Church, food, & football

--the things that Sundays (and dreams) are made of. Although yesterday had a few extras thrown in: a personal statement for my residency application...a baby...the realization that I don't have enough money to make it through interview season...not quite the usual Sunday but completely manageable if taken one at a time. The baby, of course, was a welcomed break and I would like to thank Quinn for bringing my stress level down from a 9 to a solid 5 with her bright pink flower on her head and "I'm pooping on you" face. Harsh realization #2: I have a week left in Galveston [read: a week left of vacation]. Should it be a vacay? No, because I am supposed to be finishing my research. Has it been a vacay? Oh definitely yes.

Starting next week I will return to my exciting(?)4th year medical student life, roaming around on the Heme/Onc floor, trying to memorize different chemotherapy regimens, checking on Heparin levels for various consults. My biggest challenge for the next month = not crying. Or at least not letting them see me cry. Fact: I have always liked Heme/Onc as a subspecialty. Fact: I'm a crier. So for me, four weeks on the Pediatric Hematology/Oncology service is going to be a challenge--what happens when a child is diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor or a blood disorder that will keep them from running and playing and just being a kid? Will I be able to lock it up and not completely lose it? Maybe I should prepare by watching sappy movies. A little of the Notebook, a little Lady and the Tramp, a little My Sister's Keeper. Perhaps it would function as a conditioning of sorts. Perhaps if my brain somehow consolidates and compartmentalizes "the sap" I will no longer react so dramatically. Perhaps...but not likely.

Overall, I think a little emotion should be celebrated. It's too often that I meet physicians with absolutely no sense of empathy and terrible bedside manners. So what if that one State Farm commercial brings a tear to my eye. I would rather be slightly emotional than a stone cold robot. And if I were a 10-year old cancer patient I think I would be okay with my doctor crying...but only once. And then she better put on her big girl panties and save my life.