(Two freaking YEARS ago…)
I was a wee baby hospitalist. I was finally “not a resident”, but still too intimidated to actually EAT in the doctors lounge. I had also just finished my first real season of derby, where I actually made rosters and scored points.
The not-blogged about fact what that my husband and I made the agreement to “stop not trying to have a baby… but y’know, after the holidays.”
I was pregnant by February. 🙂
So 2013 was the year of learning new skills: in the first half of the year, it was how to professionally exit a patients room in order to go vomit, and doing my level best to come up with reasons why I had to miss 6 weeks of derby practice.. “Oh, y, know… work…” Later, it became how to scoop up Derby girls from the track and intubate patients even though I had… well, a person in the way.
With our beloved Bone Collector temporarily relocated, I filled in at the team’s medic for the season, still attending practice when I could and watching my fresh meat class grow. 🙂
Happily, I birthed a healthy baby girl in November, enjoyed my holiday maternity leave and even got right back on the hospitalist horse 5 weeks later. (I may have cried and eaten leftover christmas cookies in the office for a few of the mornings… but I got back to it!)
And of course, returning to derby! The excitement was building. After months of keeping all manner of hormonally boosted emotions bottled up – AND no booze, I was certainly ready to “hit a bish” as we say on the track.
My first practice back, I pulled myself out after an hour because I couldn’t do one of the drills in what I felt was a safe manner – seems that gestating does take a bit out of your endurance and cardio status.
So imagine my surprise when at the next practice, I fall and break my ankle doing a totally routine, no impact, low speed, fresh meat drill.
FUN FACT: You lose a significant percentage of bone density while post-partum and nursing. Guess when I learned that fact?
Yeah, it sucked. When I am old and sharing stories with all the other old demented ladies at the nursing home, I’m sure I will repeatedly tell the tale of how I broke my leg and was non-weight bearing for 6 weeks with an infant at home, in a two story house and a husband that worked 24 hour shifts. (And still going to work! And nursing! For every woman who’s weighed whether she can have a glass of wine between feeding sessions, I learned how to stretch out a Lortab like a champ…)
Thank God for my parents. For serious. Especially because my orthopod nixed my plan to just deposit Diana in the little basket in the front of my three wheeled push scooter.
And where does that leave us now? Well, my good reader – now that I have finally come to grips with the guilt that defines almost every working mother (see future post “You HAVE to shower” for details). I’m starting to train back up.
And I’ll tell you about how I actually talk to other attending physicians now. Sometimes I even call them by their first name.
Except for Dr. R. Because I suspect God himself wouldn’t call someone that badass simply “Jim.”