Rural town, USA

In case I bored you half to death with my last post, I thought I'd gift you with another more lively one to revive you, if at all possible. Or, at least to reestablish readership, after driving away 4 of my 8 followers.

I jest, I jest. But post I will.

The reason I have the aforementioned newfound free time that I do is that I am currently living in rural town, USA, population < 9,000, for my rural clinic rotation. I drove in early this morning, and it took me about an hour and a half to get here. I plan to spend 2-3 weeknights here per week, to save on drive time, gas money, etc. With my lack of responsibility and time not spent taking care of family/house/etc. I should be able to get a lot of studying done. I will spend weekends and 2-3 weeknights per week at home, because I simply cannot stay away from Julia that long. I miss Aaron, too, but at least I can talk to him on the phone... but Julia? Well, I just need to cuddle her. Staying here for an entire week just isn't an option with such a lovey toddler at home.

Anyhow, I am staying at the hospital here in town. It's really small and some of the friendliest people ever work here. The lady who gave me a tour introduced me to everyone we bumped into, and she must have told me at least 14 times that I was to come to her if I needed anything, anything at all. So, so sweet.

When I was told I would be staying in a hospital room, I pictured the hospital call room from my OB month... and I was dreading it. I figured I'd end up depressed or crazy by the end of the month, driven mad (or sad) by the wind howling through the chink in the window, the sterile tile floor, the paper thin, institutional bedding, and the flickering burnt out fluorescent light. But, wow, this hospital room is posh! It has nicer furniture than my house by a long shot. I'm quite impressed with this rural hospital's mad decorating skills. It's amazing what some color and carpet can do to a room to make it feel more homey. Our training hospital could learn a thing or two from this hospital about call rooms that make students and residents happy (or at least feel less terrified!).

My bed! It's a far cry from a rickety bunk bed or a hospital bed. Luxury!

Side table with alarm clock, coasters, lamp, and tiny plant. Hooray for oxygen!

That leather chair hiding beside the bed is pretty darn comfy.

Note the mini fridge/freezer and the flat screen TV.

Chest of drawers and my desk.

Even the bathroom is decorated! I love the tiles on the wall.

Pretty shower curtain and bookshelf with more fresh towels. Aren't loofahs for exfoliation? Won't be (re)using that.

Non-hospital towels = I actually will get dry after my shower. Hamper = free housekeeping once per week. Heck yeah!

I also think the quality of the room says something about how they feel about medical students, namely that they are valued. It is a strange and refreshing feeling to be so valued, especially at the beginning of the month when I have proven absolutely nothing to anyone here. The woman who introduced me to everyone from the IT guy to the nurses to the custodian introduced me proudly as "our student doctor for the month." Between the room and the introductions, I was feeling the love. Usually, I am a nobody in the world of medicine. But, in rural town, USA, I am somebody. I am, in fact, their student doctor. So cute.

Then, if I wasn't feeling loved enough, the hospital also provides free breakfast, lunch, and dinner to me in the employee break room. Lunch is standard cafeteria fare, served in a hot line (today: mystery meat [pork?], mashed potatoes, mixed veggies) and salad bar for all the employees of the hospital who wish to eat it, but breakfast and dinner are prepared only for the hospital patients and... me. At 7:30 am and 5:30 pm, the dining workers put out a tray in the empty employee break room, specially for me, carefully labeled with a note that says, you guessed it, "Student Doctor." It's pretty adorable.

I went to get my dinner tonight in the empty break room. Don't worry, I studied during dinner so I would feel less lonely. Just ask Belle from Beauty in the Beast: books can be friends.

Please try not to be jealous.

When I first saw the medicine cups of cheese and what I thought was green salsa on my tray, I figured the entree must be Mexican.

 
Wrong.

Okay, try harder not to be jealous. Envy doesn't become you.

It was a single hot dog. With a small bowl of canned chili. The green stuff was relish. I suppose the mustard and saltines made more sense with a chili dog than Mexican (but I wouldn't have been surprised, either if rural "Texican" food was accompanied by saltines and mustard). Also, yes, that is Jell-O and a chocolate chip cookie on my tray. I skipped the former*, not wanting to induce diabetes with my dinner, but I threw it carefully away rather than leaving it on my tray, lest the workers think I was ungrateful for my tiny, sugar-laden feast that they had lovingly prepared for me.

Not being used to the quiet simplicity of rural life, I, of course needed to live it up a bit and get out of the hospital for a little while tonight....despite the fact that there has been a pretty decent thunder storm going on (hey, just because they call me student doctor doesn't mean that I'm smart). I decided to do what anyone does when they first arrive in rural America. Go shop at a little mom and pop store Walmart. Yes, Walmart. I needed some cheap made in China plastic eggs for Julia for Easter. And some peanut butter, because the hot dog already seemed light years away. And some shampoo. And some Easter candy (in case the sugar/carb coffers dry up... duh).

So, there you have it. My day of rural medicine, without even mentioning medicine yet. I guess I could mention that we saw a ton of patients today and that I came to rural town, USA, population <9,000 to finally learn a clinic based EMR (electronic medical record) system. Oh, life, you are funny indeed.

*I accidentally typed "latter" here originally. Horror of horrors. I would never, ever eat Jell-O (of all things) and throw away a chocolate chip cookie. To do so would be to deny my heritage, especially my cookie-baking mother.