Saturday, December 22, 2001.
When I
felt Baby Boy moving: December 20th.
Pretty soon, it's going to be bigger than GODZILLA! :
Rice Bowl Journals.
SURVIVAL MODE
A few Saturdays back, I was sitting in my room, playing my current favorite fighting game, Dead or Alive 3 (the only decent game for the Xbox right now, in my opinion).
Surprising myself, my favorite character by far is Tina (above), the blonde blue-eyed wrestler. I thought I'd like the other more exotic martial arts styles better, but she's my favorite because she makes me laugh with her bold directness. (And I'm not talking about her breast size. They've ALL got large ones.)
Flying body slams, clotheslines, smackdown forearm blows. And most of her throws look like really yummy hugs.
Anyways, so I was playing Survival Mode, a game mode where you fight off as many opponents as possible until you are eventually taken down.
The jean-jacketed Japanese-hapa girl, Hitomi (a real hottie), stunned me for a few hits, until I (as Tina) managed to catch her fisted fury and put her down.
There was Gen Fu, the honorable old master with arms like iron, but slower (arthritis and all) than Tina's leaping thighs.
The drunken master guy (a new character) frustrated me for a bit, but in the end, he was no Jackie Chan.
The lightning-fast Jann Lee (but you can call him Bruce) did his war scream and then his invincible Flying Kick like dragon. But I crouched like tiger. Grab. Twist. Next.
And so it went, until the doorbell rang.
On a Saturday.
I paused my game and peeked around the corner, hands still on my game controller.
Amy answered it thinking it was her sister, but it was the mailman instead. With certified mail for her to sign for.
I hate certified mail.
It is. Always. Bad.
The last (three) time(s) I got certified mail was from the hospital admini-starstation threatening to suspend my hospital privileges if I didn't sign my charts (despite the fact that my signature is already on every single chart page) ASAP.
But I just signed all of my charts that week, so that couldn't have been it this time.
Amy gave me the large envelope,
"It's from a law firm."
I hesitated. Opened it. And there it was, a 50-page packet. A lawsuit. With about fifty doctor's names on it.
Mine too.
I barely recognized the patient's name, but looking through the pages, I recalled the case. And the impossible and angry family and patient behind it.
I'm not giving details of course, but the person had suffered a severe (and unavoidable) complication from an elective surgery they had. This person spent the next five months going from comatose to walking, talking, and eventually leaving the hospital. I was assigned to her around month three.
We saved this person, quite literally brought them back from near-dead CPR-land. And yet, every doctor who ever met this patient was being sued.
The packet had scores of supposedly "breaks in standard of care." Ridiculous things that had no bearing on real life or real medicine (but might sway a jury ignorant of anything other than what they see on ER or Pet Emergency). This patient even left the hospital Against Medical Advice at one point out of stupid arrogance (not documented in the packet of course). Only to return shortly thereafter. There was even a quote from the social history saying how the patient was an avid God-fearing churchgoer.
What. The. Fuck.
We fucking saved you, I screamed in my head, throwing the packet away from me.
I felt gutted. The bad stuff had happened long before I ever heard of this patient and yet myself and dozens of other doctors were on that list.
"They target and name as many doctors as possible so as to get the most money as possible," I remember someone from the Legal department telling me once. Nurses and students are usually excluded because there's no money there, obviously (and thankfully).
I hated everything and everyone outside of the confines of my house for that minute. From the mailman to everyone who has ever said anything bad about a doctor anywhere.
I hated my job then. Everything about it. Even the TV and Xbox I could afford because of it.
Everyone was my enemy then. Harassed by administration on one side, so they can cut costs and save money. Harassed by patients who want to leave the hospital early. Harassed by patients who want to stay there forever. Sued by people who I helped bring back to life. Every favor or interaction or complication is a potential legality. This very website and any out-of-context quotes are a potential legality (and I can even name four journalers who are quite hopeful of that fact - no one I read/email though). I even heard a resident making fun of me behind my back for the first time, while I was sitting behind theirs.
Every patient who says they adore me, or how sweet I am, or how I must have a beautiful wife, or how they wish I could see them in the office (all of which was said this week actually) … they can all turn on a dime, for just that, a dime. I've heard the stories from doctors this has happened to. It's heartbreaking and dehumanizing and demoralizing.
Artists don't have to worry about some lying greedy fucker suing them all the time because life didn't work out the way they hoped it would.
… I calmed down, eventually. I was calm on the outside the whole time of course, but on the inside … I was still bruised and beaten. I went back to my stupid silly video game.
And for a moment it became more than a game. It was personal. Me against anyone, anything, computer or human. At least in this venue, there were rules and I could fight back.
The cute Tai Chi girl (she used to be my favorite) used those rules against me though and caught a spinning kick of mine and made me eat it. By the time I took her out, half of my lifebar was out as well.
Lastly, was the huge Russian martial arts specialist. Another favorite of mine, but not today. A grappler and one of the most difficult computer opponents if given a pause. He became a perfect representative of that law firm then.
I dove torpedo-style at him. Blocked. Fine, I thought, as I bounced off the wall to body slam him. Death from above, baby!
And missed.
Boot to my shin (I hate that). Uppercut to the chin. I retorted with two hooks of my own, the second of which was intercepted and broken with a bone-breaking crunch. Then he hammered my poor Tina into the wall.
I was frustrated like I've never been. This wasn't fun anymore. They were winning, but then again they always do.
One chance left, as I desperately tapped the buttons to get up. I got halfway there before getting slammed down again. Game over.
They call it Survival Mode, but ultimately, you never survive. You simply fight until you can't get up anymore, and when it's over, the game asks if you want to CONTINUE or QUIT.
Sometimes that's the hardest part of the game.
KICKBOXER Jr.
I was with Amy when she felt the baby move. We were watching Pearl Harbor (lacked the soul that Saving Private Ryan had) when Amy said she felt "bubbles" in her lower belly. To which I replied,
"THAT'S THE BABY FOOL!"
We put our hands there and sure enough, he was kicking, or maybe punching (like on the ultrasound), who knows.
Baby Boy seems to do that in the evening sometimes. I keep wanting to shake Amy's belly to get him to kick more but she is kind of against that.
THIRTY SOMETHING
My birthday came and went. I'm 31 now. I have been having an awful time at work these past few weeks, hence no updates.
But it did brighten my mood when my sweet Amy got me an M&M car!
My mom came over and brought dinner. She also gave us a microwave. Typical practical mom gift that she can't even afford. She said she wasn't going to buy it but the salesman told her it was good for cooking baby food.
To which my mom, who I often forget can be quite a smartass with other people, said,
"Do you think I'M going to have a baby?"
She bought it when he said he meant "a grandchild."
Then my mom gave me my real birthday present (and probably Christmas present as well, you know what I mean GG).
It was a big flat square thing. I opened it up neatly, trying not to rip the wrapping paper out of habit (mom used to make us save the paper). And I saw the back of some picture frames. I knew it, another practical gift. Picture frames. Great.
"Thanks for the picture frames mom," I said dryly.
"No, look on the other side," she said in anticipation.
I turned it over and saw beautiful Korean paintings in each frame. I was honestly shocked, and touched. I could hardly believe my mom did this. Or even knew me well enough to do this.
"Aren't they pretty?" she asked.
"They're perfect! Wow! Where did you get these?" I asked. I have had a hard time finding nice Korean paintings around here.
She wouldn't tell me at first, but eventually the secret came out.
"Your momma's smart. My uncle sent me a card from Korea a long time ago that I saved. It was half that size and had that picture on it," she explained.
"So you had it enlarged and framed? HAHAHA!" I laughed. This was much better than any painting she could have bought in a store.
"All the people at the copy store wanted a copy of it when they saw how pretty it turned out. So I let them make their own copies too," she chuckled.
"The frame probably cost more than the picture too," I was still tickled.
"Yeah, but your momma spent a lot of time on it, son. Getting the perfect frame, and the right size. Your momma has a good eye," my mom said.
"I know. It's perfect. I'm going to hang them up in my room."
My mom and Amy talked a little about the baby too. She laughed when Amy said she knew it was going to be a boy all along.
Then my mom pointed to the little figure surrounded by women in the painting,
"Do you see that? It's a little Korean baby boy."
"Hahahhaa!!" I laughed, speechless for a few reasons.
"I'm so proud of you son."
