What's with all the belly taps?

3am, and here I sit in the lab. For the third time tonight. Exhausted, but this is the job. Tonight's weird, though. I'm on my third call and this is the THIRD abdominal fluid analysis I've had. That's 2 more than the total number I've done since I started working here 15 months ago. Why? There's no pathologist on duty, obviously, so unless something is glaringly wrong, I won't be able to tell them much. Blech. Plus, I didn't get to go to the Roller Derby as planned tonight since all the horses in Fort Collins chose tonight to colic. Boo.

Going back to bed now.

Pity Party

Warning! This post is really weepy and bitchy. Come back next week for more playful banter.


I am struggling today. Not due to the academic rigor (though we do have another monster anatomy exam tomorrow) but to the strain of trying to balance SCHOOL, work, and life. So, here I sit – a drawer full of disarticulated dog skeleton on the desk beside me, and wonder, what the hell am I doing? Woke up this morning to a loud “I love you” from our sweet baby daughter. To my husband. They were deep in discussion on whether Oliver was ever going to grow up to be her big brother like Caillou. I’m used to being ignored by my son – he’s been a daddy’s (and now nanny’s) boy forever, but Ellie was supposed to be MINE for a little longer. No one noticed as I slipped out of bed and into the shower. Downstairs, the rest of the family happily prepared waffles (none for me, obviously. I was already on my way out the door). No crying for mama as I went for my bike (a good thing). Nobody waving goodbye at the window (a decidedly NOT good thing from my perspective). Hubby’s got it all worked out so that instead of shuttling me around, he gets the car on his days off and switches the bike out for me while I’m in class so I don’t have to ride home at 10pm. Convenient for everyone else, but it means that we’ve effectively eliminated the extra few minutes in the morning and night that I used to get to see the family. I am not a happy mommy.

On a happier note, today we decapitate Pinky! Then we saw her head in two so we can see the insides! Yay! That means an extra intense dissection with my favorite lab partner, who, I swear to God, is doing his best to ensure that I end up in a mental institution twitching uncontrollably by 2015. Look, dude. I realize that you think you are the most brilliant vet student ever to grace the hallowed halls of CSU, but let me remind you – I got into vet school, too. On my first try. With no previous science background. And I happen to know (since you kindly leave your graded exams face up on the desk beside me) that I’m actually doing better than you are. Except I can’t SAY any of this, because, Goddammit, I am the grownup here. Well, not here, on this blog, obviously, but in the real world. Alright. Time to rally. These bones aren’t going to name themselves. Peace, y’all.

Whew!

People have been terrified around here lately. Until recently, I was too. You see, today was the first "real" exam for vet school - anatomy! Sure, we've had an online quiz here, a scantron test there. But anatomy - well, anatomy is the biggest, scariest part of the curriculum for first year vet students. Thousands of insignificant looking scraps of flesh completely mangled by novice dissection, all with similar sounding Latin names that we have to MEMORIZE because, apparently, it's IMPORTANT. What's that thing? The lateral dorsal metatarsal nerve. What's that thing? A scrap of basically useless connective tissue. Looks EXACTLY the same. People have been publishing small novels of notes based on the objectives for the first unit of class. Weary 20-somethings have been stumbling around the cubes with bags under their eyes, proudly proclaiming that they had been in the lab until 3am every night this week. I suppose it's not terribly surprising. Get 138 over-achieving type-A personalities together and tell them that they will, gasp, be RANKED against one another, and what do you expect? I'm not going to lie. I’ve got that same competitive drive as everyone else here, but I also have something else. Priorities. Kids. A husband. An entire OTHER graduate degree program. So, what happened? I decided to just chill. There is just no way I am going to be in these cubes studying until all hours of the night. I’ve developed some pretty efficient studying techniques, and as long as I stay on task throughout the week, I can only hope that it will be enough to get me through. If I don’t know the material by test time, no amount of cramming until the hours of the morning before the exam will save me. The test is over now and, on the off chance that some kid from my class who missed the exam is reading this, I will not divulge anything about it.

But I’m smiling. :)

In other news, I’m famous! Take a look at the nice little article the college did on me.

http://www.cvmbs.colostate.edu/ns/pubs/einsight/2011/september/throckmorton_amy.aspx


Next on the agenda – exam in Finance this weekend, exam in Physiology next week. Taking the kidlets bowling tomorrow. Life is pretty sweet right now.

Vet school is awesome!

Awesomely challenging. Awesomely exhausting. But mostly, awesomely disgusting. I mean it. Every day I think to myself, "There cannot possibly be anything more distasteful in this world than that last lab", and then tomorrow comes. Now let me tell you, despite my performance background, I am not a girly girl. I know how to put on false eyelashes and prance around in heels and fishnets (man, that sounded bad if you don't know me. I used to work for Disney), but now that I don't have to, you're lucky to see me with hair combed or matching clothes. I've lanced pyometric uteri and sebaceous cysts, and LOVED it. That said, our latest challenge - joint dissection of a "fresh" dog pelvic limb, even turned my rock hard (though, admittedly, vegetarian and suburban) stomach. Now, notice I put "fresh" in quotes. By "fresh", they mean, "not embalmed". Our leg - couldn't bear to name this one - was a chunker. Unfortunately, what we gained in more visible arthrology, we lost in palatability. By that I mean - fat dog legs don't freeze well. So...well...I'm the first to admit - I have an extremely limited background in anatomy, but muscles aren't supposed to be green-black and smell like satanic warriors composed of burnt baby poop and natto are actively stabbing the very core of your soul...right? ew. The good news is - it has never been easier to stick to a diet. One flashback to Friday at 3:00 and I'm anorexic for another 8 hours. The bad news is - they were right. Vet school isn't all playing with puppies and kittens.

Now, after my last few posts, you may be thinking, "Wow. She really hates vet school!". Au contraire, mon ami! Since I actively gave up performing, I've been sort of listless. Though I can't say that I'm as confident as my 137 classmates (maybe 136 if you count Rohit - Happy Birthday, BTW!) that vet school is exactly what I should be doing, I haven't been this focused in a long time. That left brain I'd neglected for 20 years is being put through it's paces, and, I'm glad to say, is (seemingly) going strong. I miss the kidlets terribly, but I feel like I'm much more focused on them in our short hours together than I was when we had all day, every day. Instead of trying to distract everyone so I can get something done, I try to leave some housework to the poor hubby and play a little. Of course this means we're living in filth, but it's a trade off I'm willing to make. Also, interestingly enough, I'm finding that I really like histology! Maybe it's just having spent the last year in the Clin Path lab, but I feel considerably more comfortable around microscopes and cells than most. Take THAT, Mr. MS-in-toxicology-and-am-therefore-your-ultimate-superior child! Of course, it may be that our 60-something professor who has had enough work done (admittedly pretty good work - we wouldn't have guessed if a much older looking doctor hadn't let slip that said Histo prof had actually taught HIM) to merit the name "Cruella", uses a bull penis as a pointer and makes sexual innuendos daily. Awesome. I think, as long as I just accept that life is now 50hr/wk school plus 15 hr/wk studying (way less than recommended, but until I flunk exam 1, I'm sticking with it) plus 10-20 hr/wk work (mostly at night, so deduct from sleep time). Depending on sleep, minimal grooming, bike transport to school/work, and housework, this still leaves me a little time to love on everyone (hubby, babies, pets, etc). Now, enough of this nonsense. Back to the notecards!

Grrr...

I have to say - I'm a little annoyed by vet school this week. Let me preface this with the following TRUE FACT! I will leave CSU with a STAGGERING $150K (at least) in student loans. That's a whole new mortgage on my BRAIN (thanks Liz). Let me give you ANOTHER TRUE FACT! CSU (despite being the #2 vet school in America) is, by far, the cheapest option out there for CA vet school hopefuls (at least with the squirrelly in-state tuition you get with the combined MBA/DVM program). Nevertheless. That is a big fat wad of cash. For the equivalent of a new home, I had hoped to get a great education - and I may still. But not this week.

It all started with "the cubes (B-H)". Incoming first-years into the PVM program are assigned a "cube" to, basically, live in for the year. It is supposed to be a quiet place to study with all the requisite materials (textbooks, microscopes, slides, skeletons, et. al) for a successful year. However - they built these cubes many moons ago, when the CSU PVM class was considerably smaller. Today's larger classes necessitated an increase in "cube" space. Sadly, none was to be had. Therefore, those of us with last names from T-Z (heretofore deemed "the redheaded stepchildren of CSU Vet Med") were relegated to the dreaded Cube I. The "normal" cubes boast such luxuries as separate desks with bookshelf space above, corkboards, outlets, drawers, filing cabinets, private microwaves, coffeepots, and fridges, and, let us not forget, the social atmosphere involved in having a "home" with 12 other cubemates. Cube I, by comparison, is split into two separate broom closets with a long row of folding tables. Our microwave outside the cubes has been designated the "overflow" microwave for all the spoiled little Early-Alphabetical brats. I want to nuke my Koshari, dammit!!!!

But that's just the cubes.

No biggie.

Hell. I even pimped mine out with a thousand baby pics and blinders to the other poor saps of Cube Ia.

I can deal with the cubes.

XXX-DON'T READ IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED BY DEAD DOGS - XXX

What I can't deal with (considering my incredible fiscal investment), is Pinky. Pinky is our canine cadaver for anatomy (before you get grossed out - let me point out that there are undergrad children dissecting honest-to-god HUMAN remains in the the same lab. Dogs are gross, but the fact that the same kiddos we just saw on the news at the MEGA-BASH are now dissecting what could feasibly be my grandparents' remains (both donated their bodies to science) is way creepier.) But back to Pinky. She was named for the incredible amount of pink latex on her fur. Turns out, she had some problems in the embalming process. I've rewritten this paragraph a number of times, but, to be as delicate as possible -Pinky has issues. Her arteries were supposed to be filled with pink latex for easier identification of arteries. Didn't work. Instead, her femoral artery exploded and filled her entire pelvic limb (our current area of study), with a bunch of neon pink crap. Can't see anything. Can't find anything. She's been leaking blood and propelyne glycol all over the place and is now a disturbing spongy/wet texture. Ew. On top of that, I have a crazy-ass type-A personality ( basically me 10 years ago) who didn't get into vet school on the first try and took this course last year as part of his "Plan B" major in my dissection group - prancing around and snapping at the rest of us because we don't already know this stuff. GRRRR!!!!!

GRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!


Ok, I'm done nowrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!

OK. REALLY done now.

Thank God for both my miserable forced bike-to-work policy (no car. grrrrr....) and my new weekday gym policy (also grr, but no one to blame it on). Gets out enough frustrations that I don't beat the kidlets if I see them - not today :( . I bet in 2 weeks when the moon is on the rise (fall - whatever is opposite from here), I'll be a happy camper. Love to all! Really!

Vet school - It's official! Week 1.

Blog. Blog. Bloggity-blog. As I have started telling my dumbfounded classmates, when I was in high school, we didn't have the INTERNET! I learned to find library books via the Dewey Decimal system! Nevertheless, it's a new era, and if I want my narcissism to truly bloom to it's full potential, I must have a blog. In the very unlikely event that you are not related to me (mom, skip to paragraph 2), let me orient you. I am a singer. I sing. Sometimes I act or dance, depending on what the gig requires. A few years ago, I married and decided to procreate. As it turns out, the nomadic existence I called "life" was not terribly conducive to parenthood, so I decided to go back to school to be....a veterinarian! "Why?", you ask. "Hell if I know", I reply. I like animals. I'm good at science and, weirdly, excellent at school, so, why not? I moved from the lovely warm bosom of California to the frozen tundra of Colorado a year ago to begin the combined MBA/DVM program at CSU. (If you think that's too many acronyms, read no further. Apparently, vets refuse to use actual words if they don't have to.) The first year of the program is comprised primarily of business courses, but the real work begins year 2. That's where I sit today. Year 2 of the combined program - Week 1 of the actual PVM (professional veterinary medicine) program. This blog is intended to inform my long-suffering parents of what the hell their seemingly bright child is up to now.

Week One - I Survived!
My classmate Anna told me to celebrate the minor victories, so let's raise a glass to not having spontaneously combusted yet. I've gone from watching MBA courses online at double speed with Barney blaring and whining toddlers demanding pickles every five minutes to actual SCHOOL. It started Monday when poor Brandon (the also long-suffering hubby) chauffeured me to the gym, printer's, and class all before class began at 8. Anatomy. Histology. Physiology. Radiology. Foundations (a new course designed to teach us basic clinical and surgical skills early on so we're proficient when we begin clinical rounds in 2 years). So far, I think the dean was right when he said that vet school classes are not, in and of themselves, terribly difficult (and this is coming from someone whose undergraduate education included pretending I was a lizard). The difficulty is the VOLUME of information we must learn. Veterinarians must understand every aspect of medicine -internal medicine, surgery, dermatology, ophthalmology, dentistry, orthopedics, radiology, oncology, pathology, etc. etc. etc. - but for every species! And we get paid WAY less than human doctors (why did I do this, again?). It's, as they say, "drinking from the fire hose". Week one is a good example. By Friday we had to learn the bones and musculature of the pelvic limb and all their features (on our own), begin dissection of our dog (ew.), understand and be tested on basic histology and radiology, and learn gaits, colors, and 130 breeds of dogs, pigs, horses and goats (again, on our own). Then there's the MBA portion. I have Marketing on Monday and Finance on Wednesday from 5-9pm. All in all, I am IN class about 50 hours a week - not counting study time and work ( Clinical Pathology lab). I miss the kids, but I have to remember that, ultimately, I'm doing this for them. Eventually they'll want clothes, food and a roof over their heads. This first week was encouraging - I have the least scientific background and the most extra-vet-school time commitments (kids, work, etc.) of anyone here, but I think I'm doing OK. Only 119 school weeks to go!