Saturday & Sunday, September 7-8, 2000:
First thing I ate when I got home: Bul go gi (Korean beef).
You thought I was going to say Amy, didn't you?
Number of times I lost this entry: Once, but that was enough.
What was ... The LIGER! doing when we got home? The usual.
Napping between meals.
Check the facts link: Other
Journalcon entries.
NOT QUITE FAMOUS
SLOTH
*BANNNGK BANNNGK BANNNGK*
Slam!
[6:30 a.m.]
Athena and I agreed to work out together in the hotel gym at 7 in the morning. Unfortunately I hadn’t been able to go to sleep until 2:30 a.m. due to pure sensory overload after the previous days events.
I showered and dressed and called her at seven.
"I don’t think I’m going to be working out this morning. I’m just barely waking up," she said.
Whew! I dropped back into bed, snuggling up to Amy. "Just for a few minutes" I said to myself.
Three and a half hours later …
"Are you guys still here?" Athena called.
Damn. I missed the first discussion about the beginning of the online journaling thing, back when you could count all the known e-diaries on your gonads. Amy wanted to sleep more and said to call her for lunch.
The second morning session was run by programming gurus, Stephen Deken and Columbine. Most of it went over my head, but apparently, Version 2.0 of Diary-X would cure cancer, AIDS, world hunger, and make me three inches taller. They both were pretty cool in a long-haired-I-hate-meatspace kind of way, but I was disappointed that Columbine wasn’t in a ball gown and parasol.
(Like I told Amy, I was probably the least computer literate person at the convention. I use FrontPage and I don’t know how to access my msn email account outside of my home. BUT I am hELLa BadAzz mOfO at Soul Calibur on the Dreamcast!!! … Hiyaaaaieeaah! Wooooo.)
RESCUE 9 – 1 – ONE DIET COKE PLEASE
"Amy’s not in her room," I told Athena as our group was getting ready to leave for lunch.
The room was empty. I figured she might have been in the gift shop buying a diet coke. No luck. I was walking back to the group when two EMS guys walked by rolling a stretcher. I tried to ignore it. (Sorry, I don’t chase ambulances or stretchers.)
"Look familiar?" John Scalzi joked.
Just then Pamie ran up to me and said, "I WANT YOUR AUTOGRAPH!!!!!!!"
... no, just kidding, actually she said,
"I saw your wife in the bathroom. Someone collapsed!"
We ran to the women’s bathroom.
My first thought was, "Wow, this place is clean."
My second and third thoughts were, "Where’s my baby and don’t forget to say CLEAR this time."
Amy, Diet Coke in hand, was watching over two EMS guys figuring out how to get an old lady out from under the stall door. The old lady was awake on the floor, barely coherent, her right arm paralyzed. Apparently she had collapsed on the toilet, landed on her hip, and freaked out about her wig. That’s when Pamie and Jan had seen her (I think) and called for help.
Amy was in the gift shop buying a Diet Coke when she heard. Amy, as she puts it, rolled her eyes, paid for her Diet Coke, and then ran to the scene. Note the critical placement of the Diet Coke in the sequence of the events.
"I had to take over since the hotel employees were freaking out. Then I had to calm down the old lady too. That’s when the EMS guys arrived. She probably stroked," Amy told me.
She was right. Right arm paralyzed, acting bizarrely (wigging out about her wig), slurred speech, sudden onset. Most likely a clot or plaque had blocked an artery in her left cerebral hemisphere, possibly temporal lobe (speech or behavior) or left middle cerebral artery distribution, shutting down her right arm and leg. Possibly a hip fracture from the fall.
Admit her to the hospital. STAT Head C.T. Ultrasounds, 2-D echo, watch pressures. Send her home with physical therapy and an aspirin. Case closed.
My contribution to the whole event was saying,
"I’m a doctor, need any help?"
It sounded so Hollywood-cheesy; I almost cringed, but saying
"I’m a Hospitalist, I deal with this acute shit on a daily basis before my morning bagel and chocolate milk,"
probably wouldn’t have sounded much better. Next time, I’ll say "physician."
We weren’t needed, so Amy and I left. Sometimes, it’s nice to not be needed.
"I’m so glad I didn’t have to do CPR and rescue breathing for her," Amy said, drinking her Diet Coke.
< subtle public service announcement o' the day >
"They just had an article in the New England Journal of Medicine about that. It’s no longer necessary to give breaths during CPR if it’s OUTSIDE of the hospital. Just chest compressions are fine," I said all scholarly.
[ This is because most people feel icky about the mouth-to-mouth part too and it really doesn’t help all that much and confuses most people. INSIDE the hospital, we just bag them with O2 masks or intubate them. Just make sure the person is "out of it" and has no pulse before you start banging on their chest. Save the blowing for more pleasurable activities. Now go save some lives heroes! ]
< / subtle public service announcement o' the day >
Jen Wade ended up leading us to the breakfast place. She and Athena waited for us to finish too. I had two bagels.
This sort of thing has never actually happened to me outside of the hospital before, by the way.
ALMOST USED TO IT
The reading session was interesting. I was curious to hear some people read their own words.
Margaret, a former schoolteacher, exuded that confidence that teachers do and read with great passion.
Patrick read an anatomically correct (not that way!) yet romantic piece about the paradox of love and biology. Listening to Patrick read was a real treat. Amy actually smiled in glee.
Rob read about the birth of his baby.
Dana ranted about why doctors should pay more for parking fees and how the evil medical community dumps private records and bio waste in alleys.
SCHISMPatrick and Dreama formed a circle of chairs for the next session. It reminded me of when I’m consulted to the psych floor and I see all the "crazy" people sitting in "group." More than once I’ve wanted to sit there and listen with them.
Dreama (a pseudonym) told how her journal had brought her trouble in person to the point of online exodus. Patrick wished every moment of his life could be documented or on cam. This is the session I would have spoken in if I accepted.
Dark and charismatic Carolyn commented that, as an advertising marketer, her public persona was a façade and she wouldn’t even trust herself face-to-face. Her true inner self could be expressed in her journal though. (At least I think that’s what she said.)
I found it profound and relevant to myself. I could never openly say or express many of the things that I do online, not even to Amy (although she can read about it). Superego and civility rule in the real world. Id and passion rule online. Which me is more real, though?
"People are always more civil in person," John Scalzi had said. The contrast between some online personalities and real life ones can be dramatic. Some people seemed friendlier as opposed to their militant angry online personas. Others, who seemed freely open and emotional online, remained much more closed off and inaccessible in person.
Even though I identified with Carolyn’s comments to some degree, I didn’t actually say anything. Guess which group that puts me in.
I was just counting my lucky stars to be the meat sausage in a hot Asian (Amy) and blonde (Athena) sandwich, see picture.
DANCING QUEENS
Her legs were straddled and gyrating against my thigh as the music pounded and the mist enveloped us. She jumped back and laughed when the sensation generated a warm mist of its own. Amy always does that.
By the end of the night, four of us broke off to go dancing. Everyone else wanted to stay in (read: watch pay-per-view porn) or go to the bar (read: hepatologist needs a new Porsche) rather than release their inner jungle cat-selves on the dancefloor.
The dance club was great. It had a large dance floor complete with booming music that you could recognize, lighting effects, and foggy darkness (read: less embarrassment for the straight guys).
I had a lot of fun, at least as much fun as a guy with his "FEET NAILED TO THE FLOOR" can have. Here’s what I was thinking while dancing with our group ….
… I wonder what Athena is thinking? Such cool grace. Every dancefloor (and virtual environment) should have a hot blonde in a red dress. Verrrry nice…. Don’t stare! Don’t stare!...
… What is Patrick doing? I could never do that and look that relaxed. He does have some rugged good looks …. Don’t stare! Don’t stare! Whew! Almost broke the 1-second glance rule. Oops, lost the beat there... make it look casual, yeah, I did that on purpose....
… Amy, my Amy. She owns this place. I love the way she dances. So confident while never taking herself too seriously. Hahaha! She’s so funny. We’re still like two kids with a crush on each other …. I wonder how long that lasts….
… (looking at girl not in our group) Baby got back! Nice cowgirl hat and pants. Silhouetted curves. Face in shadow. I have to draw that. Bigass boyfriend alert! Bigass boyfriend alert! Quick, hide behind Amy….
The second night ended like the first, with achy knees and drooping eyelids. We made our way back to the hotel and said our goodbyes in the elevator. Amy and I had to leave early Sunday and miss the last day of the con.
EXODUS
ME: "I think this bill is wrong. We get the journal convention discount."
DESK CLERK: "What convention is that? … I’m sorry but those rooms were all taken up."
ME: "The convention organizer said that didn’t matter. Her name is Dreama. (Oh, you'll be feeling the can o' whupass shortly, Miss Desk Clerk.)"
DESK CLERK: "I’m sorry. We don’t have anyone listed by that name. Do you know her last name?"
ME: "Um, no, it’s a pseudonym. I don’t know her real name."
DESK CLERK: " …."
AMY: "Why don’t you call Ryan?"
ME: "Forget it. He’s probably at the morning session. Great. Let’s just get the hell out of here."
Outside the hotel ….
ME (to Amy): "I’m glad we didn’t tell them about the busted sink in the bathroom now. Bastards."
The cab to the airport was quiet. The plane ride (a real plane this time) was smooth. And someone got their wish about doctors having to pay more.
SAPPY DISNEY ENDING ... or Who Died This Time?
Blah blah blah, I’m glad I went. I wasn’t sure at first, but in the final decision there were a few people I wanted to meet and thankfully I did. I had no fear of being mobbed or ignored. I hardly knew anyone on the guest list and I assumed they hardly knew me, other than "that doctor journal" maybe. I knew Amy would be with me. So frankly, the plan was to sit in back and look and listen.
I would have liked to talk to some people more like Michael Hardy or Ryan or Dreama or Patrick, but for whatever reason it didn’t happen, even though I had plenty of opportunities. Par for me.
The people I did meet I will look at in a new way. Kerry was a lamb and Shelley was a tyger. Ryan the panda, and Dreama, a bear (the teddy kind). Jen Wade was that ephemeral will o’ wisp guiding us. Molly reminded me of a dove for some reason. And Athena was a friend the entire time.
The hardness of a lit monitor screen, even a journal, often doesn’t show how soft and fragile those people still are. A furtive glance of insecurity, or dimples of enjoyed company, or that shoulder slump of vulnerability; all lost between cam pics and letters on a page. This convention was a reminder of that.
AMY: "Some of those people were really weird."
ME: "They all are baby ... and I have something in common with all of them. Now that’s weird."
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