Well Said

Exactly that. . . well said
You can sign it too (scroll down to the very bottom).

Part 4: Economic Down-Turn

This is Part 4 of a 4 Part Entry. . you might want to scroll down to Part 1 - Sometimes Dreams Do Come True.
**
Other highlights included an incredibly athletic, very tall black stripper who was so flexible (like pretzel flexible) that I’m pretty sure she had some cartilage disorder. At one point she was doing the splits and then put her arms under her legs and lifted her entire body off of the floor and proceeded to do multiple push-ups. It was like Olympic gymnast quality. I was floored. I went up to the dance floor and gave her money, but I made someone go with me.

A highly informative chance encounter with a different stripper in the bathroom revealed that stripping has lost some of its stigma and has seen an increase in the number of women coming to strip bars. According to her women in strip clubs are a mixed bag because, while they do buy dances, they usually only buy one and they often make the 40 y/o virgin males (“who still live with their moms. . .can you believe that?”) uncomfortable and shy. Just like Sexy Lexi, she loves her job, although she is disappointed by the recent decrease in her earnings which she suspects is due to the economic down-turn and high price of gas.

Very rarely, illusions do (more or less) turn out to be the reality. I am still completely overwhelmed by the amazingness of last night. Really, all that was missing was a pole.

Part 3: The Wisdom of our Elders

This is Part 3 of a 4 Part Entry. . you might want to scroll down to Part 1 - Sometimes Dreams Do Come True.
**
When the waitress came over to take our drinks, Sexy Lexi told her my plan. The overweight, older waitress became very concerned that I was serious and said, “Honey, do not drop out of medical school to become a stripper. I mean, you could do it, and maybe do it to pay for school, but don’t drop out of school. It may look glamorous, but it gets old fast. You only have a few years in you, and then, well. . I used to be a stripper, and now look at me – waiting tables here.” I felt like I was in a movie.

I reassured her I wouldn’t do it, and counted myself lucky. It’s not often one receives words of wisdom from a former stripper.

Part 2: A Stripper Called Me Crazy, And Other Tales of The Night

This is Part 2 of a 4 Part Entry. . you might want to scroll down to Part 1 - Sometimes Dreams Do Come True.
**
Sexy Lexi was the 26 year-old woman who my kind and generous colleague hired to give me a lap dance. She started by telling me I was hanging out with a very hot group of guys, “Um, thanks?,” I said. I wasn’t really sure what to make of that.

(On a side note, what does one do during a lap dance if one is getting a lap dance? Obviously no touching, but where are you supposed to look? What facial expression are you supposed to have? I felt horribly awkward and when I feel awkward, I just start grinning from ear to ear. I’m not sure goofy grin is the facial expression of choice for lap dance reception.)

My friend chose wisely in Sexy Lexi. When she was done, she said “So you guys are really all medical students? I have so many questions for you.”

Could this have been any more perfect? I was so excited “And I have so many questions for you!”

Turns out, she has her BA in international politics and used to work as a para-legal until she found that she makes bank (and I mean bank) stripping. She and a friend are essentially traveling strippers. They come to a USA town that has good gigs, strip for a while, and then take all of their earned cash and go travel to other countries (Guatemala, Costa Rica, Japan next). Eventually she wants to go back to school to get her masters and become a Mandarin Chinese interpreter. Really, not a bad set-up.

I asked her if she likes stripping. “I love this work, it is so much fun.” And she told me that the lap dances are for the customer, but on stage, she dances for herself. Wow. I was totally sold.

She hung out with our group for a while. She told us that she wanted to make out with all of us and we should return on the 27th, her last night of work, when she didn’t care if she got fired (later at the all-night diner, my friend said earnestly: “No, I don’t think I’m going to go back on the 27th – hah!). The anthropologist in me continued to pick her brain. I told her about my fascination with strippers and that I was thinking about dropping out of medical school to become a stripper. (a joke folks, a joke). “You are really crazy,” she said and then looked at my friends, “She is really crazy.”

Part 1: Sometimes Dreams Do Come True

I went to a strip club last night. The Great Alaskan Bush Company is apparently notorious for being the “classiest strip club outside of Vegas” (according to my friend, it is the tourist strip club in Anchorage - who knew there were strip clubs for tourists and strip clubs for locals). A regular hang out spot, I was told, even the women come there to hang out. And, once I became desensitized to all of the tits, ass, and pussy, it was sort of like a normal night’s activity. It was more like watching a show, or going to the circus than it was like hanging out at a bar since everyone’s attention was focused in one general direction (the naked women) rather than scattered over the variety of intentions found in a bar. It was, as my friend put it, a sort of amusement park. I didn’t find it particularly arousing or erotic (I actually felt the opposite of those), but I was never bored, so I guess I can understand the entertainment value of the whole thing.

The truth is, I’ve wanted to go to a strip club for a long time. There is an allure there similar to my fascination with debutantes, sororities, Texas high school football, and the mafia. It’s rooted in curiosity about a culture that exists side by side with, but is very different from my own. And, if I’m being honest, I have several glorified fantasies of those lives not lived. I mean, really, what girl hasn’t wondered at some point about what it’d be like to be a stripper. So yeah, I’ve wanted to go for a long time, but I was always reticent for fear of shattering the illusions I have about the glamorous lives of happy strippers. I didn’t want to see the depressing reality of sleazy bars, disgusting old men, and miserable, bitter women. I figured that I would just chose wisely so that the strip club I would eventually go to would be clean and classy and not too much of a let down. Who knew I would find all that and more on my first real night out in Alaska? (I love that this is one of the first things I’ve done other than medicine in AK)

Mistakes Were Made (Mistakes Will Be Made)

Yesterday was one of those days that reminds you that humility is not always a graceful, humbling, educational experience. Sometimes it comes in the form of plain old red face embarrassment.

So I finally got to do my first pelvic exam. It was going ok (not great, not horrifically) until (you knew there was an until) the bimanual exam. Now, mind you I got an “Exceeds Expectations” on this part of my OSCE during medical school, so I was thinking, “yah, I got this one down.” Apparently doing a bimanual exam on a plastic model with no legs and no pubic hair is a bit different than doing a bimanual exam on a real live human being.

Without being too graphic, what happened involved some uncertain fingers, a misguided approach (but, thankfully no entry), and a rapid readjustment prompted by the patient’s, “Um. . .are you supposed to use the back door?” My attending looked at me horrified and asked “Did you just do a recto-vaginal exam???” I shook my head (somewhat frantically) and said “No,” in an incredulous voice (as if to say, “what do you think I am, an idiot?” Of course I am an idiot. That’s my job, and that’s all I am going to be for the next few years). This was the beautiful conclusion to a very long day of me being unable to answer basic questions like “what is pregnancy induced hypertension.” I perceived the aftermath to be a totally disappointed attending who thinks I am hopeless.

I left the clinic humiliated, beating up on myself. I had excuses: I’ve been sick, on cold meds, end of the day, first pelvic exam in almost a year, nervous, etc., etc., etc. But, that didn’t make me feel better. I was not a happy girl. And then I realized that I had damn well better laugh at myself for a botched pelvic exam, because if I don’t start lightening up on myself, I’m going to have a complete breakdown when I accidentally cut an artery in surgery or hit a nerve during a procedure. I say when because mistakes will be made (for good reasons and for no reasons) – it’s a matter of time, not a matter of if .

Lesson One: Check

First lesson. I know that I have ranted and raved about how taking a political stand is one of our most important doctorly duties, but sometimes my words taste mighty sweet, so I am eating them. Nurse D is sort of in charge of our experience in L&D (that’s labor and delivery in fancy schmancy medicine talk). She’s an important person to be on the in’s and in’s with. She’s someone you want to be on your side. You don’t want to piss her off. And, as I learned yesterday, you don’t want to let her see the Obama pin on your bag, because that quickly pisses her off and puts you on the out’s and out’s, on her enemy’s team. Here was the sequence of events: Scene 1: Laughing about small talk, everyone smiling. Scene 2: awkward elevator induced silence during which Nurse D eyed the offending pin on my bag and then scowled at me (there were eyewitnesses to this event, so it wasn’t my paranoia). Scene 3: Nurse D is mean and unfriendly towards me, but nice and friendly with everyone else. Scene 4: I covertly (and sheepishly), take the pin off of my bag and stuff it into my bag, along with my high horse (see earlier posts). Apparently AK is a red state. Who knew? Chalk that error up to education: Lesson one learned.

So this bring up 2 things. First, if I accept that my job right now is to learn everything I can from everyone willing (and unwilling) to teach, projecting my strong opinions about things is probably not the best way to be successful at my job. I remember in grade school they used to tell us to put our hands down and write down our idea so we could pay attention to our classmate speaking instead of spending all our energy concentrating on the brilliant statements we wanted to make. I’m not saying I need to give up my core beliefs and not so core political alliances, but I do believe that, at least in these early days, the more neutral of an image I present to my teachers, the more they will be willing to fill in my (seemingly) blank pages with their thoughts and knowledge. Then I get to go home and use those stored morals and values to sort through their beliefs and ideas. And I guess that brings me to number 2. Being neutral (within reason – you have to have a spine and think for yourself) for our elders is beneficial (again, in the early days); being neutral for our patients is almost essential. This is why we dress nicely, but not too nicely (business casual, or maybe a bit more). This is why, at least early on, we do not wear flashy jewelry, or dye our hair green, or show too much cleavage. It’s almost as if we want to be inconspicuous, because the less our patients notice us as individuals, the more reflective we become, and the more they divulge to us (and usually themselves) and the more we are able to help them (and they themselves). Later on, as we learn other tricks and become more steady on our doctor feet, this undercover, almost sneaky method of information gathering will become less important, but right now, it’s one of the only tools we have.