These past two months on ambulatory medicine have been a stint of shameless sedentary sloth. My sessile summer was the consequence of having too many residents and too few patients in clinic. There ended up being chasms in time between seeing patients were we would all sit in the physicians' area checking email, surfing the internet, rechecking email, playing web Soduku, and seeing if we have new email. A highlight of the rotation though was the excellent teaching by the attending physicians

Being done work early nearly every day was great as well.

When preparing food products from animals, the good parts go to the wealthy consumers. Chicken breasts, beef tenderloin, and the like go to the rich guy who walks around smoking cigars in a quilted house coat with animal print slippers. The left over parts go to the rest of us trash - beaks, tripe, anuses and the like. The hours of the day at work are much the same. The best hours of the day are prepared for the consumer, our employers, and work. The ground beef and microwavable hotdogs is what we are left with at the end of the day. Yet, somehow these past two months, I have been left with healthy portions of high-quality bovine-like cuts of free time - Thank you God.

I ended up putting my chunks of rump to good use and frequented our city pathway routinely. I went biking 40km at a time and extended my running routine from 10km to 15km. The legs contain the largest muscles in the body. As a result, I can barely eat enough food to keep up with the increased basal metabolic rate of the extra muscle mass now. During clinics, I had to bring munchies and snacks to stuff my face with because of the perpetual hunger.

Alas, the feast of freedom ends this Friday as I go start my two months in the intensive care unit. Though with the dark storm cloud approaching, there is a glimpse of a glimmer of light that peeks through. One of the intensive care attending physicians used to be part of the military. He wakes up at 5am every morning and runs 5 miles, goes to work and runs the show like the residents are his army (in other words, really freaking well), then probably goes home and enjoys his evening doing whatever he pleases. He's Asian, so perhaps he plays Mah Jong or something. I shall aspire to be like this. If he can do it, so can I. I want some quality Mah Jong time.

The first step is to become more disciplined. The second step is to keep running and biking the same distances. However, I will have to flog my fat carcass of a body to accomplish the same task in less time. The third step is to enjoy the benefits. I know it is so cheesy, but cheese is so palatable on freshly microwave nuked hot dogs.

Okay, okay, so I am a day late in updating. I have kept half the promise, and have uploaded just over 150 new photos to the gallery.

I'm quite pleased with the most recent batch of photos. They turned out decent (though no where near professional standards). However, it is definitely the memories and experiences that add to them all.

Next rotation up is the intensive care unit. Two months of heavy call, heavy work, and becoming heavy. Well, as of right now, I feel ready for the ICU. I have experience running codes. I have done a large number of procedures. I have done a lot of reading and preparation work. From here on, I just work hard and leave the rest in God's hands. I also plan on staying in shape during ICU, which should be a fun challenge.

That's a lot of "I"'s in that past paragraph. Maybe I'm becoming self-absorbed! :) Haha, anyway, I hope everyone's been having a good weekend.

Thought of the day: Spiteful people are ugly. Let go and smile. :)

Photos / Michelle & Winston's Wedding (New Gallery)- go to section

- 50 New Photos

Photos / Hughie & Emmi's Wedding (New Gallery)- go to section

- 30 New Photos

Photos / Halifax (New Gallery) - go to section

- 13 New Photos

Photos / Coat Burning Party (New Gallery) - go to section

- 42 New Photos

Photos / Critter Gallery - go to section

- 13 New Photos

It has been just over two weeks since a real update.

I somehow feel compelled once again to prove that I am still alive. At the same time, I feel too lazy to be compelled to prove that once again, I am still alive. You will all just have to accept this text here as the truth.

I was recently put in a difficult challenge that challenged me like no other challenging challenge before. Or maybe I just felt like saying that. Be forewarned, this is another one of my crazy anti-social commentaries about the epidemic of obesity.

I was sitting in this clinic room with a lady, and it was a particularly difficult interview. She was very confrontational, very demanding, and thought more highly of her self than she should have. So essentially, she's probably like someone we have all dated before.

She commanded me to tell her why she had all these health problems.

She had bad liver disease, which caused portal hypertension, which caused enlargement of her spleen, and chronic bleeding from esophageal varices. She said that she's never had hepatitis and does not drink alcohol. I flipped through her chart.

1 - The first ultrasound said she had a fatty liver.

2 - The second ultrasound said she had a fatty liver.

3 - The CT scan said she had a fatty liver.

4 - The third ultrasound said she had a fatty liver.

5 - The surgeon's dictation on her gallbladder surgery said she had a fatty liver.

I politely suggested that PERHAPS she had a fatty liver. I also wondered why so many ultrasounds had been ordered. She was genuinely confused, and asked me how that (the fatty liver) came to be.

I took a good long look at her vital stats. At 80kg (about 180lbs), she weighed 15kg (about 35lbs) more than I did. Now this would actually be considered normal - if she was taller than me. And if by sheer chance, she was actually a he.

I then took a good long look at her. While being polite, how would I describe the root of the problem?

Fully full figured?

Exceedingly voluptuous?

More than usually rubenesque?

In the end, I told her that she "slightly overweight". At her height, obese was actually the proper medical term. She became very defensive.

"I've always been petite. I'm a small girl. I don't eat anything. Look at me, I'm not fat." She insisted. She was so certain of herself, that her perception of reality was the truth, and that I was saying was pure foolish heresy, that I believed her for a moment. She really was just like your ex. "There has to be another reason," she insisted. I had to repeat to her that being overweight was the most likely cause.

She was now livid that I suggested that she was fat. Sometimes the best thing to do when people are being irrational is to give them space, and leave them alone for a bit to settle down. Since I was done what I needed to do, I went outside to chat with the attending physician for a bit, and went back in with him. He ended up telling her flat out that she was obese, and that she needed to lose weight. She acted like her world was shattered and that we had somehow made her fat.

No matter how you sugar-coat and deep-fry what you say, it will sound like another horrific serial sequence of descriptors to the other person's ears:

Roly-Poly-Porcine.

Chunkily-Corpulent

Krispy-Kremed-Lard-Ass.

I am such a jerk. I still stand by the belief that we should make being overweight and obese socially unacceptable. Crack down on the problem like we did with cigarettes. If you try to convince anyone that there is nothing wrong with being overweight, you sir are out to damn everyone to a life of health problems and disability.

Anyway, enough ranting. I had a good day today, clinic ended early and so I went out and ran 15 kilometres.

There will be a major photo update tomorrow.

So since I put up the very stunning photo of Kiera Knightley with my last post, I will need to put up a counter-photo for the female audience of this page. Lest people think I am a misogynist male-chauvinist pig. I would like people to think I am an equal opportunist. Mind you, I am a male chauvinist pig, but as long as people THINK I'm fair and impartial, then I'm happy. *wink*

Above left is a picture of Colin Firth playing Mr Darcy, from that BBC adapation of a Jane Austin book, Pride and Pestilence. Mr Darcy, such a fitting and fancy name for a man who's always pouting...

He wants you to think he's dreamy.

Back in the real world, I am back in London, the vacation is coming to a close, and darnit I wish I had more time off.

The chasms that my wisdom teeth left behind are now only seeping out small amounts, so hopefully by tomorrow the perpetual taste of blood in my mouth will be gone. The other issues of course, are the big gaping holes, which will take a couple of months to heal up. I wish I were like Wolverine from The X-Men. Retractable metal claws. Unbreakable skeleton. Instantaneous healing. And of course, the ability to stick fridge magnets onto myself.

Today is August 9th, so Happy Birthday to my car, who is now four years old. She's got a few paint chips, but otherwise she looks brand new, despite my best efforts.

I just had the last of my wisdom teef extracted from my mouf.

Currently, the swelling is manageable, the local anesthetic is just starting to wear off, and there is only a touch of blood oozing from the empty sockets. I just choked down a can of ensure (now with fiber!), which was surprisingly tasty, like a chocolate milk shake full of the goodness of nutrients and such.

The only catches are: I need to fly back to London on Wednesday morning. I have two things to attend on Thursday (one for the car, one for a teaching session) and I have to be in clinic briefly on Friday. That and the swelling should peak right in the middle of all that.

The sucker for punishment that I am, I had my teeth extracted under local anesthetic. I had already had two impacted and sideway-growing wisdom teeth extracted in the past under local anesthetic. The previous teeth ended up being quite the event, with the teeth having to be fragmented, the local anesthetic not being quite adequate, and all the levering because the buggers were stuck in there real good.

This time, both teeth had already surfaced, and for the most part, facing the direction they should be facing. I give needles with local anesthetic to patients all the time. But oh boy, when you want to give needles to me, I get pretty jittery. Luckily my dentist's technique was excellent, and local needle squeezed its pain-relieving juices into my gums with only a mild tingle of excitement. The thing that I did notice, however, was the left side of my mouth froze up much quicker than the right.

So with my luck, when my dentist was testing for sensation on the right side, I could still feel it. I got an additional shot of anesthetic, but there was still some pain when she grasped the enamel armored critter with her pliers and began to wiggle it from its gummy roost. The little vermin was not going to give up its home without a fight. I ended up just sucking it up and thinking about the fact that childbirth is probably five thousand times worse. After a few minutes of wiggle-wiggle-yank-yank, I felt the visceral pop and relief of tooth-bone separation. Out came the three-legged bugger with a small piece of my skull with it.

The left tooth was much more cooperative. It came out in about one quarter of the time of the first one, and aside from some mild discomfort, was a fairly uneventful procedure.

Oddly enough, the left side, the one that came out without a fight, is the side that is giving me the most grief in terms of bleeding and swelling right now. That little bastard had me tricked.

Alas, I am making a big deal out of nothing. Thank God there has not yet been the scientific breakthrough for men to have babies. Also, Thank God for making Kiera Knightley hot.

I just got back from the wedding banquet (number two) a little while ago, and since I slept most of the day today, I've decided to update a couple of sections of the website.

Specifically, the profile page and links page.

That is all for now.

Now that I am finally back home in Alberta again, I can enjoy the clean air, polite people, and lower sales tax that otherwise does not exist in Ontario.

Don't get me wrong, most people from Toronto and Ontario are good people. However, I seem to have a knack for encountering people who think they are smarter, more sophisticated, and that their province is all round more über than everyone else's. Nothing lasts forever, and the fall from the top is always a big one. It will sneak up on them like old age befalling a pretty girl. Vancouver, Calgary, and Montreal are such perky hotties, Rarrr.

If I ever become good at anything, I will always keep in my mind that there will always be someone with better ideas, bigger smarts, and more all-round wang-power than I have that will come by and take my place. That is of course if I ever become good at anything, as I hold to the fact that I suck at most things. Besides, being the underdog and working your way to the top is always more fun than trying to protect your turf. Ever play capture the flag? The most satisfying moment of being king of the hill is when you first step onto the peak, after that you're a marked man. Turn the corner and BLAM BLAM BLAM, your grey matter is hemorrhaging onto the pavement, your limp body crumpled to the ground, and someone's going to take the flag from you. Press start to respawn and try again.

In the three days that I have been back, I have gone to one wedding, one engagement party, and I have another wedding banquet to attend today. Most of my friends have coupled up as well. What is it with all these people finding the love of their lives these days? Cupid needs to give things a rest or else there won't be any angst and lonely singles left in this world, and what fun would that be? Marriage of course is not the answer to all of life's problems. It is the taking on of all of the other person's life problems. When someone is only looking out for themselves and isn't listening to their significant other's concerns or problems, it is all over. The squeaky wheel gets the oil, but when you don't oil it, it rusts, falls off, and the ride is over. Of course though, with the three couples taking the plunge this weekend, I can see how well they work together and deal with things together, so I have no doubts that they will last.

Anyway, despite the cynicism above, I am actually in a very good mood. I love being on vacation. I love being able to run as long as I want every morning. I love seeing the friends I grew up with. I love taunting Ervin about his new girlfriend that he actually brings out to meet us. I love borrowing my dad's car (horsepower + sport suspension + awd = toying with the trauma bay fun). I am just feeling a little snarky.

The only thing I wish I had was more time off back home so I can get in touch with more people. Oh well, there is always next time.

A massive heat-wave has befallen our little town, and much of the region around us. With the humidity and smog, the temperature of 37 C felt made turned the entire town into a sauna. Were it not for my air conditioned house, air conditioned car, and air conditioned workplace, I certainly would be sweating and smelt like I was in a sauna.

A lot of people seem to take pride in "being able to drive after a few drinks" of alcohol these days. I remember back in high school and undergrad, the sheer idiocy of people bragging about getting trashed and then some how managing to drive home in one piece without being caught. The biggest fear of course, is not getting killed. The biggest fear is being busted by the police, because the police are out to get you if you are drinking and driving.

I met someone recently that had decided to drink and drive.

Now this person had a few drinks, and in conjunction with this person's "friends" decided to do some cool driving stunts. This particular stunt involved a ramp. Now this ramp was of course designed to be able to launch cars up into the air. The goal was to fly up into the air, over a certain distance. This certain distance of course was a ditch.

One assumes that this individual had a nice long open run up, revved up their engine, dumped the clutch, burnt some rubber and went full throttle towards the aforementioned stunt apparatus. I would also assume that they drove in a relatively straight line towards their goal.

This person of course had their car sail of the ramp at a perfectly calculated angle over the chasm, and does a beautiful landing on the other side of the ditch unscathed. This person's friends gathered around, they all hooted, hollered, and roared. They uncapped some more beers and toasted to their own gusto.

At least that was the plan.

The car hit the ramp, and flew into the air, as planned.

Then the car hit front end into the ditch, and flipped end over.

And end over end.

And end over end.

And end over end.

I am not certain if this person was even wearing their seatbelt, though I am not sure if it would have mattered. This person shattered most of their neck vertebrae, and had their spinal cord crushed.

This person, who is married and has a family, is now a quadriplegic. What drives people to do such things is beyond my comprehension. What compels friends to let their buddies do this? Maybe if this person was some moronic university frosh trying to get into some fraternity, it would make more sense.

Today I am very glad that I can move all of my limbs.