to: home

this is probably going to be the last of it for a while. 4 cities, 5 airports in less than 48 hours. i spent the last morning in moscow wondering around. it was cold, and it being like 9am on a saturday quite quiet. did you know that moscow airports do not post boarding time on their boarding passes? well, rather, boarding stops 20 min before the plane takes off. so the time boarding stops is posted on the boarding pass, just not when it begins. just imagine the confusion, of standing in front of the gate, waiting...? apparently, boarding times are announced over the intercom, the entire airport is just a slew of announcements, calling this and that flight, changes to gates, drunken lost passengers, requested, called, strongly advised to go to their gate. the sandwich lady on the plane, after giving up on feeding me salami sandwiches, tries to flag down the flight attending to get me a blanket because she thinks i'm cold. then, she tries to 'order' my drink for me, then, after we land, she tries to give away my jacket stowed above my seat to the little girl in the seat in front--she thought it was a children's jacket. the next day, my cousin and i go city walking. first, we are stopped by the cops to give a deposition. apparently, they were called to the scene of a burning vehicle. when the cops arrived, the vehicle did not appear to be burning, or on fire, or have been burning. so we are flagged on the street to provide a statement that the police did in fact respond to the call, and that the vehicle did not appear to be engulfed in flames or in any way damaged. annoying as it is, made better by three policemen clearly flirting as they're writing the deposition. we retrace anthony's steps, accidentally, but decide to stop by Bessarabka, the central (and most expensive) farmer's market in the center, we are committed. there, we are accosted by salespeople, and Caucasian (that's, again, from the mountains, not just white) men offering fresh fruit. when we do not respond to their sweet talk, they switch to ukrainian, as if we didnt understand the first time. hot dog in a fried bun (kinda like a oversized, over-doughed corn dog) for my cousin and we are off to crafts street. the cabby that took us home was smoking in the car when we got in. the car reeked like cheap cigarettes. and after airing out the smoke, all windows down in the middle of winter, i sort of regretted doing that, for as the smoke cleared, what was left was the terrifying cabby BO smell. i swear, the smoke was better. do you know how much 61 surveys weigh? 3 kilos, exactly how much i was over the limit when i got to the airport the next morning. shit, a moment of panic and i am now stuck logging extra weight in my carry on. i look homeless. we end up waiting in the boarding bus for like 15 min, and it turns out they literally drove us 20 feet. so could have walked. during this time some dude decides to start a conversation. where am i going, what am i going to do there? oh you're going home?? to the states? i've never talked to anyone from the states! well, this is your lucky day, buddy. then, he wants us to 'communicate', on facebook, contacts, my space. i'm not even listening to the slew of sites he's listing. thank god, he's sitting nowhere near me. short layover in zurich, where, with my super short connection, i almost kill some british dude, who decides to take the time to drink his water while passing through the xray conveyor belt, take his time to, one by one, empty his pockets of cell phone, cigarettes, passport, no wait, i can keep that. i almost jumped the line, had it not been for the fact that his stuff was already in the boxes, and the lady border patrol was so politely swiss, i would have felt embarrassed. and the best thing to do on the transatlantic flight, when you're not sleepy? catch up on movies. the lady next to me, i'm pretty sure judges me after my second wine. but that's ok, i judge her for praying before eating her airplane food, which, by the way is pretty good, and so so plentiful. the swiss are trying to make me fat. finally, home, super long line to passport control, and i'm eavesdropping on conversations, excited to finally hear english. it appears my quadruple security alert went away because i am let through without much trouble (i correctly answer where i work. are you bringing any food, alcohol, or tobacco? no (except for the ocntraband of vodka in my luggage). my mom volunteered to pick me up, but forgot where she parked. or actually, she remembers where she parked, she just doesnt remember how to get to the car. so literally, for like 15 minutes we walk around in a circle, me with giant carry on and giant suitcase, looking for a way to get to the parking lot. seriously, mother?! finally, home. i am unpacked, refrigerator cleaned, grocery shopping done. and off to bed, my bed. i guess it's back to reality.

Aimlessness

I'm sitting in a cafe, staring at a couple, likely on a date (unlikely couple, though). There is a sign on the door that reads "stuff only", no stuff is not allowed, apparently...I think they mean staff. Clinic was weird. First, a lady shows up wanting a survey. Are you here for a doctor visit? No. I'm sorry I'm afraid I cannot let you fill one out. She starts crying, she came here just to fill out the survey. Then she sits down and for the next hour proceeds to tell me her story. She has a really bad knee, it hurts all the the time. She had a stroke, finally recovered but had to go back to Kyrgyzstan becaus she couldn't afford to pay. She cleans a pharmacy, every morning and evening. She is supposed to get paid 5000rubles, but it's been 5 months, and since her knee hurts and she has no money, she takes meds from the pharmacy and they credit her, so now she is only supposed to get paid 1700rubles, but it's been 5 months. She lives with her son and his wife who is a bitch! Wo refuses to work. And all she does is go from doctor to doctor with her knee. She cries all the time. She asks me to look at her knee. Bt I'm not a knee doctor. But it hurts, so she rolls up her pants. I feel her swollen arthritic knee, it's pretty bad. Then, she tells me that she feels better, just after talking it out. She asks me if I can come for tea. No thanks. After the patient focus group, everyone wants to know where they can come see me. I don't work in this clinic. CAn we call you? Are you really going to call America?! Apparently, I have a patient base. Then, I wander the clinic talking to providers. The gyne lady, ethnically Russian, is seemingly angry. She complains of language barrier with her patients who speak poor Russian. I guess your Kyrgyz is not totally proficient, I joke. She doesn't get it and launches into a rant about how she does NOT speak kyrgyz or Tajik or Uzbek. I feel bad, do I sound like that when I say I don't speak Spanish?! Then, I talk to the surgeon. He can do small procedures, like what? I&d, everything else we "treat conservatively". Now i feel like a poser. Here I am some American asshole with nebulous research plans about HIV prevention, when physicians, my colleagues, cannot treat their patients because they lack basic tools. This guy, who is a surgeon and cuts people for a living, has to treat them conservatively because he doesn't have an OR or anesthesiologist. I'm ready to leave. I decide to go walk around the city. Except this is probably the worst day, as it is raining. After I have a tiny little orgasm in the lingerie store, I was outside to find a little old man, dressed in a winter coat and pajamas, begging for money. He looks completely put together, not crazy or homeless, just bent over from age-kyphosis, on the main street filled with designer stores. I feel terrible, and not just because it's raining on me. On to red square. To warm up, I walk into GUM- the biggest and most famous shopping center from soviet time, now filled with ferragamo and cavalli boutiques. I have been awake since 6, I havent eaten, drunk, or peed today. My hugely American north face is wet and I'm wearing dansko's--I look positively homeless. I do not fit in among the trendiness, I'm surprised I don't get arrested. Wndering aimlessly through the streets and cursing the wind that keeps flipping my umbrella over, I think I'm ready t go home. It's sad that I didn't get to hang out in Moscow at all. Seems like I've done nothing at all.

Technical difficulties

Yesterday was a complete nightmare. It all started when two women showed up together to fill out surveys. How old are you? 48. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I cannot let you fill out the survey because you are older than 45. I am 45. ...so how old ARE you? I don't know I was born 1967, how old am I? ...?! You tel me?! I am 44. ... You sure!? Yes. Yeah?yes. Fine. The two of them get surveys. We encounter difficulties with the first question which asks what year were you born. Looking at the page, I see some combination of letter and numbers none of which resemble dates, in any numerical system known to me. Somehow they get through that one, next they stall. Eh, we can't see the text, can you read it to us? No, I'm not going to read 18 pages of confidential individual survey! seriously?! At this time, about 4 more women show up. We're here to take surveys. Well, you see I just ran out of surveys, so I will need to print out more first. Ok we need surveys. Yes, I understand, but you will have to wait a second for me to run and try to print more out. Ok we need surveys, and pens. I currently do no have either, so just wait a second. At this point there are about 10 women in the room, some filling out surveys, those without surveys are now joining the ones it's surveys and separate sheets, each taking a sheet to "fill out". No no this is not a synchronized event, please, one survey per person. This all is complicated by Kyrgyz rap blasting from the room next door, this is no longer a research space, this is a zoo.  I ran back and forth between the room and the (locked!) administrator's office trying to print more surveys, but the computer printer whatever is not printing. I run back, we need surveys. Yes, I understand, but I physically cannot create them, nor make printer print, I'm sorry you can wait if you would like. I convince them to wait outside. At this point, the lady on the left, who is about half way done with the survey decides that she, too, is having trouble seeing, so she recruits another lady who is done to read for her. Umm.. Please don't help her. But she can't see! I understand but I doubt she is going to truthfully answer questions about her last anal intercourse with you reading to her. The ladies on the other side of the room decide to share answers. Please, don't share answers, we're not sharing answers, we're discussing questions. Yes, thereby, sharing answers, this is not a group activity, these are individual surveys. The two original blind ladies keep looking up and shaking their heads, the font is really small. Yes, I am aware, but you shouldn't agree to fill out surveys, if you know you have issues seeing things without your reading glasses! Damnit! Similarly, the point of the survey is answering questions, that's what a survey is. So don t take a survey and then ask me if you need to answer these questions, yes you do. Also, don't agree to participate in the survey, take a stack (that's 8 pages) fill out the first one and look at me: is this all? No you have to fill out all pages, yes you have to answer all questions, unless of course you are uncomfortable, or don't want to share), yes you have to answer all questions, not just the first one on the page. Yes, I know the font is small, and sme questions are about sexual health, so don't look at me like I'm crazy, yes, I know what it says.  Men show up to "visit". The friendly neighborhood barber decided that he was going to continue wandering in and out, his phone blasting bad rap as he pleases to check on "our progress". The groundskeeper does the same, he intermittently comes in to ask me if I'm cold, look out the window, asks he when about their surveys. I swear this man thinks I'm 12.Every morning he asks me if I'm here to do more surveys. Have I dine anything else in this clinic, in the last 5 days?! Husbands come in to look at the survey "for their wives" no no this is for women, not men, send your wife in and I'll talk to her. Chauvinistic jerk! Since today was my last day, everyone kept asking me when i was coming back. Springtime? Umm..not sure. I now have open invitations to kyrgyzstan, t visit Isik-kuel, to see the mountains. The reception girl asked me how old I was, she thought 20. Then she asked me if I was married. No. When are yo going to get married? Umm...awkward question. After the day of talking and sitting, I have the most ridiculous dehydrated headache and ready to leave.

The Asians are coming!!

The entire population of china is moving into my hotel. Every morning, one excited tour group at a time, little by little, they are all moving here. Every morning, I fight my way through the clusterfuck of Asians. They flood the lobby, perusing the free Internet, waiting to turn in their passport into the group passport collector, they bring their own gallons of drinking water. They are everywhere. This morning, before going to work, I go to print more surveys. A guy who knows a guy who knows a guy (a friend of one of the project workers, who helped me find sex workers, here in Moscow. Funny thing, his phone number is the same as the project coworkers, which I have saved in my phone from like 3years ago) promises to print it for free in his office. He called me yesterday and spent a very long time elaborately explaining where he is, that I got annoyed and agreed to meet him at 10. Turns out I was going to the wrong train station, as he called and told me he was already there, not where I was going. I was late, but he was super nice about it, and so ice in general, I immediately was not mad at him for sending me to the wrong place. from the subway station, we walk to the office "10 min". The problem is, much like the Asians, the rains have descended onto Moscow. And Moscow pavement is not level, so the streets turn into rivers and lakes and seas, which I am having a hard time jumping over. I'm following the dude, who turns around every 2 min to make sure I'm still there. I realize I am following a stranger, a man I've never met before in unknown direction. Under any other circumstances this would be considered unsafe. The man, Senil, is Pamiri, like my coworker. Pamir is a mountain region in the east of Tajikistan. It borders Afghanistan and a little china. This where the Khiber pass hides the Taliban fighters, this is where democratic resistance hid during the afghan soviet war. Pamiris are slightly different from the rest of Tajikistan. Their language, although Still part of the Persian language family, is more similar to Pashtu, a dialect of afghani. They are Ismaili Muslims, more closely related to Shiite than the rest of Sunni Tajiks. They value higher education for both sons and daughters. They are less religiously conservative (meaning, they do not take their daughters out of school after 4th grade). Senil sells sim cards for beeline (a mobile company in russia, Ukraine, Tajikistan,...and oh yeah, now Laos), he calls himself a dealer. He is being super nice, when I use up all his paper, he runs out to get more. He offers me coffee, he gives me a stylish beeline bag to carry my crap. Then, he pays for my ride it's his limitless subway pass. At work, it's a bit of a lull. I don't get too much done. I eat lunch with the director, his wife, and the technical dude. This apparently happens daily and I will need to come up with a new strategy as people as getting suspicious of my daily 'lunch' of tea. Sadly, my quick glance at the menu revealed multiple meaty products, some think I'm out of luck. People keep coming into my 'office' wondering what the hell I'm doing there. I get driven home, in time to watch the elections.

Fist day of work, yet again

First day of Moscow researching. No one answered my calls, so I show up to clinic. This clinic is located in some backyard building, on the fourth floor. There is an American clinic on the first floor, for this you have to climb the stairs, the emergency exit stairs. The clinic is for migrants, run by migrants. It is a conglomeration of various medical offices: dentist, gynecologist, urologist, there is a barber, and a few other small 'organizations' aimed at working with migrants. Because of this, people just sort of show up and mingle and do their business and visit doctor, and hang out. There is a reception, this is where you stop by to get your medical history, and pay. The director sits in the same office as the technical administrator, his wife, also the HR and accountant of the clinic, sits next door, in an office behind the pharmacy. There are pictures of Kyrgyz life in the wall. There is a cafhere here both staff and patients and whoever else eat. The clinic is mainly Kyrgyz, but other migrants come here as well, there is no discrimination and prices are much better than local clinics, so various people come here for medical care. I sit in a room next to some agency helping acquire work permits for migrants. Through  my open door., I see a constant line of men wondering in and out. Music is blasting all day long. My life is now filled with Kyrgyz rap, intermittently sprinkled with gangnam style.  There is no concept of consent or recruitment or confidentiality. Women who come by to fill out the survey keep asking why I don't want them to put their last name on the surveys. They are confused why I keep reciting the same spiel of who I am and what I am doing this for. Random people are showing up wanting to fill out the survey. I'm sorry I can't give this to you because you work here, I don't care that sometimes you get your lab tests done here, no you cannot have it, you're a doctor here, the survey is for patients. Surveys themselves raise questions. Some of them are language barrier questions, since the survey is in Russian--those I can usually just answer by rewording the question or giving examples. And apparently, me explaining the question means you are no longer required to  answer it on the piece of paper. Some are harder to explain: "oral sex? It's when a man..(shocked look in return)...nevermind, if you don't know what it is you probably don't do it..." "what does it mean, how many lifetime partners!? (offended look) there was no one ever, i mean, just my husband." "well, that usually means one, then..." and please don't look at me like I'm crazy. Back to the hotel, i people watch while fighting the craptastic internetting. Sme dude decides to be friends. Where are you from? The states. You're ot from Russia!? Nope. Where in the states? Chicago. Oh wow, I love Chicago! Me too. Yu look 18! im a little older than 18...Then, he launches into a soliloquy about how hot Russian women are. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to agree ot be offended. Up to the room, the security guard checks my key before letting me to the elevator. This is done to prevent unsolicited sex workers soliciting unsolicited customers. There are people hanging out by the elevator: apparently it's broken, all four of them. I ask the guard if there are emergency stairs. No. What if there is a fire? He does not seem to think I'm funny. The thing is, he keeps checking peopple's keys and letting them through, knowing that they're not going anywhere, not mentioning anything. Have you informed anyone that the elevator is broken? You (thats me) can talk to the front desk. I stop by the front desk, and the lady immediately promises to call for ehlp, and in the meantime, I can't just go ahead and take the other elevator. The other elevator!? Oh, apparently, there is a whole other set of elevators. Great. 

Ukraine abridged and Moscow welcome

Here is a quick overview of things I did in ukraine. Ate, lacked sleep, drank, ate a lot of mushrooms, did not die of mushroom poisoning. Went sight-seeing, froze my ass off. Can't feel my toes. Are we there yet, are we there yet? Go left, oh wait, you can't. Please stop feeding me, yes you should buy that. Yu look so much older...yes I am a bit taller. Watched procedures, eavesdropped, patient care, let me hand you this instrument. Do you want more ethanol? Let me tie you, let me tie you. Tie one leg, tie another leg. Move your butt closer to the end of the table. Mechanical suction on, mechanical suction off. Umm...is that supposed to look like that? Cricoid pressure, let me hold her hand. Fetch cart, apply leeches, chase leeches around the jar, squirmy little suckers. Sit on the couch, drink coffee, drink more coffee, drink some more coffee, oh god, my eyes are twitchy. Feel confused, look confused. Change in a closet, did i get locked in again?! Questions questions questions. umm yes, I can do that on my own. Elections, I don't understand how you can buy votes? Why do you want even more power? Have they counted all the votes? Are they done counting? I don't like his face. Wo are they supporting? And then what? Consult, what day of cycle are you? Listen, smile politely at an inappropriate joke, make a smart face. Drink coffee, team I'm drinking I promise. Transvaginal ultrasound, transvaginal ultrasound, transvaginal ultrasound, and differelin for everyone!! Last day in Kiev, I am expecting a money order. After a tricky day hunting for western union, and western union with money, and western union with my money, we find one, it is inside a subway statin, like literally, you have to buy a token and pay for a ride to get to it. So I have a bunch of change and I'm standing in front of the counter trying to count my exact change so I can get rid of coins, when a random dude walks up to me, puts a hryvna (an eighth of a dollar) into my hands with words "here, here, go go already!" it appears I look needy in other countries. On to Moscow. Super early flight, some ordeal with my passport at the border. I get into the city, find my hotel. Wait 20 min to check in because some large group of teenagers are checking in and taking forever and a half. And for some reason I am being ignored, I hate kids, and now maybe this hotel. After surveying my super expensive and super crappy room, I decide to go for a walk to find the clinic so I'm not lost tomorrow. Checking out the hotel map, it turns out the not display the center of the city (I'm in the northern part) and even that in chunks. Fine, not a big deal, I know the general direction, I'll figure it out. On my way there, of course, I stop to add minutes onto my Russian phone (and look like a complete idiot because, did you know, that sim cards expire after 6mo of no use!? Well, I guess no wonder that after three years it is no longer recognizing network, and this is reason why I'm having difficulties adding minutes to my card. Bt thankfully, the girl at the counter, and the dude running the store soared me the eye-rolls unit after I left) so I'm going for a walk, thankfully the weather is nice although it does threaten to rain periodically (I have no umbrella). The city is full of central Asian-looking people, which I don't mean as a racist thing, but just to say that it's really prominent, the presence of Gastarbeiter (guest workers) in the city. They are everywhere, men traveling in groups, men sweeping, cleaning, fixing roads. I pass by a construction area and dudes literally drop shovels and start yelling things at me. Oh god, it's like I never left Tajikistan. It's really surreal, it's like observation and research has already started. I keep walking along large highways, and over larger highways, and past train stations (I do not like train stations. Tis is where homeless people, and sex workers, and...oh yeah, homeless sex workers live. This is where children get stolen and I have poor associations with interviews conducted in the past). Finally I find the clinic, and my options are to get on the subway and go home, or walk back, and since I've already walked here, and the weather is nice and I'm sort of short on cash and should not waste subway rides, I choose to walk home. I verify my route with some security guard, who looks at me skeptically and tells me yes, theoretically you can walk where you're trying to walk to. Then, I turn onto a side street as a shortcut and sort of get confused for a second, at this point I ask a,lady if I can get to where I need to if I just walk this and that way..ummm, no, you cannot walk, but you get a ride. Like, I shouldn't walk there because it's far, or I really just can't walk there?! No you can't walk there you should get a ride. That desnt sound like I can't walk there. So I do. And I walk for a very long time, and then I realize that my feet hurt, and are possibly blistering in my dansko's which I didn't think was possible. And the road keeps running out of road. And I end up taking dirt oaths, and it's getting darker and I'm getting tired? The point is I walked for like 4 hours straight, which I don't think I'm doing again tomorrow. Time to elevate my feet.

Road rules and translational services

This is probably going to be redundant, especially if you've read things about past travels. But I am, again, troubled and the inner linguistic is anguished in me. First, on rules of the road. There are a lot of cars, a lot. Traffic jams are nuts. Traffic stands still in rush hour and cars compete with trams and trolleys for road space. Despite these difficulties, there are some issues I have. There are no left turns here. I can point you to the three (Figuratively speaking) locations where you can actually legally and safely make a left turn. Everywhere else, you cannot. To go left, you need to make 3 rights turns. It takes 7 minutes to get anywhere, if that anywhere involved going left. Consequently, there are a plethora of round circle drives you end up following to point your vehicle in the right direction. And because there are strict and apparently important rules about right of way and main thorough-way, you can't just switch lanes, you must follow the circle drive, brake in the middle of raffia, until some loser or kind soul actually allows you to switch lanes into the right one to, again, go in the direction you actually need to go. This lack of left turns makes me feel like I'm pertually stuck in Zoolander. Second, parking is troublesome, as in, it doesn't exist in the center of the city..or anywhere, really. So cars park on the sidewalk, and pedestrians awkwardly squeeze between dirty vehicles waiting for their owners. Street signs are impossible to find. Street names are not placed on intersections; street names as well as house numbers are stuck directly to buildings. This is a problem if you're trying to locate a building while driving...mostly, because you can't possible make out the street name or number from the road. Additionally, street name plaques are frequently absent from actual buildings, and since streets are never just straight, it's very difficult to know exactly what street you're on, unless, of course, you actually already know. Moreover, buildings that are on the same street are not always on the same straight line. So you wonder around in circles, looking for the street name plaque then trying to figure out which building belongs to which street, all on foot, unles you're carrying binoculars,...which you usual,y are not. In honor of euro cup, many streets around the city are translated. This is where it becomes yet another problem. Some streets are translated and some are just transliterated--something that yo shouldn't do because it only creates more confusion. There is no noun declension in English, so noun endings do no change, so when you continuously change noun ending, street name endings in translation, I bet it causes many people to get lost and then wonder around looking for building numbers and street names. On the train, stations are announced in two languages. Ukrainian, original announcements, are interrupted, mid-sentence, to stick in the English version, with broken up and poorly audible translated names. The point I'm trying to make, someone pays money for all this translational services. But integrity of the language suffers. i can't imagine that there are no quality translators to be found. I'm sure someone has downloaded itranslate on their iPhone. Sme applies to menus, which also have been "internationally" updated, prolly for the euro cup. I'm not even talking about magical food names that don't exist in any language, like whortleberry or cedar nuts. But I am talking about officially translated items, like menu items. There is this thing about patented "house" recipes. These house recipes are created by each restaurant you visit, made up and designed by firms that own the restaurant, making it extra special. S in Russian or Ukrainian, it is perfectly acceptable to order recipes of sauce and beef created by the firm, it when translated, I doubt anyone wants to eat a "firm" sandwich. It just doesn't sound yummy. This also applies to food item name creations that restaurants make up. As creative as it sounds in ukrainian to call your sandwich a "nest" of bread for two chicken breasts, i dont think i'll be ordering a chicken nest for lunch. Two days ago, I found a sandwich made with "chicken ham". There is no such animal!! Chicken and pig can never have sex to procreate such a delicious deli item. Maybe only if it eats whortleberry.

Democracy in action?

This past Sunday Ukraine participated in parliamentary elections. The elections, these and ones in the past seem to be frail led with fraud. The whole election campaign has raised many questions in my very confused un-political head, and these are some of the answers I got. Ukrainian politics are fraudulent, much like politics anywhere else. They are filled with corruption and this corruption apparently has gotten worse. The orange revolution, as it turns out happened not because corruption became evident but because it reached a certain level of ridiculousness. corruption became so open and wide-spread, elections so fraud that people got angry. Elections were recounted and overturned, but yushchenko who became president effed-up and failed to do anything useful, so he lost the next election to the very guy over whom the orange revolution happened in the first place. Since president yanukovich has been president, the country has reverted back to corrupt ways. The president and his posse suddenly own large chunks of historic land, this land is used to build mansions. The opposition is angrily and severely persecuted: as in the example of yuliya timoschenko who was tried and convicted for some bogus crime. People are dying for random reasons. The year the economic crisis devastated Europe and specifically eastern Europe, there were several new millionaires reported in Ukraine. How? It's unclear. But the president's entourage, his party and supporters benefit from large sums of money, investments, real estate, and most importantly, cover from doing things outside the law. So the election. The party of regions, president's party is the main contender, opposed by various democratic parties, collectively known as the opposition. No one seems to be voting for the party of regions. And yet, somehow, its votes are growing. Several widely known facts: regional centers, small towns and villages, collectively vote for the presidential party, while having a terribly high voter turn-out. How? The mayor or governor of the region acquires a bribe and essentially guarantees votes by ordering the villagers to vote for the presidential party. Things get fixed quickly in return for votes, as the local official suddenly has money to build some personal property. Before the elections buses appear on Kiev streets. These buses bring people for temporary residence in Kiev for elections. Meaning, you are allowed to vote in your current physical location, so the presidential party literally fills buses with random students, ships them to the city, after buying dorm space, these people are housed in local university dorms and here they get to vote for the presidential party to ensure the right person ends up in the congress seat. Retirees we're approached on the street and given food packages in return for votes; election representatives would show up at your house and offer to pay money in exchange for your vote. The military apparently votes for the presidential party, these are direct orders, which you cannot disobey. The higher ranking officers are required to vote for the presidential candidates and take a cincture of your "correct" vote with your phone, if you don't, you risk losing your job. Which is a commodity. The night of the elections, exit polls showed that party of the regions was ahead. Not a majority ahead, but ahead. Tere was no official report as to the voter turn-out, despite the constitutional law that requires an official report before midnight. The votes are still being counted... The morning after, the presidential party has a oajority, while the opposition parties are not gaining votes and if anything, some have lost votes from reported exit polls percentages. If you add up the totals, they now exceed 100%. Im not a math person, but I'm pretty sure thats impossible. There are pictures of large stacks of ballots dumped into voting baskets, votes unclear. Voting committees have left counting randomly, as they pleased, without clear explanation as to why. The parliament will be filled with majority candidates from the presidential party, that is to the question. But how much cheating will happen before final numbers are in remains to be determined.

monday stress

i had a stressful day. it all started with toilet paper. apparently the city hospital does not have toilet paper. there is a doctor bathroom, locked with a key that hangs out in the call room. bathroom is nice and clean, has a shower. but i walked in and desperately looked for toilet paper, nothing, not even a toilet paper hanger...so i walked out, bladder full. and since i continued to forget to bring disposable pack of tissues, i suffered all of last week, full bladder despite large quantities of consumed coffee. finally, this morning, i remembered, so i walked into a store to buy some tissues. i found an entire row of shelves, with wet tissues. imagine, something like 7 shelves all filled with wet-ones, different brands, different flavors, smells, strengths...all wet. i literally stared at the shelf for like 20min. maybe i missed it, maybe i'm not reading it right, maybe i'm just totally crazy... nothing. some lady comes by and starts carefully staring at the shelves. we are now staring together, looking. i walk around the corner, maybe there is a whole shelf-full of dry tissues just around the corner..nothing. i come back: "ummm...there are no dry ones" "i know!!" finally, she breaks down and asks someone about the dry tissues: apparently, they are in an entirely different store section, at least they exist. at work, i am allowed to place leeches. this is additionally stressful. the little mo-fo's are squirmy and wet. they are different to grab with ring forceps, i'm afraid i am going to squish them, i'm afraid they're going to escape. the little 'resident' behind me is encouraging, but is always whispering something about the gauze being not entirely over the entire cervical surface, fearing the little criters with climb inside the uterus. mind you, i'm operating in one glove only, without a light. little buggers do not want to attach, i cant tell what's head and what's tail. in the end, it worked. but i was not a fan of this procedure. then, the head attending created a neo vagina. the scrubbing procedure is very interesting: you scrub your hands, then, you are given 2 4x4s which you use to dry your hands. then, you are handed another 2 4x4's soaked in ethanol...for disinfection. then you are dressed. the robe doesnt tie in the front, just the back. every time you touch something in the sterile field, which is maybe not exactly the sterile field (like the steril-y draped portion of the leg), you are handed a gauze soaked in ethanol, for disinfection. needles are not counted, in fact, there is such thing as disposable needles, and vicryl is threaded as if sewing thread. sponges and laps are not counted. i asked the scrub tech if they are counted, no bt she knows how many she has...so they are counted?? the anesthesia machine is old...there is no blood pressure cuff, the anesthesia intern (resident? nurse? i'm not actually sure who she is) takes blood persssure by hand, intermittently. they use monopolar--these prehistoric coag forceps. the attending who is assisting by holding the vagina, or what is going to be the vagina, at some point, removes her sandals, and stands there barefoot, on a step. the patient has no foley, she is intermittently straight cathed, despite the fact that we are operating by the bladder and the urethra, with a high risk of getting in to the bladder or accidentally injuring the urethra. . the foley is inserted after surgery, when patient goes back to teh room. returning to the call room, all the attendings are watching the elections. but more on that later.

parties, gangnam...I mean, kiev style

i'm sitting on a stool in the kitchen, drinking 2.5 shot espresso cafe au lait, trying to figure out why i hurt. must be the dancing in heels part. yesterday, the day started with souvenirs. we stop for vienesse coffee on the main city street. two very cute old gentlemen at the table next to us are discussing modern use of foreign words in ukrainian language, in perfect literary ukrainian. i, in turn, decide to loudly complain about shitty translation used all over the place, including the menu items, in not-so-proper english. then, Andrew's Descent, one of the main crafts streets in Kiev. it is freezing, like really freezing and at some point i stop feeling my feet. then, i spent some time babysitting. there is a kids halloween party in the local mall. this mall is kind of amazing. there is a ice skating rink, roller blading rink, bowing, curling, movie theater, zoo, aqua park, arcade, ton of little eateries, and shops. my (favorite under the age of 15) niece is dressed as a monster high character. i dont know what monster high is, but she is a monster...except that she looks like a cat. whatever. i dont have a costume, although i suppose i could always just be an angry american tourist. this place is a cesspool of children, all dressed in costumes of various effort levels: some are super dressed, some are just sporting head garments. i am surrounded by screaming children. this is not ideal. Rita, (that's short for Margarita) is not a fan of the halloween party so we just walk aroud. first, we paint with sparkly sand. we make the little mermaid. her skin gets a sparkly yellow coating, Ariel becomes asian, which is not quite accurate. then, the girl who is helping children peel away layers, serially removes concentric circles from her eyeballs. Ariel gets grey retinas, blue pupils and yellow sclera. ariel is now asian and jaundiced. after we are done, we eat ice cream. then, i am dragged into the 'zoo'. this zoo contains snakes and lizard in giant glass cages. after entering this place i realize that i am not a fan of snakes and lizard. not at all, i'm mildly grossed out. we need to leave. on the way home, we get two kinds of candy and nuts....yes, i am a seven year old. later that night, we go out to a club. this is supposed to be a super swanky Kiev club. it's hard to get in, face control is tight, unless of course you have a VIP card, which Anna does. this VIP card not only gets you in but also gets you a drink dscount inside. there are four floors: first is a restaurant, 2nd is a club lounge, then dance floor, then loungy booth floor with a bar. the dj spins house music, oddly mixing it with both depeche mode, moby, and coldplay in addition to your general pop music. the dancers interchane frequently and change many outfits. tehre is a whole production on stage. if this doctoring thing doesnt work out, sadly, i could not be a ukrainian go-go dancer: i eat too much. we dance for a little, i get smacked by some blonde doing some crazy hair spins. therse are too many people on the dance floor. Some dude decides to dance with me. He can actually dance, as in he carries a tune and has some decent body movement, but it's interrupted by strange gestures, like fist pumps, making him sort of resemble Vinny... Maybe even PaulyD. upstairs in the lounge, dudes are crowd watching while smoking hookahs. these dudes are surrounded by various forms of women. there are dudes loitering by the stairs, waiting for i'm not sure what. dress code is actually pretty decent, no crazy outfits, nothing super fancy. i guess i sort of look like a fit in. the club is super smoky, everyone smokes, people light up without leaving the dance floor. at 5am we leave, the party is still going strong. i smell like an ashtray that smoked another ashtray. i think i've aged three years just from smoke exposure. i want to burn my clothes. it's still dark out. this is normally the time i get up for work and i feel old.

tale of two clinics

Welcome to private REI (that's reproductive endocrinology and infertility, ya'll) clinic "Oberig"! here things are organized. there is a receptionist, there is an appointment list, patients are seen according to their appointment times. for some reason i am required to place booties over my shoes, remove my coat. i meet the guy who runs the clinic. he talks about a mile a minute and exhibits minor ADHD tendencies. he works fast, clinic appointments are brief, in and out, everyone gets an US. upstairs, there is a small OR, recovery room and labs for genetics testing, fertilization, embryo transfers, cryo--whatever the hell you want. it's kinda awesome. back to the city hospital. every morning i make my way to work. i take the speed tram (cause it's impossible to fit into city buses) and walk (uphill) for about 10min, not bad. at the tram stop you have the options of exiting the tram and walking back to overhead pass to get to the other side, or you can walk forward and getting to the end of the platform, climb down to the tracks and walk along tracks until the fence ends (cause there is a fence that prevents people from, you know, walking on tracks and dying). i follow the crowd and climb onto tracks, you have to walk fast, or flatten yourself against the fence to dodge the oncoming trams. work by the way starts at 830am, luxury if you ask me. the interns (aka 'residents') are allowed to miss rounds, which are at 830 sharp. this is when the charge nurse reports to the head of the floor (ie head attending) how many admissions there are, who went home yesterday, how many people are currently in-house. after that, everyone catches up on charting, waiting for cases. this is, again, interrupted by patients coming in to ask questions about whatever it is they want, or random other outside patients who need to be seen. actual morning rounds are deferred until after patients have had their breakfast, this appears to be very important for patient care. i'm sort of used to watching women just hang out in lithotomy for a while, in a common room, with others in the room, this does not appear to be awkward for the patient. i change in a tiny closet, its handle falls off, so i frequently have a panicked feeling thinking i am now locked in a tiny closet because i cant get the door to open without a handle. then, i sit on the couch waiting for someone to tell me about an exciting procedure. people feed me coffee, and attempt to feed me snacks and other things. they ask many questions about the american medical system, sometimes i get very generalized questions like "so is everything better there?" to which i'm not sure how to respond, other than with 'yea sorta'. the OR equipment is a bit prehistoric, like the laparoscopy and hysteroscopy tools. there is only one screen, the fluid pressure for the hysteroscope is applied directly by squeezing the bag, as the fluid machine is 'under maintenance'. the drapes are flimsy and are not quite the OR drapes (but hey at least they exist). apparently, i caused quite a raucus by scaring the crap out of all the janitors with my Dansko's: they were shocked by my wearing such 'boots' into the OR. everyone else, you see, wears sandals, no socks. not sure how my OR Danskos are dirtier than people's feet..but whatever. speaking of exciting procedure. many women are undergoing leech therapy. it is used for fibroids, endometriosis, infertility. in essense, leeches are applied to the vaginal walls...to, you know do their thing, while the owner of said vaginal wall hangs out in lithotomy, facing the window. you get five total treatments in a series, one a day. for this you are hospitalized. usually, two leeches are applied at a time. they are kept in individual jars, and discarded into communal leech jar afterwards. it is strange, i have yet to see evidence for this. but it seems very popular as it is one of the reasons why people remain inpatient in the hospital. in terms of remaining inpatient, there appears to be an issue with the upcoming elections. apparently, since some people will remain in the hospital, there is a chance they might miss the sunday elections. so some officially designated electorate lady went around the ward signing people up to vote and collecting their IDs. if you have done this, you can now vote in the hospital, while inpatients...you however, may not be discharged home, if you need to be before sunday, before you lack your ID papers. if you happened to register to vote prior to presenting to the hospital. you immediately need to be discharged, regardless of what is happening to you medically, by sunday, so you can participate in the elections. i will talk about elections later.

First day at work

Since I've been idling in Ukraine, I finally found a clinic to hang out at. I show up to meet this lady who is supposed to set me up. I go to an ambulatory clinic, kind of like a general ambulatory clinic, where there is a separate women's health center. Because I am early I hang out in the lobby. The Ukrainian elections are in a week, so the clinic lobby will, on the day of elections, serve as a voting center. Wich means that the resume of all the representatives running (and these are representative elections) are hanging out in the hallways, for all to see. Resumes include not only their full education and current job profile but also full names of their. Spouses and children, along with their addresses and phone numbers--maybe I'm just jaded but man, that's like a perfect stalker opportunity: let me steal your children and rob your house, before I vote for you. Once I get to the actual clinic, there is a sitcoms check. There does not seem to be an appointment list, people sort of just show up and wait in line. Meanwhile, waiting patients continuously pop their heads into the room, while you're seeing someone else, asking some burning question and end up being seen without waiting. It's messy. In this clinic, it appears, there is nothing for me to do--this is ob clinic and I'm too infected with whatever to ever step foot around anything newborn--so I am send to meet some other dude. The address of the next clinic is the Romanian embassy....I hope this is not right. I find it anyways, in the back of the embassy. There is no indication of where things are, X-ray is next to gyn rooms, next to ortho clinic (?!?), but after asking a bunch of people I make my way to meet the dude. He pimps me about medical things and then leads me to the inpatient gyn floor, leaving me with the inpatient unit head. The inpatient unit is confusing. Patients are sort of just hanging out, in their own clothes, terry-cloth bathrobes, and house slippers (or worse yet flip flops). Most of them do not appear to be sick and as it turns out are there for things that I would send everyone for outpatient evals (like patients are admitted to undergo Ultrasounds).i end up sitting in something along the lines of the call room. Tere are multiple bales where attendings sit and scribble notes in patient charts, which are all paper and appear terrible disorganized (UA's are hand glued directly into it). There are no actual notes, just scribbles, and the process is constantly interrupted by patients walking in to ask questions, to get doctor's notes, and to review results--this is both inpatient and consult setting. Again, intermittently, this is interrupted to perform Minot procedures. The procedure room is this large room with one wall being all windows. There are three gyn chairs, all facing the window, and in one of them, in full lithotomy, is a patients...just kinda hanging out. There are about 7 people in the room, and I immediately check to make sure there are o building across from the windows...cause, to know, this is awkward. I lean against the window, while staring at this lady's cervix just hanging out, and look back. On the window sill are vaginal smears, just neat little rows of glass slides on pieces of paper of patients' names and diagnoses scribbled. I quickly lean away...this is mildly gross. I now saline why the chairs are facing the window--natural light because the only OR light on the stand only has like 3 bulbs in it. There are no drapes on the chairs, each patient walks in with her own towel to sit on, and after the procedures, they are asked to get onto a cart (board with handles in wheels, no brakes or rails) after they have independently climbed into and out of the chair (this is after general anesthesia). There is a sheet on the cart, but no second sheet for coverage, so patients Re wheeled away on their sides (because that is how they slum onto the carts) I frantically try to cover their butts with their Own terry cloth robes as janitors (yes janitors) wheel them away. As I walked home,navigating post-work-day traffic, I felt bad. Mostly, because most of what I saw was simply because of lack of resources. And every single terrified and confused tout I had seemed like an arrogant developed world snobbery. The physicians are good, they have to be working like this, with nothing. But it seems weird that is happening. I gotta g to bed, back to work tomorrow.

grave hunting

so we go to the cemetery. my great-grandmother, her sister and more recently my grandmother are buried in the cemetery on the outskirts of the city. searching through the old jewish section of the cemetery is always a trick. many of these graves have nott been visited in years, left and forgotten by the 'from loving children, grandchildren'. many of the progeny have immigrated long ago, many others have died themselves. some of the giant gray tombstones have inscriptions in Yiddish. those that are much much older dont have birth dates: people were too old to remember the day and month of birth, simply "died at age ___"; others have just the year for the year of death. most often, it's listed as "1941" with a modifier "tragically died during World War II". you have to wonder if these are empty stones, where souls and bodies of their owners are left somewhere in concentration camps or mass graves. it's eerie to be around this old part of the cemetery, odd to look at names and faces on tombstones, trying to figrue out how people are related to the loved ones buried next to them. my mom tells a funny story: some time in the 60s, my great-grandmother acquired this giant silk imported French scarf. her daughters begged her to divide it into three (it was that long), so that each daughter and she can half a smaller scarf. my great-grandmothers reply? absolutely not, you will bury me in it. the day she died, her sister, my great-grand-aunt Dora came and brought the scarf. she cut it in half and even though they died 8 years apart, each one was wearing her half. we go searching for old graves of relatives' relatives. long story. but this turns into a great adventure. this part of the cemetery is even more abandoned and old than the other. no one knows where graves are, the map at the entrance to the place is terribly inaccurate. the cemetery is divided into sections, but somehow there are 3 sections "18", and "17" is nowhere to be found. we are walking up and down rows, taking detours when rows become too overgrown and impassable. i am walking on a thick soft layer of fallen leaves, both most recent and those left over from winters before. bugs are everywhere, even though it's october. i am fighting grasses, climbing over bushes, ducking under branches. it is a jungle. i am somewhat disgusted and somewhat creeped out, hoping not to step on a concealed dead animal or worse not to fall into an uncovered abandoned grave. this is not fun, especially since we're looking for some tombstone with a jewish last name, essentially searching for a cohen in a sea of cohens (not really, but you get the point, and i defintiely found like 4 different people i wanted to claim as the right ones, just so we can stop looking). at some point, i lose everyone and panic. then, we come across some dude who is 'trying to help' by asking man questions withoutany answers. not sure what he is doing there, randomly, but there is a pair of pants hanging out about 10 feet away from this guy. "mother, is this man wearing pants?" he is. we finally find the one we're looking for and walk back to the car. i open the trunk to get the purses out (because they are hiding there while we're on the adventure), i shut the trunk close and the car pulls away. srt of not funny, i try to jog with it, but i have three purses (yes, my uncle wears a purse ("it's european")) and it's hard to keep pace. so i lose them. i am lost at the cemetery. fuck. thankfully, i chased the car long enough to be facing the main street, i head towards it. i finally realize that i have a cell phone, so i dial, hoping my uncle has his mobile in his jacket. he picks up: "hello?" "where did you go??" "who is this?" "umm... ALEX?" "who's Alice?" 'godamit, just check the back seat for me!" ...pause..."SHIT!" i'm ok. everyone made it out, but just to be fair. death, i guess, is not so funny.

The intro

Made it. It's almost 7am and the sun is slowly rising. You can hear the traffic below pick up. The speed tram has been running for a while. It's partially responsible for my awakeness. Part jet lagged part just used to early rising, I'm contemplating how quietly I can make myself that cut of coffee, without waking anyone up. The flight over was mainly uneventful. Seems like hours of sitting and waiting, to take off, to board, to land. Although... At the airport, trouble started at the check-in kiosk. Since when international check in is automated? I was amazed at the lack of actual human counters: just a few isolated security workers running around in frantic attempts to check everyone's passport. My passport wouldn't scan, after it finally did and my boarding pass was printed, there was a commotion. The pleasant security officer "helping" us (but really checkin us in as he is supposed to be doing on internstionsl flights), takes my boarding pass and goes "umm...we don't usually see this, but your boarding pass came out with quadruple S, which is a high security alert." QUADRUPLE!?!? what does that mean?! Well it appears I'll have to answer a few extra questions...wtf? We get to security line and the security sees the boarding pass and starts loudly yelling at someone over: quadruple S, security alert, I'll need some extra assistance! People. Are now. Staring. We are whisked to the front of the conveyor line, dismemeber, I mean, take off shoes and watches and liquid bags out of bags, and pass through the X-ray (which by the way is not made for short people, cause the two feet painted on the floor, where you're supposed to step are way too far apart for me to straddle) and are again pulled aside: "we need a female pat-down over here" can you yell that louder?!? Our bags are thoroughly searching for drug or explosive residue, we are thoroughly patted down (she did go down my cleavage line and I'm pretty sure cupped both butt cheeks) we are let go. So why did this happen? Not sure, the security guy explains, but if I want, I can go onto their website and start an investigation to let them know they have tagged me wrong because I'm not the person they're looking for. Is it because I don't have an IRB? Did the IRB alert the authorities? Crap. I sleep on the plane: constricted, cramped, noisy, sleeping pill-aided abridged sleep. I make friends with a guy coming back from US- Canada tour with this touring large band thing. Munich makes me happy. Not sure what it is that makes me into a creepy germophile that I am, but even the airport proximity to being here just fills me with joy. I speak German and this makes me realize I miss the language, in my overly filled Spanish-speaking-patient incompetent life, it's good to actually communicate. I get complemented on my perfect German by the convenience store guy ("you live here?" "no, not right now") and we board the last leg of the flight. My mother makes a drunk friend. This guy, who reeks of booze (it's ten am) and has questionable stains on his pants, brown but sort of not in the location where one can soil themselves or aim to directly vomit...I don't know maybe it's ketchup, proceeds to start a conversation with my mother while we're waiting to board. He tells her his life story about ex-wives and step children, all while strangers are staring at ths charade. My mother is actively ignoring him (and I'm just laughing). After he treatens to help her with her bag, she tells him to go away. Then he asks if he can sit with us... I had no idea my mom has this weird attraction of the drunk. We land and the customs line is a mess. There is an actual line, like the bell demarcation of the line, but it's hard to tell it's actual shape. There does not appear to be beginning or end, therefore, the whole place is a one big shapeless herd aiming towards several small cubicle like border patrol peopled holes. People are pushing me, some lady decides that if she stands so close behind she is actually holding my ass, it'll get her to the front of the line faster. After several minutes of aimless herd-like movement, we jump under some useless rope following a fellow lost American and get ahead. The border guy is nice, and I, for the first time recite the address of where I'm staying (thanks shannon for making me fill out paperwork and yes you're supposed to provide an address of stay) we're free. Welcome to Kiev!

ode to underwear

i was just at victoria's secret and i did NOT buy the lacey cheeky underwear like i really wanted to (yes, it appears i still have self-control), but it made me think...
in my profession, i deal with a lot of nether-regions, mostly with the nether-regions to be precise, which means that i encounter a lot of undergarments. so here are a few points i'd like to make about that.
one: hospital-issued panties. they are these over-sized mesh shapeless things that you get in addition to your hospital gown for..i'm not even sure what purpose, i guess to keep that pad in place. they are too large, for most people, and need to be either pulled up to your armpits or folded over multiple times for any form of reasonable wear. now, i've never actually worn these, but i imagine it's not the best. so when i see women in the hospital just hanging out in these, it confuses me. if you're in the hospital for a long time, hospitalized on antepartum indefinitely, for continued monitoring because your baby isnt growing and it's too early to induce labor, why would you want to wear that at all times. it's already annoying to be in a hospital bed the whole time, you can put your own panties on..really. what amazes me is that women seem to love them, especially pregnant, or recently delivered ones. the best is when they show up to triage a week later to get their staples out adn are still wearing the mesh. 'have you been wearing these the whole time since your discharge!? you know you can wear your own underwear now!" i get it, after delivery, you've just had a baby, things are sore adn stretched down there, you have a crying newborn on your hands, you can't be bothered with normal clothes or worrying about your panties. but a week out? really??
two: going commando is great, everyone loves it, but there are certain situations that necessitate, almost mandate the use of undergarments. this, in my opinion, includes doctor visits. of course, if you're going to your dentist or have an appointment with an ENT (that's ear, nose and throat), maybe you can forgo your underpants. but if the anticipated doctor's visit has any threat of ever coming below your nipple line, you should probably put some undies on. at least for politeness sake. cause as much as i salute your freedom not to wear, there is nothing less appealing than trying to find your pubic bone so i can measure your uterine fundus and in the process discovering uncovered, unprotected sweaty crotch...that i now have to dig in without gloves because no part of my common sense anticipated lack of underpants in this situation. this is especially annoying after your complaint at today's prenatal visit was increased vaginal discharge..really??
three: this goes along with prenatal visits. too much underwear is also confusing. i've seen ladies show up wearing normal underwear AND dude boxers AND long johns under their jeans. i mean, it's not that cold out, do you really need all the layers?? and how did you ever manage to pull your pants up over all that fabric? and while talking about prenatal visits, i'd like to salute all my pregnant patients who show up to their appointments wearing hot sexy lacy thongs, pulled tightly over their pregnant bellies, somewhere around their 24+ week growing uterus. i hope when i'm huge pregnant and bloated i too have the energy or the care to sport sexy pink (or some other color really) thongs.
four: in the spirit of proper underwearage, when coming to see an ob/gyn (i.e. me) dont look at me all crazy adn surprised when i ask you to take your underwear off. it's super annoying coming to see a patient with some real (and often serious) complaint that requires a full evaluation only to find them still underpanted. if you show up to triage at 2 in the morning because you thought your bag of water broke or because you may or may not have seen some blood after banging your boyfriend, please dont act all offended when i request you remove your panties. i'm not an ENT, i'm going to need to check it out...now.
five: this brings me to my next point: misfitted underwear. not in a sense of bad attitude or teenage angst, but more in a sense of improperly fitted. the earliest example of this was the thong line over the jeans, and thankfully, the invention of low-rider jeans was accompanied by the invention of low rise thongs so we are, for the most part, over this (which, by the way, if this ever happens to me, i would truly appreciate my friends speaking up). but the new variation of this is regular-underwear-under-the-workout-pants situation. now, workout pants are super comfy and very popular nowadays, but the worst thing ever is going to the gym and staring at someone's ass on the treadmill in front of you with bulgy fold creasing over their underwear line. if that is happening, you know you need to rethink the tight-pants approach. and if you are morally against thongs (which by the way are great and specifically designed for that reason), you should at least consider larger underwear size so that the middle part of your ass does not become horizontally cut in half: you already have a butt crack, one is enough, trust me. this goes along with leggings and tight sweaters--the latest rage. we've made such great advances in underwear technology, there is underwear to fit all desires, bodies and comforts, so please, hide it well.
six: this last is piece is really to address some issues among the health-care workers. many of us wear scrubs, scrub techs, nurses, doctors (well, the ones that operate or actually spend time in the hospital) and if one can see underwear lines through the scrubs, you know it's time for a bigger scrub size. so if you're wearing your scrubs like screggings (that's scrub leggings), head back to the scrub machine. i'll even let you borrow my credit.

professional shows

recently, there has been a sudden surge of professionaling (yes, that a word) shows. that is, reality competition shows based on some professional activity. like top chef, which is great. but i mean, more than just top chef. i mean, it seems that everyone now has a show about how to be a better whatever. top chef, top designer, top hairdresser. soon there will be top lawyer and top engineer and top kindergarten teacher. which brings me to the next idea: why not top doc. one syllable title, already catchy. physicians from different specialties can be pitted against each other in hopes of becoming the next top....doc, proving who can be the best. there already has been a surge of doctoring shows. house is pretty popular still and who's sleeping with whom on grey's anatomy still? but this would be a whole different genre of doctor tv--competition, intensity, personalities clashing to be the best.
of course, you'd have to pick from different specialties and stay true to all the stereotypes. there will be a short and angry surgeon guy, the constantly-working-out-athlete orthopod, the bitch ob/gyn with killer stilettos, the geeky pasty white radiology guy, the super sweet asian peds girl, the goofy funny ED guy with possible drinking problem, the weird and eccentric pathology girl with an eye for color patterns...you get my drift. all of them will be living in some apartment, distantly resembling a call room. assignments and next competition will come as a page...on the team pager.
quick fires will involve randomly timed events such as starting an IV blind-folded with oversized gloves, or getting through as much of closing a laceration in a 5 minute period as possible, or figuring out if it's cancer based on a quickly frozen slide, or getting the most of a history from a paranoid schizophrenic patient, or finding a lesion on a CT. i guess the idea would be to make all of these docs do random unrelated shit in a timed fashion to see who can pull it all together best...to secure immunity.
the actual events who have to, then, be a bit more challenging. you could always do a house-style event, where contestants would have some limited time to correctly diagnose an obscure illness and find the treatment for some abnormal presentation of schistosomiasis in an old lady who's never been to egypt, or wandering breast glands pouring breast cancer out of some dude's knee cap. you can also do hands-on things, like performing an lap appy through just one port on an extremely obese man, whose white count is so high the appy is about to burst. you can make them resuscitate shot victims in a moving vehicle without supplies, or deliver babies in un-anesthesized organic patients who want natural births but are having terrible decels. or complete a complete physical and vaccination on a 7 year old kid with ADD. the possibilities are endless. all of this will, of course, have to come with an explanation of what exactly is going on and how grave or delicate a situation is. like why is it necessary to assist in delivery in light of decels...or what decels even are, but this is what would really entice the audience: the learning and the difficulty of the situation. the challenge, if you will.
there are also some potential drawbacks, like HIPAA violations and patient rights, but i think as long as everyone signs a waiver and a consent..it would be just like consenting for a procedure...except when your doc is the guy being eliminated..that prolly doesnt speakk so highly of your, hmm..treatment plan.
well that sucks. i guess we cant have a top doc show after all. and no one will ever prove to be the best of the best, the best physician there could be on live, or carefully filmed, tv show. i guess i'll just leave it to next top engineer and continue to watch my top chef.