Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Honeymoon Cystitis or Sex is Not Free

In the good old days when sex ( ok, intercourse...sex is a lot more as we know) was delayed until the honeymoon, it took about three days for the new bride to show up with

or commonly known as an acute bladder infection.

It turns out  for women, that if you have sex, you will introduce bacteria into the bladder pretty much 100%. However most women don't get a bladder infection. They empty the bladder, and are fine. New brides had another problem.
The honeymoon period was reserved for newlyweds to invent sex.

After all that sex, the poor bladder gets overwhelmed and some women get HONEYMOON CYSTITIS. Ask cruise ship doctors. They have seen it all.

The evolution takes place with current sexual practice, which does not necessarily wait for benefit of clergy.

This is known as NEW MAN SYNDROME.

This presents as an unwelcome intrusion into your happy state of being after having clicked with a New Man. About a week later the bladder infection presents itself along with some strange odor "down there". You instantly worry about the dragon eggs prior lovers have graciously bestowed as a gift that keeps on giving.

For those of you who don't know about dragon eggs. A short aside. A dragon egg is something someone leaves behind to explode and catch fire after their departure. This is a phenomenon from an ex, a prior coworker, a relative, you get the idea. They are gone but not forgotten.

You scramble to see the gyn. She/he asks if there is a new partrner, at which time the lightbulb is visible above your head. YES you answer . Ah Ha, says the gyn. NEW MAN SYNDROME.

A urinalysis and std check is in order "just to be safe" and then treatment for the infection. A knowing nod from your gyn, letting you know that your new man is just that, new, and things tend to settle down, make you feel better.

So , for now, the notion that sex is free is slowly waning. You figure out he needs to wine and dine you, pay attention to you and perhaps wait some unwritten amount of time before he becomes your new man. You have various levels of upkeep, check ups, eyebrows, nails, hair and general gorgeous maintenence and make him wait the prescribed period of time. You get it.

Sex is not free.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

The Road Less Traveled

Someone asked me the other day what my GPA was in college. I answered  2.4. They couldn't believe it. "Don't you have to be a 4.0 or something to get into medical school? " they queried. Well, yes and no.

I did not go to medical school under the straight path that the US presents from HS to college to med school. In fact, I have a little axe to grind about that one.
In order for someone to have a 4.0 or close you have to do nothing but study. No social life, no tramping around the world to see its wonders and engage with its people, just nose to book seat of pants to seat of chair. As we all know those folks are so scared of not getting an A they will cut their grandmother's throat for a point. Fonts of compassion, and we wonder why the American public complains.

I was in college from 1967-1971. My papers said I was a biology major, but I secretly majored in MARCH ON WASHINGTON, along with hundreds of thousands of other people.

Three out the the four years I was in college, CCNY went Pass/ Fail in the Spring semester due to being shut down so often. This was the cauldron of societal change, and I was in the spoon! I was swirled this way and that, mixing, blending, feeling deeply about my cause to save my classmates, friends, and essentially any eligible male my age from being sent to certain death in Southeast Asia.

The day my grandmother, mother, and I locked arms down FIFTH AVENUE for a protest, now that was powerful. I didn't know whether to march under my college, church, or neighborhood banner. EVERYONE was there exercising our rights to let WASHINGTON know we had enough and wanted out of a dirty, pointless war.

Back to my story. I graduated in 1971. If you think the economy stinks now, try meatless Tuesdays, it was a national trend. We didn't eat grapes ( migrant worker sympathy ) or lettuce for a long time. Unemployment was 20%.

Now there were exactly NO jobs for a recent college grad that did not involve typing and answering telephones or waiting tables. And, the bigger your bra size, the better your chances at any job. I had been blessed in that department, so I got a typing job. And I was going to Grad school part time.
My 30 words a minute with mistakes were mitigated by my D cup and curvy figure. The boss ran me around his desk at quitting time a few times, but I had young legs and didn't get caught. It took me another 30+ years to figure out other girls ran slow and probably picked up a little extra in the pay envelope.

Grad school was an excuse for not knowing what to do with myself, so that was essentially a bust.

No boyfriend ( see above lack of available males due to draft ), and no real prospects, I spun my wheels for two years.

THEN ONE DAY, and I am NOT MAKING THIS UP, a young woman comes into the office where I am working relief at the reception desk over lunch. She is looking for a coworker who left the building but will be back later. We talk. She tells me how she is going to Medical School in Spain. Who knew?

Tells me, Ms. Gullible, that I can do this too! College is not a problem, all you need is a HS diploma!
Technically right, but not entirely truthful, I find this out 10 months later.

1pm, I march myself into the boss, quit my job, and grab the NY Times.


2pm, I have a better job, new lecher boss, but the money is more. I now work 5 days a week because I decide never to show up again to Grad School.

Fast Forward 9 months. I receive a letter in Spanish, a language I do not read or understand. I think it says I can go to MED SCHOOL.
I give the cat to my mother,possessions to friends, and my car to my brother. I board a plane for Spain, this also is not made up.

Arrive in Spain. Letter  actually says I can take the entrace exam in three weeks. I lean enough Spanish in three weeks to pass the academic part of the test. I flunk the Spanish for non native speakers test. School does not start for some odd reason until three months later. I retake test in three months. This time I pass the language exam. :)

I AM ADMITTED AND IN MEDICAL SCHOOL. Not just any school. This is one of the Universities that was around in the 1500's. I call that Tradition. It seems they are liberal about letting you in for the first year. Then the fun begins. You are weeded out during the process, and in the end the European system graduates about the same number of students/ year as the American system. Selection is different, acutally more democratic. Sink or swim, live or die. You get to be an academic grind for six years, but with some sanity instilled. First students didn't work, and workers didn't study. Choose one, so I could only study. They there were so many Catholic holidays where school was closed, you got a few breaks. Testing was done at the end of the academic year, a six week hellish round of final exams, so if you blinked somewhere in November you had a chance to catch up. No school during the summer, hey, its summer. It runs six years instead of four years, you are able to actually practice when you leave school. You can either be a GP immediately, or get a specialty after that.

I didn't come up for air for six years, but you know the end of the story!

So the next time you think the front door
to an opportunity is closed, try the side window.

Until next time................:)

Sunday, August 22, 2010

When the Tripmeter Resets to Zero

I had the opportunity to meet a new patient recently whose life had been turned upside down. This is a common occurrence, but since this was her first time, I took the opportunity to stick my nose in her business.

As a more experienced and wiser woman ( code for kicked around more, and OLD ) I let her know that life has simply pushed the reset button on her tripmeter. She is at Zero.

 Lots of opportunity at Zero.

Means you are no longer on the old path, but get to choose a different one. You are able to reflect, learn and sometimes avoid the mistakes of the past, and forge ahead in a direction of your choosing.

For too many people, they don't figure out this is the silver lining to their black cloud. They have choices, and are at a crossroad. They go down the familiar path leading to the same black cloud outcomes. I just simply informed her that the path she chooses, is just that, a choice. No guarantees, but the scenery changes.

Oddly enough, this seemed to give her some reassurance and help her in healing from being upended. Since my therapist pals tell me this is likely to occur 3-4 times in a lifetime, best to learn in round one.

So next time you come across someone whose life has been stopped or diverted, its' just that old tripmeter being reset to Zero.

Until next time.................

Thursday, August 12, 2010

No matter what, you will be a NEW BRIDE

Many years ago, my mother, the font of wisdom, told me that when I made dinner for my inlaws for the first time to make a chicken. "YOU CAN"T KILL A CHICKEN." she said. No matter how you make it, it always turns out!

Of course, I was going to make a chicken for my soon to be inlaws.
They drove up from Southern Missouri to Kansas City to join my indended and I for the trip BACK EAST for the wedding.

It was to be my first dinner for the in laws. The only problem was that I was scheduled to work the evening shift in the Emergergency Room, and I would not be there.


Thoroughly Modern Millie and Boy Wonder had purchased a MICROWAVE.
This was living. Dinners in minutes instead of hours! High tech for 1979.
I set the controls  with the delay feature for dinner to be ready when everyone arrived at my little apartment.


You guessed it. Rubber Chicken.
You could have ridden the damn thing back to NYC as a tire.

They had spaghetti my mother in law threw together from the pantry. New Bride syndrome in spades! And not even the bride yet. It's a wonder they didn't stop Boy Wonder from getting on the plane. I guess they thought somehow things might improve with time. I was actually a good cook, but had never owned a microwave until then.

OOPS. Note to self:
Don't try out a new technology, let alone a new recipe on guests.

Now I am the mother in law. My daughter in law is a great cook, but who cooks? All that matters is that my son is the happiest guy on the planet, and its all because of her. 

So for their first anniversary, I dedicate this entry.