and sometimes we make it

I don't particularly enjoy reading laundry lists of what people did on their days. These typical "diary" blog entries are usually long, lame, and ordinary. So when I decided to jumpstart my blog, I made a pact with myself that I wouldn't write this type of pointless crap. But I think I will have to break the pact today. It's Spring Break and I must ramble. (So if you're like me, don't read this post)

Last week was ridiculous. Not only was it the week before Spring Break when every teacher decides to give a huge test before people check out and go on vacation, but it was also finals week for my calculus class. As mentioned many times (enough to bore myself) before, calculus wasn't going very smoothly for me (to say the least). I was planning on taking my final on Wednesday. So with a large glass of chocolate milk and cheese/crackers, I studied/relearned an entire term of Calculus from Tuesday around 8pm till Wednesday 3am. I get home from school on Wednesday to find out that my slightly ridiculous (sarcasm) calculus teacher decided to finally reply to my confirmation email from monday saying that the testing center (the one I was supposed to be at on Wednesday) closed at 4:00. Wednesday was the deadline. Previously described teacher was nowhere to be found. No email. No phone. After much frantic calling and not-so-nice thoughts, I gave up and hung around the house. He emails back at 9:00..."oh, I'm sorry, you can take it tomorrow." Long story short, I took the final on Thursday during school. I slayed the final. Checked grades today. I SURVIVED CALCULUS. Lots of stress, money, and sleepless nights later, I have two A's to show for it. ...and she lived happily ever after.

After thought: I just wasted 15 minutes writing this entry. And you (probably me again) just wasted 3 minutes reading it. I feel like this story just needed to be written down so I wouldn't forget the fury. I promise the next entry will be worthy of existence.

the end is near...

My life ended today. I took the SAT this morning and I feel like I'm going to vomit. And as much as I wish I could just kick back and relax now, I have a ridiculous cloud hanging over me at the moment; the cloud that is calculus. Sometimes I just want to erupt into flames. Because of my weekly calculus marathons (see "Calculus Saturdays"), I don't have any remotely close concepts of what I've been working on for the past, oh I don't know, ten weeks. Final on Wednesday. Prayers wanted/needed.


Lakers update: 52-13, tied with the Cavaliers for 1st in league (we own the tie-breaker).

TRAUMA

So I usually head over to Salem Hospital around 3:00 on Mondays to volunteer for about an hour, but I was running a little late today and parked/changed clothes (in the parking garage...super awkward if you're unlucky and someone pulls in next to you) at around 3:05. At this point, I'm fast-walking to the hospital (as a volunteer, it probably doesn't matter, but I hate being late) and just as I'm about to cross the street to the hospital, an ambulance with full-blown lights and sirens turns onto the street. Now I know that this ambulance isn't carrying like cuts and scrapes so I take off running. blah blah blah, and I was in the trauma bay within five-ish minutes.

Mr X is a 52 year old man with a long history of shooting oxycodone had run his car into a dumptruck and was suffering from a broken/shattered femur, tib/fib (open fracture), and was tachycardic.

We took him to CT (where I met this awesome trauma surgeon with a Southern accent who was hilarious; her last words as she left the case were "Well I'm going to operate, loves and kisses and all that shit.") where the orthopedic surgeon at SH discovered that he wouldn't be able to repair the damage (probably more than 20 shattered pieces just below the knee). So the trauma guys called for a transfer by helicopter to Legacy in Portland. When the helicopter came, we rolled the patient out to the ambulance and took the ambulance out to the "helipad" aka Mcculloch Stadium, loaded him onto the helicopter, and saw him off.

I hate what this sounds like, but it was an awesome trauma. People always think I'm morbid, but it's not the "trauma itself" that I enjoy, but the process of trying to save someone's life (even though this one wasn't necessarily life threatening). Not really knowing how or being able to help was really inspiring to me. I want to be the trauma surgeon that stays for the climax of the case, hardly charts anything, and leaves to go directly into the OR with another patient.