Wednesday, December 21, 2011

The big debut

So...I was doing some reserach today to try and find what are my chances for delivering over the next few weeks. Here's what I found out (there are many studies and this is approximate):

5% of babies are born pre-term (<37 weeks)
8% are born between 37-38 weeks
12% from 38-39 weeks
20% from 39-40 weeks
35% from 40-41 weeks
15% from 41-42 weeks
5-10% post-term (>42 weeks)

So now, I'm polling for guesses as to when she will show up!--the closest to the due date will win a special surprise from me! Right now I am 37 weeks and 5 days (due date: Jan 6th) and it looks like she may stay put for awhile (at least, she's still stuck in my ribs so clearly she hasn't "dropped"). It turns out that most first-time moms deliver, on average, 5 days past their due date. Second-time moms? You may be surprised to hear that they too deliver, on average, 3 days past their due date.

I've done a lot of lit searching about the risks of a post-term delivery and have decided to be induced at 42 weeks if it goes that long, so the latest due date possible will be January 20th. It also may be helpful to know that I was about 4 days early and Morgan about 3 days late. Happy guessing!

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

CSA...The Plunge

So Boyd and I joined a CSA. Which, for those of you have escaped the debates over the last decade or so on agri-business, stands for community supported agriculture. Basically we bought a share of local produce which we pick up each week and must figure out how to cook, even if it includes Komatsuna or Kohlrabi. We have debated for probably 3 years whether or not we should take the dive, because I wasn't sure I was ready to try and figure out the mystery ingredients, but (after two years of watching Food Network's "Chopped") we finally gave in. I think our recent reading of the Omnivore's Dilemma probably clenched it for us. The Tucson CSA also includes optional shares of locally-raised grass-fed beef and lamb, free-range chickens and turkeys, pork, goat's cheese, artisan bread, honey, and eggs.

So I know you are all dying to hear what our loot included this week:

1. A bag of purple beans
2. A bag of basil
3. 2 lemon cucumbers
4. 2 green bell peppers
5. 4 red potatoes
6. A bag of fresh roasted red bell peppers
7, 4 heirloom tomatoes
8. 1 loaf artisan wheat bread
9. 1/2 lb. italian sausage
10. 1 dozen eggs
11. and 1 Jack ‘o Lantern Pumpkin

Not bad, eh? I'm really excited to be eating some delicious tucson-grown delights this week. I hear that purple beans turn green when you cook them, maybe we'll just be having green beans. Either way, I'm nervous for the week where I have to cook dandelion greens, but so far, I think this is a pretty safe introduction to deliciousness.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Happy Day

Picture A: Lindsay then. Just a little peak of what I'll be cleaning up in approximately two years time. Sorry for the random butt in the picture. My cropping skills are nill. Thank you to my mother who graciously brought this little gem over for me the other day.

Picture B: Residency photo. Now, doesn't she look like someone who would be a good family doc? I think my parents did a fine job transforming my body art self into someone respectable.

And the real post, ready go: Pregnancy has been hard. I don't think I need to dwell on this twice, as many of you have already heard a mouthful and half about it. So I'm not going to talk about that today (i.e. on the horror of discovering my first stretch marks the other day). Things like that. So let's move on.

Today has been a really good day and I thought my blog deserved a little happy TLC. I submitted my residency application to 10 programs. It's DONE! I'm really happy with how it turned out. The picture was even pretty decent considering I weigh 15 pounds more now than I did just a few months ago when I could have gotten it taken (a small oversight). I applied to 6 programs in the Seattle area, 2 in the Portland area, and 2 in Tucson. Now the waiting game begins. My personal statement actually sounded grown up and familiar without being cliche. So, you know, a good success I'd say. Also, now that my September away rotation in Safford is practically here I'm resigned to the fact that it probably won't be the worst month of my life after all. I even looked up the local institute schedule to give me something productive to do in the evenings. Progress.

So we turn to the next big thing in my life: baby miss. She's moving around and I have to say it's pretty cute now that I don't mistake her for gas anymore (I'm a novice, what can I say?). I'm trying to plan a nursery and I'm thinking a green, white, and espresso clean, slightly modern, slightly shabby-chic nature theme. You know, with birds on a wire and one light green wall and a crib with crisp, cream, quilted bedding. Ok, so I may or may not have stolen this from Pottery Barn kids. Can you blame me?

But I have a few questions ladies...what are baby room essentials? Baby clothes essentials? Do any of you have positive opinions on cloth diapers or any suggestions for that realm, because I'm open and interested (please no haters...I know you're out there and frankly, I don't care what you think). How about thoughts on breast pumps? Also, while you're at it, vote on your favorite baby name in our poll. And if you hate them all, I understand, I probably hate your baby names too. All's fair.

Monday, August 22, 2011

A big apology.

I made a big mistake. I really hurt and offended a friend of mine with my last post.
I inappropriately mentioned someone that I work with and used her name without permission on a public blog. I want to apologize to my friends, family, and readers and know that I did not mean to hurt any of my readers with my candid thoughts.

When I was younger, Pam, one of my many wonderful moms, once corrected me when I used a sterotype about a friend of mine. It was a positive sterotype, so I didn't think it was wrong. But I was saying it out of jealousy that I did not have that trait. She reminded me that talking about others without their consent in a sterotypical way that can invite mean-spirited comments is always wrong, even if what we are saying seems like flattery.

Please know that I never meant to hurt anyone with my writing, nor do I wish any malintent upon anyone--especially those women who are brave and selfless enough to carry a perfect, unborn child. I can be a very passionate person and often over-step my bounds when it comes to speaking my mind. The words tumble out and I don't always mean them the way they are taken. I hope those I have offended will understand and accept my sincere apology.

Please no comments.

Monday, July 25, 2011

You know you're an adult when...

1. You actually change the Brita filter on time
2. You have a credit card that you pay off every month
3. You have a fridge full of ingredients
4. Your Pandora switches from Ne-Yo to Colbie Callait
5. You have a pet...or at least a plant...that you've successfully kept alive
6. Your furniture matches
7. You start calling school "work."
8. You have to stop and think how many years you've been married
9. You read non-fiction books
10. You start going to the dentist again
11. You start getting "long-term" callings in your ward
12. You have friends with kids
13. You start shopping at stores like The Loft and Banana Republic
14. You own your own copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting."

Friday, May 20, 2011

Surgical beauty

What can I say? Surgery has left me a little bit speechless. There is something about having your arms elbow-deep in some guys' warm, peristalsing guts during a laparotomy that just changes you for life. This is what I've learned:

I may never feel beautiful again. The other day, I wore these awesome, new, light gray, linen pants that I had paid a slightly discounted price for at Banana Republic, but probably not discounted enough if you know what I mean. Up until this day during the rotation I was feeling a distinct lack of beauty in my life. I mean, how are you supposed to feel beautiful when you are required to don the ridiculous hair net and hideous teal scrubs with distinct yellow lining broadcasting to the entire world that you're a size small? Heaven forbid I ever have to move up to the depressing brown ribbon of "medium."

So it was a rare day neither on-call nor post-call and I made the executive decision to dress up. I wore what I thought were sensible heels. Ecco brand, 2 1/2 inches; because my clogs had seriously started to smell like the Bovie (i.e. the surgical cautery). I had even put on some powder, although I skipped the mascara because the face shield in surgery feels like a sweat lodge. Needless to say, we were just doing a hernia repair and when my resident commented on my poor choice of shoes while we were scrubbing with the nasty yellow iodine and I was somehow getting yellow soap foam in my hair, I remarked that they were more comfortable then they looked. Right? 8 1/2 hours later in those stupid heels, gray pants long wrinkled in the locker room, and without water, food, a chance to pee, plus the distinct knowledge that I was NOT allowed to itch lest I risk being labeled as "that" medical student who has to waste another pair of sterile gloves because she can't keep her darn hands out of trouble...and I was hurting...bad.

6 hours into this hernia repair which actually turned out to be a laparotomy with lysis of adhesions, bowel resection, and THEN a ventral hernia repair (nobody told ME this when they needed a medical student--STAT--to hold retractors) a giant neon blue poster of the pain scale was staring back at me in the OR--the little faces getting more and more sad from 1-10. I recalled my education in these pain matters. I knew full well that "10" was necissarily reserved for femur fractures and childbirth but I was seriously at a 5. I kept rehearshing in my head how I would frame my plee to scrub out as the surgeon was cursing at the giant mesh he was trying to sew into this guy's non-existent abdominal fascia. Oh the agony!!! What was I even doing here at 8:30pm? My biceps were shaking with every passing second of holding those stupid retractors and I thought, "this is hell. It has to be." And without the guts to bring up that I was well past my legal duty hours, I started to silently cry under my sterile garb without anyone noticing.

I came home that night and crumpled on the bed without brushing my teeth trusting my iphone was preset for 4:30am without bothering to check. Said morning came with my feet still throbbing and the worst breakout my skin has seen since high school--compliments of the powder I didn't wash off the night before I'm sure.

And so today, three days later, I can officially cross general surgery off of my list of future careers. And that is your medical school update.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Two Dates Worth Re-living

The other day, I asked my friend Hannah what day she would pick if she could go back and re-live one day in her life. She picked high school graduation. She had just started dating the boy of her dreams, had an entire free summer ahead of her, and a felt like her whole life was just about to begin. The perfect day. So, naturally she asked me the same question--because she has good social skills like that--and I lamely said that sounded like a good day to me too. Hey, I was dating a boy I thought I loved, and was vaguely excited to start BYU. And (bonus!) I was also wearing a pretty hot miniskirt that day, so why not?

But it wouldn't be my day of choice, not really. Or even my 100th day of choice. So I quickly followed it up with, "...or my wedding day. Or night. Or whatever." And the whole conversation degenerated, naturally.

Today I was really thinking about it though. I flipped through 30 or so days in my file of hours lived to savor the really good ones. The life-changing ones. The ones I would pay decent money to re-live, to melt in my mind like a good piece of chocolate making sure to taste the intricacies.

I picked a few. Here they are:

1. October 1, 2005. The day I ran the St. George marathon. My heartache from John's death was healing better than expected. I had finally thrown away the picture of the engagement ring that John had hidden in his sock drawer and that I so desperately wanted him to give me. In the months leading up to this October day I had sweated all my sorrow into my organic chemistry class from which I came out on the other side with a big fat A. All of John's college friends had supported me and protected me, and in the wake of the biggest tragedy of my life Boyd was there, tried and true. I should have seen the neon sign when he told me he'd drive me to the marathon, stay overnight with my sister's friends who were also running, and cheer me on the whole time, only to turn right around less than 24 hours later to drive me right back. Morgan ran with me the whole way and we both mused that we had brought along some pretty swell men to watch us sweat through our sports bras. Nothing says sexy like a salty sports bra, right? The run was gorgeous; the finish, sureal. Boyd kissed me for the very first time that night, and I knew my life was starting.

2. February 3, 2007. The day I found out I got accepted to medical school. Boyd and I had just moved into our concrete block of an apartment in MIT family housing. Everything we owned was piled on the cold tile floor of the front room that had waxed-in hairs from the previous occupants. The kitchen was the size of a bathtub. But it was ours, and it was right on the gorgeous (and at the time, frozen) Charles river in Boston. I had just gotten the acceptance call from Massachusettes General Hospital that they were giving me the job of a lifetime--doing reserach in the neuroendocrine unit right in the historic Bulfinch building where the very first surgery done under anesthesia had been performed. It was that magical time after you get hired and before you have to start. And then the letter came. It was a fat envelope--always a good sign. It was from Albert Einstein University in the Bronx, the first medical school I had interviewed at in the fall. I ripped it open and there it was, they wanted me to come to their medical school (albeit for a pretty penny), but I didn't care. I was going to be a doctor for real. My life was starting a second time.

There are so many more. The kindergarten day our incubating eggs hatched into fluffy yellow chicks. The day I did my very first back-handspring in gymnastics--bent knees and all. Christmas morning where we got a trampoline, and discovered it after a 5am treasure hunt. The day I got picked for student-of-the-month in middle school after years of trying to be a model student. The first day I ever made chocolate chip cookies and they turned out like I was Martha Stewart herself (at least that's how I remember it). My very first day of high school wearing my totally cool red horse shirt where I met my future prom date in our mutual weight training class--bowler hair cut and all. The day my high school science fair project won at the UofA. The Wednesday my dad took Morgan and I out of school to go skiing at Mt. Lemmon. When I pole vaulted for the very first time and then the day I got to pole vault in the state competition my junior year only to come out with a second place finish. My first run on Mt. Graham's web peak trail. Finishing my dizzying AP Calculus test and then getting that envelope that pronounced I had earned a "5". The day I saved my very first little girl in the pool as a lifeguard. My very first ballroom dance class at BYU. The day Boyd proposed with that darned tiffany's ring I so deperately wanted. The day I surprised Boyd by visiting him in Boston the fall before we got married. Our wedding day. The day I was sick from work while living with Mary Beth and Andrew and we baked all day together. My first day in the anatomy lab. The first baby I ever delivered. The first tough diagnosis I made all on my own during my neurology rotation that both the attending and radiologist missed.

There are so many times where I want to press fast forward in my life. I find myself wishing that I could just skip my 6 week surgery rotation coming up here in May. Or just fast forward to when residency is finished. I wanted to skip our engagement so we could just be married already. And I know I wanted to fast forward undergrad after seeing the testing center for the millionth time. But looking back, some of my best days were during times I wanted back then to delete from my life. Yes, the sweet comes with the bitter. But I'll take it.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011


That's all. BYU really needs to get with the program because spring break is seriously the best week ever invented. Full stop.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

The decision is made. Babies it is.

Wow, I suck at blogging. I'm not just bad at it, mine is the blog that ends up at the very end of the sidebar list with links to people's "friends & family" blogs because I haven't updated in 2 months. Meanwhile, I don't even have links to the blogs I follow because I'm that lame at blogging in general. Yet I love reading other people's, and I get sad when they don't update. Hypocrite. I think that's the name for that. And now, outfitted with my brand new iphone 4 (because I have medical things to look up...of course), it just makes the excuses all the more lame.

Also, I suck at blogging because I suck at taking pictures. And who wants to read a blog without pictures? It's like reading a novel; and we all know that what people really want to read is one of those board books with quipy, rhyming one-liners that are outnumbered by adorable illustrations all in a "safe-to-chew" package for easing toting to church...

So. Anyways. Here I am. Still no baby pictures. Still no life-altering news. And really in no mood to rant or gush or make a scrapbook out of my life. Sorry if that's what you wanted to read.

Right now I'm doing my family medicine rotation in Safford. It's amazing and puzzling and foreign all at the same time. I've decided that family medicine is for the healthy that are paranoid because really what family docs specialize in is preventitive care. That must be why I love my family doc.

So family medicine is definitely interesting, but not quite my style. Which is actually a welcome relief since up to this point I’ve been having a really hard time deciding what I want to specialize in. But not anymore! I’ve decided that I’m going to specialize in (drumroll, please….) OB-GYN! The one truly unique thing about Safford family medicine is that they still do their own OB-GYN because the town is so small, and although I’ve been seriously considering OB-GYN for awhile now, these past few weeks have cemented it. I’m keeping track of how many deliveries I do in my life. My current total is 6. Not bad for a 3rd year who hasn’t yet done her official OB-GYN rotation! Now, before you start to groan and wonder how any sane person could actually choose this specialty, let me say that this feels right for me. Somehow, I know this is what I’m supposed to do. Ironically, when I started medical school I immediately eliminated two major specialties because I thought they would equal a death sentence for ever having a normal family life: Surgery and OB-GYN. Clearly I was extraordinarily ignorant at that point since OB-GYN is actually a surgical specialty. And it wasn’t until a few months ago when my dad kept asking me if I had yet considered surgery that I realized I didn’t want to consider it. Because I knew that if I did, that’s what I’d end up doing. It took a lot of soul-searching to realize that I needed to put those options on the table…that Heavenly Father is driving this ship, and I have to let go now. I have to trust.

So I’ve realized that OB-GYN is perfect for me. I honestly had no idea what an OB-GYN did until just recently. You’re just a glorified midwife, right? WRONG. OB-GYNs do basic primary care for women over the lifespan (menarche to menopause and beyond), delivery babies of course, manage high-risk pregnancies, perform surgery on women with cancer of the cervix, uterus, ovaries, or any pelvic organ, perform incontinence surgery, diagnose and manage infertility, perform perinatal surgery in utero for fetuses with problems requiring surgical intervention, advocate for women in situations of domestic violence or with psychiatric issues, are experts in contraception, take care of any woman with a complex medical problem who gets pregnant and much, much more. So there you go. I'm thrilled.

Next up...where to move for residency?