do a good deed. . . hug your doctor

Holy cow! D has worked 5 AM- 8PM since Monday (on Wednesday he was home at 6:45, but on Thursday he didn't get home until midnight). Last night he was covering trauma call and the burn unit and didn't sleep a wink all night. He got home about 12:30 for lunch. . . . .then he tried to read to the kids (but pretty much fell asleep for a couple of hours). He settled down for bed an hour ago and DING!! the dreaded pager rings-- some man just had an industrial accident with sulfuric acid (who knows where he was working on a Sunday night?), so now he's headed out the door to the hospital. By my calculations, that is about 105+ hours at the hospital this week!

I am constantly blown away by the amount of work that is required by residents, doctors, and the like. Sometimes I get mad and say, "It's not fair. When do you get time off?" D replies, "If I don't help these people who is going to? There isn't anyone else."

I know doctors can be irritating, hurried, callous, or vague sometimes, but after watching D go through this, I just feel like we should give them a break-- they really have given so much of their life to others.

My vote: When you get a chance, thank your doctor for his hard work now, and the long hours he spent in training to get where he is . . . . maybe he'll/she'll appreciate it, IF he hasn't left the room to visit a different patient.

A Prayer in your Heart

Today in Primary, the counselor presenting Sharing Time asked the kids, "What does it mean to have a prayer in your heart?"

Eight-year-old Luke immediately replied, "It means you are always carrying around a spare."

Seriously?

Couldn't sleep last night so I caught a rerun of the Democratic National Convention. I am so sick of hearing politicians harp on each other. "I was right," "No I was right," "This administration. . . . blah, blah, blah."

I don't like to spend time with people who are constantly dwelling on the negative, so why would I ever want to vote for someone whose platform is riddled with comments about how terrible someone else is? Combine all this name calling with a bunch of puffed-up politicians patting themselves on the back and you have a recipe for me to change the channel.

For instance, I rolled my eyes when I heard this from Senator Biden: "For the last seven years the administration has failed to face the biggest, the biggest forces shaping this century: the emergence of Russia, China,India as great powers, the spread of lethal weapons, the shortage of the secure supplies of energy, food and water¸ the challenge of climate change, and the resurgence of fundamentalism."

Seriously, am I supposed to believe that Senator Biden has been thinking and planning to fix all these problems during the last seven years? He may not be a member of the current Executive branch, but as a US Senator, we haven't seen him come out strongly either (yes, the legislative branch has a 9% approval rating--even less than Bush and his old cronies). Few people were talking about Iran as a threat 5 years ago-- let alone Russia (remember, John Kerry was STUCK on the topic of Iraq and terrible place we had made it). Yes, perhaps the spread of lethal weapons has occurred in the last 7 years-- wasn't that the point about the war in Iraq (you know, to STOP the spread and use of lethal weapons (yes, yes, I know no WMD's were found, but please don't start on the war and what a mistake it was-- let's try dwelling on something that can be changed))? Yes, we are experiencing a shortage of supplies of energy--take oil, for example (last time I checked Bush got rid of the ban on offshore drilling-- don't tell me he hasn't addressed the issue whatsoever). And what in the world does the "resurgence of fundamentalism" mean? Tell me and we can decide if it is one of the biggest forces shaping our country!

How about a politician that sees a problem and instead of calling the other guy names, simply states the problem (quickly and without blame) and then provides a SOLUTION to the problem. How about a politician who is for REAL solutions-- not enigmatic promises for a better future? Give me some public SERVANTS that I can believe in.

I am quite convinced

that one part of eternal damnation would include endless ab workouts. Yuck!

Why don't things like THIS happen to me?

This is another reason why George Clooney is STILL one of the hottest men on earth. . . .

Back to School Blues and Embarrassing Moments, too!!

Since it is back to school time I felt it was appropriate to share one of my most embarrassing moments. And yes, you read that right, I said ONE of my most embarrassing moments. I have several. Here goes:

It was a lovely first-day-of-school on Westminster Campus (a great liberal arts college located here in SLC). I was excited for school to start-- it was my second semester teaching Clinical Microbiology so I felt like a lot of the leg-work for the class had been done the previous semester. A lot of my "new professor jitters" had been worked out and I was excited for a new class. I smoothly walked into class about 10 minutes early and several students were already sitting in their seats. A few looked up and watched me walk to the front of the classroom and boot up the computer and projector-- at this point I can see the questioning glances they send to each other, wondering if this little lady is their professor. You see, at 25 years old I am not the typical wrinkly-faced and boring science teacher. I have tried really hard to pick out a feminine, but professional dress and sweater-set-- hoping that my choice adds a few years to my age.

I quickly dispense with the before class banter, trying to assert my authority. "Great day outside, isn't it?" "Yeah, nice," a few people mutter.

"Are most of you pre-nursing students?" I ask.

"Yes," most everyone chimes in.

Some more students walk in. The students in front talk among themselves and ask me if I'm the teacher. "Yes, I am," is the quick reply.

The minutes tick by on the clock until, bing!, it is 10:00 A.M. and time to start class. I pride myself on starting class right on time. It is one of my 'things'.

"Alright, it is time to start. This is Clinical Microbiology or Biology 111, section 3, so hopefully you are all in the right place. I'm in the right place, aren't I?" A few people laugh, and I move on while passing out the syllabus. "This is a tough class and just because I'm a nice person doesn't mean that you won't have to work hard. Are there any questions?"

"How old are you?" I knew this one was coming.

"Twenty-five." I say.

There are a few murmurs and a woman says, "My son is your age!"

There are a few more questions relating to the course and the lab which they had to sign up for separately. After I explain the grading scheme and take care of the formalities, I boot up Power Point and get started with the lecture. This is college, classes actually mean something the first day.

About 20 minutes into the lecture, I realize there is a major problem: I have to go to the bathroom-- BADLY. This was 4 years ago, before Roger was born, and right in the middle of my exercise phase of life. I had gotten up at 6:00 A.M. that morning to run and had drunk a lot of water afterward. In the hustle and bustle to get dressed, the kids ready, and supplies gathered, I hadn't made it to the bathroom that morning. Now I was really feeling it. I look at the clock and it is 10:45. Class doesn't get out until 11:15. By this point in lecture I am dancing, yes dancing around-- not my regular, 'microbiology-is-cool' lecture dance, but a full fledged POTTY DANCE (picture your 4 year old watching their favorite T.V. program and they refuse to go to the bathroom).

After about 5 minutes, I give in. There is no way I can make it another 20 minutes. I figure that wetting my pants on the first day of class wouldn't be the kind of imporession that I want to make. I blurt out, "Okay, we're going to take a quick break. I've gotta go to the bathroom or you might witness your first college professor having an accident during lecture." A few people laugh and I high-tail in out of the room-- totally red. At this point I am wondering why I had to let them know why I was taking a break, but you know me, I can't keep anything a secret.

I relieve myself and walk back into class. I crack a joke about my potty dance lecture, and the students are laughing aloud now. We all have a private joke for the rest of the semester and sometimes I dance around the screen when it looks like someone is falling asleep during my riveting discussions. I never lived that one down, but I guess I should be happy that the students felt comfortable enough with me to joke a bit.

Thankfully, my 'potty' incident didn't show up on any of my evals at the end of the semester and the students were pretty generous--even though their 25-year-old teacher apparently had no control of her bladder!!

Week of the deadly B's: "buyer's remorse" and "bike bum"

Yes, I know you are thinking, "Hey, Camilla just used the words bike bum in her title!"

Yes, I know, I am dorky, but I finally found a way I can exercise with the kids: biking. The twins have learned to ride on 2 wheels this summer and are now getting confident enough that I can take them on the road with me. So, I've been loading Roger into the bike trailer and taking them out. I've never been real big on biking and I was painfully, yes painfully, reminded how sore a behind can get after a nice long ride (incidentally, sore bum is the reason I don't love biking). Anyone have any tips-- my tiny hiny (okay, not so tiny) needs your help.

On another note, D finally got his way and we got ahold of a Wii. I am experiencing an extreme case of buyer's remorse because I CAN NOT GET DAVIS TO STOP BUGGING ME ABOUT PLAYING--seriously he asked about 15 times during church today when we could go home so he could play. Why, oh why, did I give in? Two years ago I swore I would NEVER own a gaming system. I never imagined that I would be eating my words so soon. I am going to be setting some serious rules and limits tomorrow.

Curse those awful B's!

to dog or not to dog

I must confess, I am not an animal person. It isn't that I dislike animals, it's just that the hair and poop and barking and puking and drooling and meowing and sniffing get in the way of me ever really wanting a pet of my own. But, for the first time in my life, I can see myself as a dog owner--well, not really me as the dog owner, but Roger.

The little dude is OBSESSED with dogs and cats. He points them out at the park or across the street. Whenever the neighbor is out with his dog, Roger squeals in delight and runs across the street to say hello (fortunately there have been no cars and we are now aware that he will indeed take off if Greta (the dog) is in sight).

Well, my heart nearly melted this week when we visited a friend and Roger followed the cat around for a half-hour. This cat was so not cat-like--he let Roger touch his face and ears and he didn't run away when Roger laid on top of him to give him a hug. This family also has a few dogs--one is a rat terrier and one is that companion dog that you always see in the royal family paintings. I always thought I would be a big dog person-- but these little dogs were absolutely adorable. They weren't yappy or annoying and were very well behaved (usually that is NOT how I picture a small dog).

For the first time in my life I am actually picturing myself as a dog owner. When I hear D talk about his childhood dog with such fondness I can't help but picture my little Roger chasing a dog around the neighborhood. A dog just didn't fit with my other kids, but with Roger I can imagine it. Guess I'll have to sit on this one for awhile.

tough freecell game

For any of you freecell junkies out there, try game #10325 (assuming all computers are the same). It took me 4 tries to figure it out-- I was going to give up.

let down by the world wide web

I know, I know, I've got a serious case of Olympic fever as proven by this: I knew that the Women's Gymnastics Team Final was earlier in the morning so I was going to cheat and see who won, but after spending 30 minutes trying every search engine to see which team won, I am coming up with nothing. . . .guess I better go do something useful like, uh, watch my kids. Still, I am in shock that no one in the world has decided to spill the beans. The information superhighway is totally letting me down here. . . .

Man, I love

. . . . . watching the Olympics. I just watched the men's swimming 4 X 100 m relay, and I was seriously screaming when the Americans won. I just think it is so cool to watch people in so many sports who are at the top of their game. It's so inspiring to think of how hard they've worked. . . . but come to think of it, I feel that way after concerts, finishing a good book, and was even known to be in total awe after a professor's amazing research lecture. Human beings are so great. I'm so glad we're all different. I love being inspired by other people's greatness.

And now I'll be performing an Olympic task: folding my 5 baskets full of laundry-- hah, beat that!

perspective from a selfless five-year-old

Did I mention D is working nights (yes, several times, I know)? I can now officially say-- I HATE NIGHTS. He is supposed to be working 6 PM-6 AM-- but it is more like he rolls into the house around 9:00 A.M (6 days a week). He is exhausted when he gets home, goofs around with the kids for an hour, and then hits the bed for sleep. Do you know where this leaves me? TOTALLY NEGLECTED. I feel like my tank is running on fumes. What has finally done it to me is Roger. I think he's been sick for the last 10 days-- running a slight fever and running (that means his bowels). He has been so clingly and crying all day.

After braving the ward waterslide party last night (think carrying Roger around all over the pool while trying to help Davis and Eliza with towels, climbing up a gigantic inflatable shark to slide down and such), we got home late and exhausted. At about 1:00 A.M., Roger decided he was going to wake up and scream. I still don't know what the deal was--maybe an upset stomach? Anyway, at 7:45 A.M., he is awake and screaming. I am sitting in bed, hoping that D will walk in the door and rescue me and Roger-- but after 10 minutes, I finally drag myself out of bed to be greeted by the crying devil. He has now awoken the twins and everyone is hungry. Guess What? No cereal. No milk. No bread. And to top it off- the counters are covered with dirty dishes.

I snap. I give D the 911 page (emergency-answer right away!). And when he calls back I am half pleading-half yelling- half begging him to COME HOME!!! D begins to explain how rough his night was and I have no patience for it. I hang up on him. I tell the kids to get shoes on, we are going to the grocery store for doughnuts for breakfast. I am crying. Roger is crying.

As I pull out of the driveway, I say, "Guys, mommy needs to pray." I stop what I am doing and offer a quick prayer-- you know the kind whispered aloud to Heavenly Father complaining about your kids behavior in hopes they will hear your desperation (in other words, not really a prayer, but a complaining session-not a hint of the spirit in sight).

Then I pull out of the driveway. I am still crying, the twins are silent, and Roger is still screaming. I finally say, "Sometimes I wish Roger wasn't born so I could just be with you and give you the attention you deserve. I am a bad mom."

Davis acknowledges, "But, mom, we love Roger."

Then Eliza adds, "Mom, we will start Kindergarten soon, and you can be all by yourself and we won't bother you."

I felt like I just got punched in the gut. It is sad I got to a point where I needed my own little 5-year-olds to remind me that I wouldn't give up any of them for a moment of sanity. I was in awe at the selflessness Eliza showed by telling me she wouldn't be around to bug me soon. I felt like I just got a swift kick in the butt.

I apologized and amended my comments. I let them know that I love each of them-- even the screaming Roger and didn't want any of them to go away to school to give me more alone time. School was for them to learn about the world so they could be happy.

We got doughnuts and with some sugar in our systems, we all felt better. When I got home, D was home. He is now picking up fallen apricots with the kids outside and I am reflecting. Hopefully I can keep this all in perspective and realize that these hard times are fleeting. The kids will grow. Eventually Roger will talk and tell me what is wrong. Maybe through this residency journey I will learn to cool my temper better and handle these tough days. Here's to hope. . . . .

A tough night for Dr. Millar

D came home today a little discouraged (he's been on night float since July). First of all, he stopped off at the dentist to have two fillings (first appointment is 7:30 A.M.) so half of his face was numb. He was starving but was afraid to eat cause he thought he might bite his tongue or cheek-- man, having to see the dentist after a tough night-- just salt in the wound.

He had two laparoscopic appendectomies (lap-api's) that were really tough. He was operating with an older surgeon whose laparoscopic skills were not as polished or practiced (an old-school surgeon, so to speak). The first lap-api was a teen who had 'tough' anatomy. D could not navigate through his bowels and then ended up having to open him up to do a manual api. That frustrated him because he knew if his skills or experience with laparoscopic surgery were better (or the attending's) he might have been able to avoid cutting him open. The next appendectomy was a young mom who was at the hospital by herself cause her husband was home with the kids-- she couldn't get ahold of her mom. D felt bad for her. I guess they fire staples in some part of the surgery because D noted rather than the one staple which usually does the trick, she required more (6 or 7, I think) to close. He was worried that she might not heal as quickly-- which would just make life tougher for her in the following days. Again, he wasn't sure if the extra staples were something that could have been avoided.

I can only imagine how frustrating it must be to know that the one thing which you don't have-- experience-- is what prevents the most smooth outcomes. He is such a perfectionist and really struggles with this. The only thing that can cure inexperience is time, though. I tried to reassure him that I was sure someday he would someday be a great surgeon, but still, he worries. . . . .he's got a big legacy to live up to-- his father (a Duke-trained cardio-thoracic surgeon who has been asked to give training seminars around the world).

Such is life for a year 2 resident. . . . .

Title of "Favorite" goes to:

I know, I know all parents tell their children that they love them equally. I'm pretty sure I love my kids equally, but I have a dirty little secret: I have a favorite. Guess who it is?

If you guessed Davis or Eliza or Roger, you got it right.

I realized today that I cycle between liking one child more than another one. Sometimes my favorite earns the title due to an obedient act, sometimes it is a hug, kiss, or cute saying directed at yours truly. Sadly, I must admit, sometimes my favorite child is because they do something better than the other kid-- and I am not kidding (sadly, Davis passed his swimming level off, but Eliza didn't-- guess who I felt a little prouder of? Don't worry, he lost the title quickly when he took about 30 minutes to get shoes and socks on for church) Sometimes the title of 'Favorite' is more like 'Least Annoying.' To make matters worse, sometimes my favorite child on an outing is the one who looks the cutest or does something adorable that a stranger comments on(arghhh, pitiful or what?)

Do any of you other mom's out there feel like this, or am I totally the most wicked mom on earth?

The Fly

I think I have a fly that is following me around the house. Every time I stop somewhere-- it is there. It lands. . . . .It looks at me. . . . .I look at him. . . . . .I swat at it. . . . . .He nimbly escapes. I'm pretty sure he is laughing at me.