Marisa Valentina and the No Good, Very Bad Day that Eventually Got a Little Better

So, I’ve been considering re-starting my bloggy blog for a while now. I had discontinued the former edition (for those of you that recall) in pursuit of bigger and better things, mainly being big kid life, in the hopes that “better things” might be more straightforward, less deserving of cynicism/sarcasm, and less apt to random epiphanies, but at long last….it turns out things are pretty much the same. Well, except for the fact that as a big kid, I can now call myself ma-toor (said as spelt) and that feels/sounds fairly impressive, yes? Yes.

As such, I have been waiting for something life altering and bloggy blog worthy to occur, at which point I might unleash my pent up bloggy bloggedness with the appropriate amount of vigor. Unfortunately, no such luck. Turns out big kid life is rather dull.

And so, I bring to you today a blog of less than epic proportions.

It was a day unlike any other. Wait. Stop. Scratch that. It was a day rather worse than most, in which I fell out of bed late, left the house with hair that looked suspiciously like electrocution, and spilt coffee down the front of today’s first pair of scrubs, only to make it to work and be swiftly and succinctly ripped a new one by a patient nearly quadruple my age, on a Monday before any of the aforementioned spilt coffee had been ingested (apparently, the caffeine only works if it makes it INTO your stomach, rather than being spilt over it). So, yes. It was a day that for all intents and purposes looked like it was going to majorly suck. And it did. Make no mistake.

The difference in today was, I got the medium sized soup.

Trivial? Perhaps.

Life altering? Definitely.

Edible? On the fence.

You see, most days, I get a small soup. And a small soup takes exactly two ladle-fulls of soup to fill with the designated soup ladle.

But today, I was feeling particularly outgoing and chubby wubby, and found myself ladling a medium soup, which one would expect would be either exactly three or exactly four ladle-fulls of soup. Well, one would be wrong, and rather disappointed, because what actually happens is that after three ladles, the bowl is not full. And after four ladles, the soup is spilling over the side and onto today’s second pair of scrubs. Which takes me to the conclusion that medium sized soup bowls need approximately 3.25 ladles to be full. What an ugly number. Pew.

And thus, my day continued this trend in which, the answer was not yes, and it was not no, but it was maybe. The patient was not sick, and not healthy, but “feeling funny.” The glass was not half full, nor half empty, but feeling ambiguous. The color was not black, and it was not white, but grey. And we all know there are at least fifty different shades of grey to be had, which is 49 shades far too many.

You see, I find myself in the hospital, because I enjoy medicine. I enjoy medicine, because I like science. I like science, because science is comprised of facts. And I like facts, because they are definitive. None of this grey, maybe, feeling ambiguous, 3.25 ladles bullshit. They just are. And that makes life peaceful; knowing what is, and what is not.

As children, we are taught in ultimatums to prevent confusion with the thousand different scenarios in which said ultimatum may not be true, and protect us from the one scenario in which it may be dangerous. For example, “Never accept candy from a stranger.” Umm, hello?! Halloween, parades, front desks of doctors offices, etc.

Then, as we grow older, we realize the truth is that there are almost always exceptions to the rule one way or the other. We use things like “benefit of the doubt,” “almost always,” and “from my perspective” to support the sweeping generalizations we hold dear to us, but the reality is that like life, these are not certain.

Rather, each “fact” is only definitive within a specific set of parameters, which means that as far as yes or no, black or white general statements go, facts are not definitive at all, but rather our weak attempt to reign in, and control the completely ambiguous chaos that is life.

My point? Life is unpredictable and precarious at best. Everything about it reeks of ambivalence. You could think one way is up, and the other down, but essentially up and down are relative terms to a predefined axis. We, as humans, try to define and put labels on wherever possible, because it gives us the illusion of being in control, when in fact (see what I did there?), our preconceived ideas are busting out of their predicted seams at every turn.

And so, it is with both great distress and great relief that I admit that despite my OCD, science/med student, want to label the shit out of everything tendencies – it takes too much energy to control something that doesn’t want to be controlled.

Life is going to happen. The pieces are going to fall wherever they may fall, and when they do, we will do our best to handle them on a piece by piece basis. But the idea that we are the tetris master of life keen on regulating the correct location and position in which they should fall? Leave that for someone else, some other day.

Today, just worry about you, and all of the coffee and soup you have all over your scrubs.

The End

P.S. Dogs in tutus. Just because.

Just Because

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