Old and 'flicted.

Hey, y'all. Just checking in real quick for some random chit-chat over coffee on a rainy Wednesday morning.

*Yawn*

Well. I'm slightly annoyed because I've been having some ankle pain for the last several days. As I mentioned before, I've been training for a half marathon in Deanna's memory and it's been going great. Well, mostly great. A little over a week ago, I ran about five and a half miles (which, for me, was like an ultra marathon.) The following day I felt awesome so hit the pavement for another three miles. When I got home, I started feeling this nagging discomfort in my left ankle on the outer side.

Just superior to the lateral malleolus, for you nerdy medicine people who need the jargon to go with my symptoms.

So. Where was I? Oh, my ankle. So, yeah. I decided that it wasn't so bad and ran on it a couple of days later. Epic. Fail. By the following day, I was limping. And so. I gave it a solid four days of rest, ibuprofen and all the stuff WE tell our patients they need and it (mostly) felt better. I even went to a fancy, schmancy performance running store to see if I was a "pronator" or yadda yah whatever they say you are if your foot rolls in or out or something or other. Turns out I have a high arch and that I am not a pronator but instead just a normal chick who runs regular.

But.

They still convinced me to get a shoe made for a person with a high arch and a non-pronator-y foot, so I get home with it all proud of myself for (sort of) seeking medical attention. And by medical attention, I mean the dude in the Big Peach Running Store who had me run on a treadmill and who projected my bony ankles and feet on a big-A screen while analyzing my stride.

Mmm hmmm.

So I put on my new, custom fit, swanky running shoes yesterday morning. I can still feel a tiny niggle in my ankle but I decide to be bad ass and run through it. Because, I mean, it had been like five days and I was feeling myself regressing back to my baseline wanna-be runner status.

And as a sidebar, despite my medical attention from the dude in Big Peach, I also got a consult from the BHE who has done his share of running as an ex-army dude/marathoner. And his assessment of the whole situation is:

"You're forty-two babe. And you didn't rest enough."

To which I scoffed, "Dude. Are you calling me old? Are you saying my diagnosis is old-and-flicted?"

To which he replied, "That is exactly what I'm saying, baby. Old and 'flicted."

And if you don't know what 'flicted is, just know that it's short for AF-flicted and pretty much is a word to describe anything that used to work but now does not.

For example:

"I just got this umbrella and on that windy day it turned inside out on me. Now it's all 'flicted."

Or:

"Why you walking all like you 'flicted?"

"'Cause I think I hurt my ankle running."

"Did you roll it?"

"No! That's why I'm so bothered by it!"

"Oh. Maybe you're just old and 'flicted. That happens over forty."

"Uhhh, thanks. . .?"

Yeah.

So yesterday morning, in my hoity-toity runners, I went out again for three and a half miles. And today I am limping. Completely limping. Which sucks.

I'm 'flicted, people. 'Flicted, I say!

So now I guess I'm going to have to wait a solid week. And if within that week I don't feel better, I'm going to have to break down and get it imaged. The last thing I need is to hear that I have some kind of stress fracture. So yeah, I ain't even claiming that. 

No, I am not.

What else?  Oh. Despite my 'flicted ankle, yesterday I did a segment at HLN on this show called Raising America. I like HLN. It's a sister station to CNN and usually one channel over from it, at least here it is. They are all in the same studios in the CNN center. That was my first time doing HLN in studio. I really, really enjoyed their energy. I hope to go back. Next time I'll give you guys some notice so that you can check a sista out.

And lastly, this:

This is my friend, Shahed. She's one of my faves and is technically not a Grady doctor anymore but a VA doctor. She refers to her patients as "America's heroes" which I completely love. And she feels the way about the VA and our vets that I do about my Grady elders, so she's alright with me.

She's also hilarious. And super smart. And a major cat lover. The cat lover part is what is most hilarious. I took these pictures of Shah at the end of our Residency Leadership Committee meeting Friday as proof that she is indeed a "crazy cat lady."  She states firmly that she "only has four cats" which technically doesn't make her at "crazy cat lady" status.  To which I said, "No. Not crazy-hoarder-cat-lady status but crazy cat lady status nonetheless." 

To which she concurred. But not before showing me her collection of photoshopped Atlanta Falcons versions of her ultra-mega-kittens (as she calls them.)

Ha.

I love my job, my ankle is 'flicted, and it's raining in Atlanta. That's what's going on with me. What's up with y'all?

***
Happy Wednesday.

"Catfish" and other bril-liant musings.

Me rounding at Grady this weekend.

Ello, blokes! It's Sunday evening and yes, I have some poignant things I could very well be writing about seeing as I'm on the Grady inpatient service and all. My friend Carol R. always tells me that she rubs her hands together when I'm on wards because my writing seems inspired by being there. That's true, I think. The inspired part. And there are lots of things inspiring me right now, but I'm also feeling kind of lazy at the moment.

You know what that means, right?

Of course, you do!!  It means a post full of randoms!!

And, for emphasis, I'll use the word Zachary says no less than seven hundred trillion times when playing Madden Football on the Wii:

"Yay-yuuuuh!!!"

Oh, yeah. If you're new to this blog and came here looking for something deep, peep the archives for something redeeming. Or you can just do what the follower #349 did between yesterday and today and just hit the un-follow button. Heh.

Hold up. Is that what it's even called? Un-following? Eh. Who knows? I sure don't.

Yawn *scratches stomach*

So where to start? Oh, yes. This:

Manti Te'o of Notre Dame

Sigh.

Turns out that I was totally up under a rock and hadn't heard this story about the Heisman hopeful Manti Te'o and the whole on-line girlfriend debacle he was tied into until my dinner last week with Small Group Beta. Now admittedly, I have not gotten the full, unabridged story of what happened here, but what I've essentially heard (from my medical student advisees) is that he basically got "catfished." Bless his trusting little heart.

Hold up. You haven't heard about "Catfish?"

OMG. It's a documentary this guy did after "meeting" and falling in love with this woman on line. The problem is, the woman he thought he was talking to was the PHOTO of some poor unsuspecting married woman in another state. And the real chick? Let's just say she wasn't quite the person in the images. Uhhh, no. So, basically, the dude and his brother or friends or somebody or other filmed the entire saga of his mission to meet her in person. Which he did. And well, you can guess how that all turned out.

EPIC. FAIL.

Actually, the dude, Nev, who was the subject of the story, fared pretty well. He got a hit indie film out of the deal which spun off into a reality show on MTV repeating the heinous experience with a whole new set of players. Turns out there are enough on line love affair epic failures to make a whole season's worth of television. Yep.

And, okay, I admit that I have seen the show like two or three times. And what is it like? Well. I liken it to watching Larry David on "Curb Your Enthusiasm." A very, very uncomfortable train wreck that you cringe through repeatedly until eventually you have to just turn the channel, leave the room, or at least cover up your eyes and ears to avoid seeing.

So, that's Catfish. 

It's such a hot mess, y'all. And both times that I've watched, it's been a girl thinking she was talking to some super-hot dude when--whoops--she was talking to some adolescent girl fronting like she was some super-hot dude.

See? Isn't that a train wreck? Case in point:

The blonde on the right thought she was talking to some guy who was a model. Instead she was talking to this girl on the left. Lawd, yes. This is from their "big reveal." (The guy in the middle is Nev from the Catfish movie.)

Cringing yet?

In his defense, he data mines before the big reveal and offers the person a chance to back out before meeting the "love of their virtual life." Of course, they never, ever want to believe that their boo would lie or pretend to be someone they're not. Hence the show having plenty o' episodes.

The train wreck isn't always horrible. . . case in point:

This girl (with the ring in her nose) thought she was talking to some slim, trim and tatted up rocker dude only to find out it was a completely different person--the one above. Specifically, the person she was speaking to on line was transgendered and in the process of female to male reassignment. The woman who was "catfished" met him and said that she didn't care and loved him no matter what. And that one was a hot mess at first like all of the others, but ended very sweetly. It really, really did.

At least, to me.

Anyways. Enough of that. I kind of felt sorry for Manti Te'o. Especially since it was so public and all. And who hasn't been embarrassed by something before? I mean, can you imagine your most egg-on-your-face moment of your entire life being broadcast all over the planet?

Sigh.

What else? Oh. This:

Heavens to mergatroid, have you seen this show? O. M. expletive. G. It is seriously like the most highly addictive thing EVER. The villains are extra-extra-horrible and the drama is just . . . . drama-ful! And me, I love a good period piece with British accents. I kind of think I'm fascinated by the British. Or at least intrigued.

Yeah.

So if you haven't seen this show on PBS Masterpiece Theater -- dude. Go straight to your Netflix so that you can see Season 1 in it's entirety. Then, go over to Hulu+ so that you can peep Season 2. After that, just go to the PBS website where the episodes from Season 3 are there until March 3.

This is coming from someone who doesn't watch much television at all. But this? This is smartly done.

Speaking of the British and my intrigue with them, I'm thinking of just randomly adding U.K.isms to my vernacular. What do you say, mate?

Here's some of my favorites:

• Going to the "loo" instead of the bathroom.
• Getting on the "lift" instead of the elevator.
• Telling my husband he looks "smart" whenever he puts on a suit.
• Declaring all awesome things "brilllll-iant." 
• Referring to all things nonsensical as "rubbish."
• Pronouncing record and "REH-CORD."
• Calling Tounces "Mum."
• Calling the dudes around me "blokes." 
• Going on "HOH-LIDAY" instead of vacations. 
• And even though I don't like bangers and mash, I'm going to order some. 
• That, or some french fries, which I will politely refer to as "chips."

Mmm hmmm. I'm particularly fascinated by British actors who play Americans on movies and television show but who then pop up on NPR talking to Teri Gross on Fresh Air in a snappy King's English.

Exhibit one:

This man, Idris Elba, was a sight for sore eyes as gangster Stringer Bell on the (now cancelled) HBO show "The Wire." Here he is with his Baltimore (or Baaaaallll-dimore) accent as that wonderfully diabolical character. Oh, and was he a hot topic in the hair salon back then?

Two words: FO. SHO.

Disclaimer before you click play: The Wire was about the drug game on the mean streets of B'more, Maryland. Which means there is some real, true profanity in this clip. Charge that to YouTube and not to my heart, okay?



Now.

Just when I thought Idris Elba couldn't get any sexier, I turn on my radio one day and hear him talking on NPR in a--what?-- British accent. Say WHAAAAAAAT? Then when I was feeling like I was over it, I heard him getting interviewed after winning a Golden Globe Award for his role in Luther this year. Yes, there he was in black tie looking finer than ever. In that British accent sounding like a London bloke. (For effect, please watch a bit of him as Stringer Bell first before listening to him in this interview.



Woooo chile. I would be salivating over him more if my friend Tracy D. hadn't told me that she met him once and he smoked cigarettes. Killed the image for me. (I can't help it, I'm a doctor, y'all.)

Blimey. What else can talk about?

Oh. Yesterday evening I went by Grady to peek in on some of our patients. One of our patients has been pretty confused as of late so, honestly, he was one of the ones I was most wanting to see. So in I walk and there he is, giving his nurse a very hard time with some pills.

"He won't take his medicine!" she exclaimed as soon as she saw me.

"That's 'cawse you ain't asked me nicely!" he shot back.

"I think it's because he's confused," his nurse said to me while shaking her head.

Just then I came over to his right side and took his hand. He looked over at me and smiled the sweetest, most endearingly edentulous smile ever. "Hey, Miss Manning. You look real, real cute today!"

I glanced at the nurse and shrugged. "Well, clearly he isn't confused," I said.

She was NOT amused. Not even.

But I was. Hee hee.

Seriously, though--not even kidding--I asked him nicely and he took his medication. Just like it was candy, he sure did. I'm still not fully sure whether or not it was confusion or conviction about wanting to be asked nicely to do something.

Mmm hmmm.

Y'all! Guess what? I'm ready to make a confession to you about something I've been doing. I have been. . . . . wait for it. . .wait for it. . . .training for a half marathon! Craziness, I know. You all remember how much I've wanted to improve my running ability. That got put on ice when I went outside one day, ran one mile and wanted to die.

Uhhh, yeah.

So anyways. When Deanna passed I started thinking about something I could do in her honor that would be a challenge for me. She knew how much I secretly wanted to be a runner (right up there with me wanting my minivan) and tried hard to link me up with friends of hers who run. So, I decided that I would make this a goal. Sure did.

I took to Google and entered several permutations of "women", "races", "heart disease", "American Heart Association", "half marathon" and out popped a few perfect fits. I settled on a half marathon this spring/summer. Plenty of time for me to train and get myself ready. And with Deanna as a motivator, it's been much better than my prior attempts at running.

Can I please just do my little curtsy as I tell you about my run on Saturday? I ran a little over 4 miles -- without walking -- which, for me, is HUGE. Or as my friend Neil would say in his New York accent, "YOUGE."

Man. I was so super proud of myself. When that voice came in on "Map My Run" saying "distance, four miles" I was all shadow boxing and all like:

"GO ME!!!!!"

For real, I was. And yes. For those who run like Flo Jo all the time, four miles and some change doesn't seem like anything but when you're ME? Dude. It's perfectly. . . .brilliant. 

Especially considering it was a record for me. I mean, REH-CORD.

Heh.

So, yeah. I'll keep y'all posted on how that unfolds. But just know this: Nothing will stop me from attaining this goal. At least, nothing mental. Nope. Can't wait to cross the finish line in some bedazzled dri-fit shirt with a big ol' number 3 on it (Deanna's lucky number.)

Yep.

Hmmm. Anything else?

Oh, yeah. Harry and I had a hot date last night. I mean, a proper date considering I'm getting all Brit-i-fied. Better yet, it was a double date with one of our favorite couples, Marc and Akima H. Marc and Akima just welcomed their second son last month and we all went out to clink wine glasses and celebrate love, life, marriage and stinky little boys. And the lads, Harry and Marc, looked quite smart in their crisp shirts and jackets.

Oh. And even more delightful was that Dan, one of my advisees from SG Beta, babysat Isaiah and Zachary. All of that made me happy.

 

Oh, shoot. Almost forgot! Turns out Beyonce really was lip-syncing. But I'm saying--since when is it a crime to lip sync to YOUR OWN voice? Maaaaan, please. To the people giving her a hard time for that I say: CUT. IT. OUT.

But I do fully authorize them to bust on her for wearing that Pucci BALLGOWN to the inauguration ceremony on a freakin' Monday morning. Which reminds me of one of the best things I heard in the hair salon last week:

"Girrrrrl, Beyonce came up on that stage and I was like, 'WHERE IS you goin' in that BALLGOWN at 11 o'clock in the damn mornin', CHILE?'"

And, let me be clear on something: The person who said that meant to say "where IS you going" and not "where ARE you going" because--I'm not sure you knew this--but sometimes breaking up your subject verb agreement adds emphasis to what you're saying.

That is, if you're in the hair salon. (Or if you're talking to the Teenage Mutant Target Checkout Chick.)

Mmmm hmmm.

Alright, mates. I've got to go to the loo before Downton Abbey comes on. . . . .

***
Happy Sunday.

Here's one of my favorite U.K. artists, Estelle, singing the song now playing on my mental iPod "American Boy." I guess they're fascinated by us, too.