out, out, damn spot (First, don't forget to check out the entry from the day before yesterday. More computer problems, so I couldn't post it the day of, and of course, I was working all day Saturday.) Another post-call morning. It actually was fairly well under control last night, no real sickies on the floor, and only three cautious admissions that will probably go home today. The hardest part of being on call, it seems, is working the whole day, staying through the evening, and looking up at the clock at midnight with the realization that you still have ten hours to go before you get to go home. I know I'm soft, since I'm a med student in New York City who's never had to take 24-hour call up until now, but regardless, it's tough to work through the night. Another bad thing is the grimy feeling you get from being up for so many hours without any good chance to clean yourself up. I've taken to cleaning off my face and neck with alcohol wipes, but those don't really cut it after a while. My kingdom for a shower. The past two times I've been on call, Joe has brought dinner for me to the hospital. Wednesday night it was sushi, and yesterday, he prepared a veggie stir-fry that he fired into the wok upon a signal from me that I had a free moment, soon afterwards running the meal over to the hospital so it would still be hot. We had a little picnic in the staff room, with stir-fry and rice eaten out of Tupperware, fruit salad, and little bottles of Coke, to which he added shots of vanilla extract to make Vanilla Coke. He's been really very sweet to me these past few days, and I've been enjoying myself. Though I had sort of steeled myself to not give in so easily this time, since the way he had been acting last week was basically inexcusable (we're engaged, for chrissake, and he decides on a whim over a commitment-panic-depression-filled weekend that he wants to call things off without even talking to me first--the hell?) but when he's back to being himself and so sweet and contrite and re-dedicated to our relationship that it's hard for me to hold a grudge. That said, while I don't exactly hold a grudge, I don't forget, either. I can't forget. And I have to admit, it's a little difficult to work up that same level of wedding-planning euphoria as I had pre-freak-out, knowing that he had ever gotten to the point where he was too scared to proceed, so much so that he actually called the photographer and the caterers in a flurry of panic to tell them that we were no longer getting married. (He has since un-cancelled the cancellation, but I'm going to be seriously embarrassed the next time we meet with these people.) I examine the pieces that we still have yet to assemble for the wedding--that is to say, everything besides the actually wedding hall and the photographer--and wonder for how long we can continue to put things off. Though he's now professing his desire to move full-steam ahead, part of me still feels--fears--that making any sudden moves will precipitate this kind of incident again. And, more to the point, I really am in no kind of mood to call florists and line up a band less than a week after Joe broke off the engagement, no matter how impulsive or ultimately transient a decision that ended up being. I can pretend that things are back to normal, but the very fact that this happened at all means that it can never go back to being quite like that again. It's a little like a spill on white linen--no matter how hard you scrub, the stain will always be there. But since Joe has really impressed me these past few days with his commitment to change (going to an extent that we had entertained in the past, but which with I never really expected he would follow through), my job will be to work on getting out that stain. And while I'm only rubbing at the fabric slowly and warily for now, the more time that passes and the more that I regain my confidence in Joe, and in our relationship, I'll start to scrub harder. I'll add soap. I'll use a stiff brush, really put my back into it. And with any luck, by fall or winter, the stain will be all but gone, and only very faintly visible to those who know just where to look. xo Michelle |
Sunday . July 7 . 2002 . 9:58am |
out, out, damn spot (First, don't forget to check out the entry from the day before yesterday. More computer problems, so I couldn't post it the day of, and of course, I was working all day Saturday.) Another post-call morning. It actually was fairly well under control last night, no real sickies on the floor, and only three cautious admissions that will probably go home today. The hardest part of being on call, it seems, is working the whole day, staying through the evening, and looking up at the clock at midnight with the realization that you still have ten hours to go before you get to go home. I know I'm soft, since I'm a med student in New York City who's never had to take 24-hour call up until now, but regardless, it's tough to work through the night. Another bad thing is the grimy feeling you get from being up for so many hours without any good chance to clean yourself up. I've taken to cleaning off my face and neck with alcohol wipes, but those don't really cut it after a while. My kingdom for a shower. The past two times I've been on call, Joe has brought dinner for me to the hospital. Wednesday night it was sushi, and yesterday, he prepared a veggie stir-fry that he fired into the wok upon a signal from me that I had a free moment, soon afterwards running the meal over to the hospital so it would still be hot. We had a little picnic in the staff room, with stir-fry and rice eaten out of Tupperware, fruit salad, and little bottles of Coke, to which he added shots of vanilla extract to make Vanilla Coke. He's been really very sweet to me these past few days, and I've been enjoying myself. Though I had sort of steeled myself to not give in so easily this time, since the way he had been acting last week was basically inexcusable (we're engaged, for chrissake, and he decides on a whim over a commitment-panic-depression-filled weekend that he wants to call things off without even talking to me first--the hell?) but when he's back to being himself and so sweet and contrite and re-dedicated to our relationship that it's hard for me to hold a grudge. That said, while I don't exactly hold a grudge, I don't forget, either. I can't forget. And I have to admit, it's a little difficult to work up that same level of wedding-planning euphoria as I had pre-freak-out, knowing that he had ever gotten to the point where he was too scared to proceed, so much so that he actually called the photographer and the caterers in a flurry of panic to tell them that we were no longer getting married. (He has since un-cancelled the cancellation, but I'm going to be seriously embarrassed the next time we meet with these people.) I examine the pieces that we still have yet to assemble for the wedding--that is to say, everything besides the actually wedding hall and the photographer--and wonder for how long we can continue to put things off. Though he's now professing his desire to move full-steam ahead, part of me still feels--fears--that making any sudden moves will precipitate this kind of incident again. And, more to the point, I really am in no kind of mood to call florists and line up a band less than a week after Joe broke off the engagement, no matter how impulsive or ultimately transient a decision that ended up being. I can pretend that things are back to normal, but the very fact that this happened at all means that it can never go back to being quite like that again. It's a little like a spill on white linen--no matter how hard you scrub, the stain will always be there. But since Joe has really impressed me these past few days with his commitment to change (going to an extent that we had entertained in the past, but which with I never really expected he would follow through), my job will be to work on getting out that stain. And while I'm only rubbing at the fabric slowly and warily for now, the more time that passes and the more that I regain my confidence in Joe, and in our relationship, I'll start to scrub harder. I'll add soap. I'll use a stiff brush, really put my back into it. And with any luck, by fall or winter, the stain will be all but gone, and only very faintly visible to those who know just where to look. xo Michelle |
