Mans Greatest Hospital – Dr. Plastic Picker
 

Tag: Mans Greatest Hospital

Our son’s old superhero cards I’m cutting out into butterflies.

February 25, 2021

by drplasticpicker

It’s 2AM and technically a new day. I had fallen asleep early as I was curled up in a ball, processing some work decisions I had to make. Medicine is hard. I’ve had to make some tough calls morally, and I made the right one. But I had to go to sleep as sleep is restorative. My daughter asked to read something to me, and I just did not have anything left. It had been a long day at clinic as well, supposed to end at 2pm but for me stretched to 5pm after calling local authorities to do a wellfare check. I hardly ever turn away from my children especially the youngest who was born so early, but I had nothing left yesterday. She quietly left and closed the door after I turned her away, and her father followed her to help her with her question. The handsome college junior , my college sweetheart Mr. Plastic Picker came back later and hugged me and told me to go to sleep. We are on the same career track and he has similar situations at work, so he understood my moral fatigue. We are a good team.

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One of my ornaments decorating a good friend’s tree.

December 18, 2020

by drplasticpicker

I wasn’t sure if I was going to log-in last night to the virtual reunion for our pediatric residency at Mans Greatest Hospital. I thought I needed to go for a run or pick up a bag of plastic pollution, but honestly the pull of seeing some old friends so easily without spewing carbon into the air was too tempting. So I logged in a few minutes late (not to seem too eager), and I was thrust back in time. Even without the glory of the marble facade of Mans Greatest Hospital, the tone of the meeting was the same as over a decade ago. A lot of older white men reliving their glory days and syncophantic individuals in their 50s nodding obsequiously. Politicing when so little is at stake. I sat and watched with a bemused Dr. Plastic Picker smile from Southern California as they huddled buried in snow. The older generation and the generation in their 50s all looked so cold in more ways than one. Messages of former remembered clinical glories peppered the chat box for all to see. Then finally, the breakout sessions which is the only reason I logged on.

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