spell "Union Street" correctly.

Is stuff important? I don't know. I've moved so many times. I frequently joke that every time I move, I want to pile up everything I own and light it on fire, and now that job's been done for me. When I talked to the claims guy for my car, he says "Is your address still on Nunan Street?" and I say "Not anymore" because it's not. The CAT-AT in our living room, the life sized Anakin Skywalker that scared the shit out of the roommate. The fridge with the door that would never close. I'm moved with a suitcase to a nice apartment in West Ashley with a new, different dog and a new roommate and a new life in the same city.

I packed a bunch of my clothes to Houston because I had to check a bottle of port for Christmas. More than I would normally. Dress clothes. An electric blanket.

I don't have scrubs. Those stupid throwaway pieces of cloth the hospital provides us, but we have to return them to the machine to get them back and mine are burned.

But stay tuned for us on the news. We're top billing. They don't know our names or the dog's name, or if the cat I never liked is alive. But they know about the smoke that actually changed the city skyline for a while, the neighbors that were so horrified by our loss, the possibility of the Arsonist At Large, or if you're me, more probably, the Squatters That Were Cooking.

Can I just stay in Houston?

First day of doing stuff

Albeit, not a lot of stuff.

Computer training today, which was about 4 hours of learning how to use a lot of charting techniques I'm probably not really going to need, but it wasn't bad. Entering scrips and having to sign them "MD" in the system adds a level of importance that probably isn't warranted. Had a fabulicious dinner out on Johns Island with some of my co-interns. My colleagues are taking turns on the "provide transportation for Ishie" charity, of which I am the sole beneficiary. I swear, I will eventually get a car.

Next up, pager training on Wednesday. The for real stuff starts on Friday, but then we get the fourth off, so I'm kind of feeling like a bum, but in a good way.

In other news, Charleston has a crapton of mosquitoes. Like more than Grenada. It's amazing. I've counted thirty bites on my legs *tonight*. Time to put that bottle of DEET back by the door.

So everyone's just nice here?

Is that the way it works?

I lived in Charlotte, NC when I was in high school and aside from making some amazing friends, mark it down as one of the absolute worst periods of my life. The concept of "nice" when I lived there seemed less to do with nice and more to do with "being completely and often hostilely in my business for no particular reason". I recall specifically an incident where I was wearing the standard issue Nine Inch Nails shirt that EVERYONE in my age bracket owned and a woman walked up to me with "You know that band worships the devil".

So when people say a region is "nice", I generally snort derisively. Which probably isn't nice.

People here are NICE. Like not kidding around nice. And it leads to my getting way more things done in a day than I thought possible. If I don't have this paper or that paper, it's "Oh, well, let me see what I can do... well, we can do everything else today and you can just bring that in on Monday", "Oh, that's fine, your driver's license will be just fine. California? How exciting!" Bam, conversation, bam out. Waitresses, Rite Aid techs, employee health.

So today I managed to get my third, count em, THIRD TB test in as many months, pop onto my bike, take out money from one of my accounts (without a bank card), put money into the other account, get my rent check out of it, pick up a back rack for my brand new bike, and fill a prescription. In about two hours. I don't even know what to do with the extra time. And the feeling of well being. I did spend some of it attempting to put the rack on my bike, which was way harder than it looked, so that drained my goodwill, but then my roommate refilled it, only instead of goodwill, she used moussaka, which I think is an acceptable substitution.

I have another resident mixer party tomorrow. I feel more like I'm courting than working, but I'm certainly not complaining.

I'm hoping for a beach trip this weekend.

Home sweet home in the lowcountry

Sorry for the lack of updates; I've been busier than I've perhaps ever been and having to make a number of spot decisions that have all ended up working out better than anyone could reasonably expect.

Graduation. Awesome. Really had a good time, and saw so many people, some of whom I hadn't seen since Grenada, and it was fantastic. My dad flew up from North Carolina, I took him to see Mary Poppins (on Broooooooaaaaaaaadway), and I got to parade around in my cap and gown (which we actually got to keep this year) plus a hood. They kept the speeches fairly brief and to the point. I'm sure this is horrible sounding to Ivy Leaguers, but after enduring hours of drone in UCD's gymnasium, a succinct presentation that felt like it was *to* us rather than *at* us at Lincoln Center was greatly appreciated. I did get hooded upside down, but I don't think most people would be able to tell. Most importantly, I WALKED WITHOUT A CANE OR A LIMP. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Weirdly, despite nearly everyone at graduation having both a job and a diploma in hand already, no one took the opportunity to do anything weird.

Incidentally, they played Grenada's national anthem. To the surprise of most, it was not Temperature by Sean Paul.

So the pomp! The circumstance! The OMG I need to move to SC this week and either find a place to live near my hospital and buy a bike or find any place and buy a car!

That bit was a little nerve wracking. My initial living plans fell through so then I thought "I don't have anything to do until a physical/drug test on the 22nd, and then some social stuff, and then orientation the 27th, so I'll find a place when I get there since I have plenty of time." Which is true, but when you're in a moving van driving to a Motel 6 and honestly don't have a real address to give them, it's freaky.

I'd been surfing Craigslist, and found a few leads; contacted one agency that specializes in matching people with roommates, was wandering around roommates.com, and so forth, but then found a place on Craigslist that's biking distance from the hospital, costs half of what my rent was in Brooklyn, and comes complete with one of my new roommates' huge friendly Star Wars-named dog. And available this weekend, which is a plus when you're returning the van on Monday. And y'all... (I can say y'all now that I have an address in the South), this place, which is a for-real house, which I have not lived in since I was 12, has a washer/dryer (the holy grail), a backyard with a fire pit, a balcony, a walk in closet (!!!!), a giant pantry, and a giant kitchen. No words. If these two can be half as cool as my last roommate, I'll be happy, since I got all emotional and weepy when he left.

Dropped by to meet people, confirmed no one was a serial killer, signed the lease, made out the check, rented a storeroom for some of my mom's stuff, hauled that around (Charleston was about 96 degrees today; there were a couple moments where I honestly thought I was going to die), bought a bike, tossed it in the back of the much emptier moving van, went back to the house, dragged everything upstairs while nearly getting killed by my futon (no more bunk bed!) and drove back to the motel.

Whew. It's... done. I have an address in Charleston, a job starting up, I'm a doctor and it all happened. And this particular move even happened without a whole lot of drama or stress, which is completely unheard of in a move. I was much more frazzled and emotional moving from Park Slope to Sunset Park for six weeks because our lease was up.

I have a bicycle! I haven't had a bicycle in four years. I feel so environmentally conscious. Or more realistically, broke, and I don't want to deal with car payments and insurance for a while, though for graduation, my mom gave me enough money for a sizeable down payment. Thanks mom!

So now, the only thing that stands between me and employment is my ability to pee in a cup on demand. Better start drinking!!!!