Meetings Suck

So far this week in the inpatient ward of the breast center has been zero fun. Rounds are no fun. Rounds in the palliative care ward are especially not fun. The cases are interesting, for sure, but I think I would go insane or clinically depressed if I had to work there everyday. There is no room for sarcasm or complaining amidst such mortal gravity, two things that daily sustain my sanity. The remaining splinter of faith I have in (a) God has been darkened today.

Surgery on the other hand has been great fun. The choice of operating music here ranges from classical, to classical, to a random oldies American Bandstand-type mix tape. Scrubbing in is like getting past the velvet rope into the hottest club in the OR, the sterile field. Finally, an impregnable wall of personal space! I like to wash three times, even though none of the attendings do; once to clean, twice for luck, and three times because the sponge feels so good.

Speaking of clean, my floor is currently littered with bits of egg shells. The Japanese diet, while delicious, is minimally portioned. I've resorted to supplementing meals, snacks, and afternoon coffee with hard boiled eggs.