The daily habits of a male human: an observation

First of all, it's a been a really long time (last post was about COVID quarantine in 2020!!) So here is my attempt to return to writing. I initially thought of making this post for my wedding anniversary, but that passed. Then I thought how fitting would it be for Father's Day! But alas, that passed too. So here we are. Last day of June. I have been cohabitating with a man--my partner, legally and practically speaking-- for the last 8 years. Over the this time, as a former ethnographer, I have compiled notes, or observations, if you will, regarding the commoon male behavior. So here they are, in no particular order. Men seem to lack object permanence. Sometime in medical school, during Childhood and Development class, we learned about childhood milestones. Like learning object permanence. Supposed to happen around 9mo I think--the professor who taught the class showed a video of her baby unable to find a ball hidden under the carpet. Well, men must have skipped that milestones because they cannot figure out that objects picked up from a shelf do not, in fact, cease to exist, but can simply be placed in the same spot. I find myself constatnly "losing" items, specifically items that have designated places in the fridge or the pantry because somehow, once used, they end up some place else, rather than back in the designated spots. The toothpaste, for example, is a wandering mystery: instead of being placed in its glass cup on the counter, the toothpaste migrates, twice a day, all across the counter, as if being placed back in its designated resting spot is an impossibility. Ketchup, soy sauce, kitchen items that live on particular shelves or in special drawers end up in the most bizarre places all over the place, again, because once picked up and used, they cease to exist and have to be roomed anew. Men have terrible eyesight and need constant light, lots of light. That must be the only explanation as to why all the lights are constantly left on all over the house. Basement, bathroom, pantry, closet--places that one visits throughout the day, must remain lit, just in case. Just in case we have to come back in the next 3-4 days and be able to see, or find a spot for that bowl we used. Men cannot thermoregulate. So immediately upon entering the house, they must remove all of their outer clothing and discard it exactly where they are, dropped on the floor, discarded on the couch, or bench, but never hung on a hook where other people's jackets live. Because energy expenditure must be preserved, espcially when one is losing energy cooling off one's big and strong body. Men must be ready at all times to take care of their families. That's why the leave tools, tool sets, tool kits immediately accessing to them, and oddly inconveniently placed for everybody else, just in case at some point men may need a wrench to fix something--whatever it may be--emergently and quickly, even if nothing, in this moment in time, is broken. Men, as a species, are very protective of their families and are always looking out for their well-being. That is why they leave traps all over the house, in case of intruders. So that's why when entering one's house, you have to be really careful not to trip over shoes, left in the hallway, or right in front of the door, as a trap for thieves and other bad people who may be trying to enter your house uninvited. And afer a long day caring for and protecting their families, inventing new places for kitchen items, and setting traps with their own shoes, men fall asleep, peacefully, on the couch, right after dinner.

quarantine confessions

In times of quarantine...
I have not worn pants in like a month. it's all been some variation of pajamas--daytime, nighttime, work. for that reason, for lack of pants in my life, i'm secretly hoping the quarantine extends into summer weather, so that i can go from pajamas straight into dresses, avoiding pants altogether because, frankly, pants may no longer be a properly fitting option.
i had a first-world panic moment when i realized i may run out of makeup primer. trying to mitigate the potential crisis and being resourceful, i went to a store website to try to order it, except the store did not have what i wanted, and i was forced to potentially decide on a new product, and then it became very complicated as i was trying to guess the right shade of white girl i was, and whether i was just 'pale' or 'very pale'....and what the hell is 'neutral'. i then resolved to just letting it all go, and turning completely wild in times of quarantine. so no haircuts, no makeup, no shaving armpits...in sweatpants! i was ready!...then i figured out i could order directly from the manufacturer, in my correct white-girl color. crisis avoided, i'm still shaving my armpits.
i have not accomplished the things i thought i would, like cleaning out the closet, or organizing the office. it seemed really promising at first, but is actually pretty daunting as a task. i tried, sort of. but then i found friends' xmas cards from 2012 and old manuals for DVD players i no longer own, and credit card receipts from 2008. i got embarrassed and had to stop. i may be a hoarder.
speaking of hoarding, apparently i also hoard food. not like pantry staples but more so fresh produce because days are long and you're not supposed to go to the store so often, so you want to make sure you have all the kale for the week, or two. and what if you get tired of kale and want spinach? you need that too. and i also promised myself to be super healthy during this time of quarantine, so we need even more kale...and spinach. except, i've also stocked up on cheese, which is what i find myself eating, instead of the kale...
i've done the exact thing you're not supposed to do and have gone to the grocery store to pick up one item. entirely unessential, but sort of in the moment, like parsley....because sometimes you just need parsley?
i'm drinking more. well, maybe not more, but definitely more often. in between work shifts, days turn into nights, and you certainly deserve that beer, or a glass of wine, or two. sometimes i have to remind myself that being at home is not a reason to start drinking at 4p.
i promise myself to do yoga, like everyday. but i can't force myself to do it. it's different at home, i tell myself, hard to find the right youtube yoga stream, or when i do, it's boring, and i'm tired, and distracted almost immediately, and the whole idea of peaceful zen breathing goes out the window.
i have a sore throat whenever i'm at work. i feel it, behind my mask, in the back of my throat the bitterness that i'm convinced must be corona. and i walk around wondering if it'll get worse and if i'm actively falling ill until i go home and it all goes away.
i walk around sniffing things just to make sure i can still smell. i smell the air outside, i smell the cleaning solution we use to disinfect the face shields, thank god for the kimchi in the fridge because it definitely smells. when i walk the beast, i typically hold my breath when picking up her poo. lately, i've noticed i no longer hold my breath...just to make sure i can still smell.
i resent people wearing masks outside, especially, improperly or inappropriately. while i know masks help protect against sneezing, breathing, and spread from such things, i'm resentful because seems wasteful as i only get to wear one singular mask per shift. my mask, at the end of the shift, is gross, while you're wasting a perfectly good mask running to the store, just to get parsley, probably.
i hate wearing masks at work. they don't sit right, they slide around, they make it impossible to convey emotions well. which is ironic because i don't typically convey emotions, but wearing the mask suddenly makes it necessary for my patients to be able to tell that i'm smiling, or that i'm not smiling because i'm angry. the mask also muffles me, so no one can hear, even more so than normal. which is annoying, for me.
it's been absolutely humbling to have my friends and family check up on me, send food, send cleaning and protection supplies to help me and my colleagues work. strangers have called us heroes, and i don't really feel like one. i just feel like i'm trying to my job, while wearing a smelly annoying mask, in work pajamas, definitely not smiling, but definitely sniffing underneath.

apocalypse preparedness

In this time of crisis, i have been doing things around the house to keep myself occupied. so it seemed like the perfect time to clean out my zombie apocalypse supplies.
i didn't start out as an apocalypse supply, but over the years of training and working as a physician, i've accumulated helpful things, so that if someone gets a cut that needs to be cleaned or stitched up, or starts bleeding profusely, from whatever orifice, i can handle the situation without going to the ED. because no one wants to go to the hospital.
it wasn't a purposeful collection either. basically, over the years i've ended up with leftovers. as a medical student, or a resident you carry supplies. in your pockets, in your white coat, you carry things around the hospital; you put things in your pocket as you move through your day. at some point, probably way too late from a hygienic perspective, you take your white coat home to wash and end up emptying your pockets of all the shit you've accumulated. so i decided to go through my supplies and throw away things that expired, or are too useless.
so in the process of cleaning, we discovered a ton of instruments: needle drivers, tweezers, scissors. tiny little instruments for opening up wounds, removing sutures, stitching things up. because any time you open a kit and use a single instrument, the rest of it goes in the trash as it is no longer sterile. to go with instruments--suture--a ton of suture, most of it expired; things to fix both deep tissue and superficial wounds. lidocaine, as an anesthetic while putting things together, most of it expired, but enough to make anything numb. a ton of gauze. because any time you see a patient surgically speaking, you need to be ready with gauze, lots of it. like, lots of it.
athletic tape--to tape ankles, wrists, whatever other body extremities. why do i have athletic tape? probably, leftovers from my ortho rotation, when i'd be a receptacle for leftover tape in ortho clinic.
lube, or better known as a gentler, less obvious name 'gel'. as a gynecologist, you always have gel, which is why my apocalypse supply could also have been mistaken for a sex parlor. because whenever you go up to the floor to see a patient and decide whether she dying from a pelvic infection, or is simply constipated, you need gel. and since you have your own patients to take care of, no one wants to waste time tracking down a nurse to help you find gel. same with ER: it's way quicker and easier to just bring your own and help someone with a period, and avoid nasty angry stares from the ED staff (for the record, you called me!). but apparently, if i needed to perform a pelvic exam out in the field, or stop someone's hemorrhage, i'm all over it.
tongue depressors. why, as a gynecologist, i have so many tongue depressors is beyond me. there is no task in my professional life, or as a medical student, that i can recall needing tongue depressors. peds, maybe?
the supply has been cleared out (hope no one goes through my trash and pockets the expired suture and lidocaine). another pandemic task accomplished. now, if i had only found a stash of N95 masks..

the cleaning lady, part deux

as you may remember from previous posts with the same title, we have a cleaning lady. she's very nice, very helpful, and does an excellent job. i am super lucky to be in a place to have someone clean your mess as an adult. yet having a person clean your living space can bring its own, well, weirdness.
first of all. she rearranges shit. like little things. like moving my glasses in the bathroom, which is a really terrible thing to do to someone who's almost blind. you take your contacts out in the evening, reach for where your glasses typically are, and a moment of panic followed by annoyed careful face along the sink search ensues. she moves little things on the coffee table, like rearranges the candles or the vases as if the arrangement offends her. of course, it's likely she's just rushing to clean shit up, but it feels a bit judgmental, like my feng shui is off and must be corrected, which sometimes makes me feel like i've hired my mother.
second. i usually try to tidy things up before she comes. to make her work easier, but to also minimize the mess i really need to be minimizing as an adult anyways. on a very rare occasion, if i'm rushing in the morning, i may forget to pick up the clothes i've left on the floor the night before. the cleaning lady, in a masterful neat way, makes a point of folding whatever she finds. what would make one pick up dirty socks and random shirts from the floor and neatly fold them on the chair? i have no idea. it's a nice gesture, i guess, but weird because i've really never had this impulse of findings clothing items on the floor and deciding, oh, let me fold and put away these socks and this discarded bra. perhaps, she doesn't know where the laundry hamper is? but she puts other things like sheets in the hamper...so is this a passive aggressive move, to make me feel bad about leaving my clothes on the floor? maybe, and it's working.
third. there are pillows on the bed. regular sleeping and more or less decorative pillows. two and two. sleeping pillows get the sheet set pillow cases, to match the sheets; decorative pillows get the duvet pillow cases...to match the duvet. you get the point. there is also an extra pillow, which is this comfort memory foam whatever that doesn't match anything, but is part of the bed and the sheets, and either gets the sheet pillow or an extra pillow case i set out. the cleaning lady changes the sheets, it's very nice of her! but somehow the pillows are a constant battle of miss-match. it should be simple: 2 pillows for two pillow cases, 2 more pillows for the other 2 pillow cases, singular pillow gets its own pillow case. every time i come home after she's done, i begin this pillow puzzle. the math never adds up: it's 1 and 3 and 1, and 2 and 3 and 1, and 1 and 1 and 2.5. it's never just 2 and 2 but the wrong 2 (and i said the wrong 2 because the sleeping pillows are comfy, whereas the decorative pillows are just whatever, so it's kind of important what is what). how she gets what in where, i have no idea, and i have to pull everything off and figure out how to shove pillows in their correct respective cases, in a mathematical way that works. yes, i sound neurotic, but comfortable pillows are important. just as important as having someone clean your mess. happy cleaning!

horsey balm

I've recently had an injured shoulder and have been using this naturopathic ointment my mother gave me. She brought it back from her last trip to Ukraine and thrust it upon me as a miracle balm for muscle aches. I've used it in the past as well, when i've messed up or pulled my back yet again; it's kind of like tiger balm--similar weird ingredients, similar terrible smell--and it's supposed to be good for sore muscles.
It really acts like icy-hot, actually, acts pretty well as it's burned so bad in the past, i had to get up in the middle of the night and take a shower just to wash it off. it comes in a cream form and has a picture of a horse on it, well, an equestrian of some sort--maybe a jockey, maybe a gallop racer. and because of the picture, i refer to it as horse balm.
so the other night i'm putting this balm on my shoulder and i started reading the box. the balm tube and the box it comes in is in russian, white and orange. first ingredients: pretty straight forward, lots of homeopathic oils, camphor, menthol, rosemary, lavender, things that are supposed to warm body parts up. then, directions: apply to the affected area, up to 3 times a day, avoid contact with the eyes. nothing specific, very normal looking naturopathic balm. i turn to the front of the box: 'two in one: cooling and heating action', "not a medicinal remedy". then, i turn to the back again and see this tiny print: "zoological cosmetic agent not for reproductive animals". and right below that in even tinier print: "AVZ healthy animals"--like a manufacturing pharm company.
i text my mother immediately: "why does it say not for reproductive animals?" "you're probably not supposed to use it if you're pregnant" "yes, but reproductive ANIMALS??" "i'm sure they try to lick the balm off" "....why am i using horse balm???!?!" here is where my mother tried to logically defend the balm, arguing that it was recommended by a very human doctor to my very human aunt and it does an excellent job of relieving sore muscles. also there is a green one for joints!!
and then i thought, it has been making me feel better, it does heat up muscles really well, and i have not sprouted fur anywhere. i just hope my hoof feels better soon.

period misses. period

I hate when going through my patients' history, i ask them about their age of menarche--how old they were when they first got their period--and they don't remember. how do you not remember when you first got your period??! I don't mean like an exact date, but at least some ball park of an age. don't we all remember that first time? you told your mom, maybe she told your dad and you got mad at her? you had to find a pad, maybe had to ask your friend, or your friend's mom if you were somewhere not home? maybe you even freaked out a little bit? don't you remember, approximately, when that was? 7th grade because you were best friends with this person? or sixth grade because you had this person as your homeroom teacher and needed to get an excuse to go to the bathroom? Haven't we all read 'seventeen' as youths and were mortified over those 'most embarrassing moment' columns, hoping you won't get your first period while at a pool party, or while wearing that perfectly white uniform???? and when it did happen, don't we remember?
I also hate that my patients, when they, for some reason, don't remember their age, make up a number that is excessively too old. just to be clear, getting your period as a junior in high school, or after you've declared your college major, is not normal. so unless you were a super athlete and trained with symone biles, i hope your parents took you to a specialist to be evaluated for some hormonal imbalance, or a missing X chromosome. otherwise, you're just wrong.
same with age at first intercourse. i get it, the first time is frequently not great..and sometimes the second, and the third, and the 27th. maybe we wish we could forget, take it back, rearrange some things about it. maybe it was awkward, painful, even violent and unwelcome. but i feel like everyone should remember. those kinds of milestones in life are not the things one forgets. like you remember your first kiss, the first time you fell in love and felt it, the first time your heart was broken. which makes me wonder if people are just ashamed to tell me, their doctor, or they truly are weird and don't pay attention. i think it's conceivable that one would forget when or whether one had chlamydia (v gonorrhea), but losing one's virginity should, in theory, be harder to forget.
i hate that term. no one loses their virginity. you know exactly where your virginity went. it's not like you woke up one day and was like, shit! where did it go?? i had it yesterday, but now i can't find it! no, no one loses their virginity. it is given away, traded, sometimes taken, but never lost. i wish the same could be said about time wasted, time spent in bad relationships, about energy given to people who didn't deserve it, emotions spent on things and people who were not worth it. those are the things we should try to forget, not our first periods!

it's a scrub not life for us

There has been a real war waged against the linen department over the scrub machine. OK, OK, let me explain.
Medical scrubs at the hospital (so not cute scrubs you can buy online for office wear) come in two varieties: surgical scrubs and nursing scrubs. Surgical scrubs are unisex, equipped with one front chest pocket on the left, and right-sided butt pockets. They are reversible, therefore, they come with matching mirror inside pockets--right inside breast and left inside butt. They are pretty plain and tuck right in into your string tied pant. Nursing scrubs attempt to be cute with a v-neck and shorter sleeves; they have two front pockets low (like coats) and cannot be tucked in. And not to be offense to be nursing colleagues, but nursing scrubs are useless. They make you look like a penguin, the pockets are completely stupid as nothing can be put there--it either falls out, or prevents one from sitting down without taking all the shit out, or prevents one from reaching in. There is no place for your ID badge unless you're wearing a lanyard, which, let's be honest, no one does, or unless you stick it directly in your cleavage, where it is constantly at risk of coming in contact with a bodily fluid of some sort. And most importantly, it is untuckable!!
So scrubs come out of scrub machines: these scrub dispensers, which kind of resemble vending machines (the ramen and pop-tart vending machine, not candy and chip ones). you swipe your car, press "C" for collect, or "D" for deposit and it tells oyu to open a certain door containing your scrubs based on a pre-programmed sizing. sounds fool-proof. Except...
Labor and Delivery has a physician locker room. Two actually-male and female. Since these are physician locker rooms, they are supposed to be stocked with surgeon scrubs. Except, some idiot in linen decided that since it is a 'female' locker room, the scrub machines are to be stocked with nursing scrubs. And this has been going on for over a year. Over time, as this challenge has been ongoing, the scrub machine was persistently and steadily being covered with angry messages about incorrect stocking. Pleas and threats regarding stocking surgeon scrubs only have been accumulating on the little "please call the number for the linen department with any concerns". pleas and threats to stock the machine with 'man' scrub only have similarly been left unanswered. for while, i was getting my way of getting normal scrubs by going directly into the male locker room and using their machine. then, one day, either due to excessive complaining, or sheer complete confusion, all the scrub machine cards ahve been replaced with new clean ones, and the male scrub machine was being stocked with nursing scrubs as well. the linen department, confused out of its mind, just started stocking ridiculous scrubs everywhere, disregarding its own sexist practices.
the scrubs are ridiculously inconvenient, and as a colleague of mine raged on the phone with the linen department "preclude us from doing our job".
this seems like a trivial thing, but it's not. and it's especially fascinating as to why this continues to be a confusing stocking point. unless there is a prevalent thought of sexism, as if a woman works in the hospital, she must be a nurse, and therefore, must want to wear nursing scrubs. the fight rages on! until then, i will continue to be irate at all of linen department, demanding my normal useful scrubs back!