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Jonathan meets his attending

So today was the second day of anesthesia orientation; the third day of orientation counting the general hospital orientation on the 29th. Overall, the anesthesia department does a fairly good job of keeping the information brief yet informative.

I finally got my ID badge after multiple trips between the security office and the Graduate Medical Education office. It's funny, but something as simple as getting my official badge (so I don't have to sign in as a visitor every time I come to the hospital) makes me feel a lot more like I belong.

Other highlights of the day included getting my locker, getting my first set of light blue OR scrubs (not counting the toothpaste-green scrubs we got at orientation--see above picture), and meeting my attending, Dr J. Turns out that Dr J is post-call my first OR day on Wednesday, which means I don't technically have any patients for the day. We'll probably just make some informal visits to the OR's.

This would be a good time to describe the other night's dream. I was at the hospital, and I met my one-on-one attending fir the first time. (At this institution, the anesthesia residents work with only two attendings for the first month, so that we learn one or two people's way of doing things, and not 10 or 12.) My attending said to me, disgust dripping from his voice, "Oh, it's you. I told the admissions committee not to accept you, and yet you're here." I awoke stressed out, and with that distinct feeling that everyone else was far more qualified to be here!

My plans to go running today were foiled when I got home and my roommate Clay & his friend staying in town invited me out to dinner. We ate at a tiny restaurant called Max SoHa's (SOuth of HArlem) off the 125th Street station of the 1 train, meeting up with a friend of theirs named Emily. The other three all knew each other from music grad school in Louisiana. A couple glasses of wine certainly relaxed the evening, and I have to say I really admire these musicians who take a big leap of faith to come to the city to follow their dreams. I feel like I have it easy with a job waiting for me in New York.

The other thing I've noticed is that for all the interesting people in the city, it's relatively easy to avoid unwanted encounters. So long as one averts his eyes, he won't be hassled. This skill is especially useful when a nearby subway rider who reeks of alcohol stands and begins singing "Hit the Road, Jack," and bangs a tin for donations. "Eyes down, Jonathan, stay in your own world..."

The other funny thing, speaking of scrubs, is that one of my fellow anesthesia residents asked if we are allowed to wear the green scrubs into the operating rooms. The one fellow in my class who did his preliminary year here said, "No, that is absolutely forbidden. You must wear the blue scrubs." I smiled, thinking to myself how to slip in a funny comment to the effect of, "Oh, and here I had thought it was rather ambiguously discouraged." This fellow saw me smiling and said, "No, I'm being serious! You must not wear the green scrubs into the operating room!" I sensed that he felt a bit defensive, like my smile questioned his authority on the topic of garment color and That Which Is Permitted And That Which Is Forbidden. After all, he has been here at America's Number Seven Hospital for a full year longer than me. I tried my best to appear thoughtful and politely replied, "Oh, okay. Thanks."

My first weekend, continued

For fear of being dull by bogging down in the mundane, I'll cover the rest of the weekend in concise bullet points. Highlights include...

• Sleeping in Saturday morning.
• My first loads of laundry in the laundromat downstairs.
• A trip to the post office.
• Talking to Jenni, a friend of mine starting anesthesia in the San Francisco area. We compared notes about living in two of the most expensive cities in the United States.
• Reading in Central Park.
• Buying blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries on sale at the Whole Foods at Columbus Circle. I couldn't leave without a few small tubs of Fage (Greek-style) yogurt and tabouli.
• Running in Fort Tryon Park close to my apartment.
• Visiting three services on Sunday (!) Will write more about this later.
• Lunch after church with new friends at Extra Virgin in the West Village. A stroll along Bleecker Street afterward where we encountered a street fair.
• Spotting a rainbow in the dark cloudy sky. Several others on the street and I paused in our urban canyon to look east as the setting sun to the west of Manhattan cast its rays over the island. There's an interesting and not unenjoyable paradox in sharing a small experience like this with complete strangers. (The picture above is one I found on the web.)

A funny thing about living here is the way the subways totally define the way people get around. There's no need to come full circle back to one's car. Instead, we took a one-way stroll after church and parted company after a brief discussion on which connections everyone needed to take in order to get where they were going!

My first weekend in the city

For my loyal Texas readers, a note of clarification. In New York City, the term "in the city," seems to refer specifically to Manhattan. Even though a huge percentage of Manhattan's population is made up of transplants whereas those in the "Outer Boroughs" tend to be born-and-bred New Yorkers, there appears to be more than a hint of arrogance about living in the heart of the city.

Orientation let out early on Friday the 30th which provided for a bike ride several miles through Riverside Park. New York City accommodates bikers well with bike lanes and tens of miles of "Greenways," dedicated bike, skating, and running paths. Families were out enjoying the warm sunny weather all along the length of my ride...playing volleyball, cooking out, and shooting the breeze. There were even several people out painting the striking George Washington Bridge spanning a mile over the Hudson River.

A mile from home, a gear fell off the apparatus that keeps the chain taut. I'd walked the bike fifty yards when an older gentleman on a bike blew a whistle at me! I looked up, and he came to a stop. Reaching for his tire pump, he asked, "Do you need some air?" I explained that no, the bike had broken, and that I was close to home. At this point, he began a friendly lecture that I should carry extra parts and tools with me, as he gently pat his saddlebags! I smiled and informed him politely that if I knew which part were going to break, I would certainly have brought one along. The irony was lost on him, so I shrugged and said, "Lessons learned." Friendly guy.

As I walked up the hill on 181st by Haven, I realized this was precisely the neighborhood that my friend Jane lived in. I called and left a voicemail. She'd recommended a pizza place I needed to try nearby. Even though there are hundreds of pizza places in Manhattan, I love the connection of eating somewhere or visiting a place that a friend recommends.

From 181st, I walked on Broadway toward home. I like the multiculturalism of Washington Heights, where within a few blocks I saw whites, blacks, Asians, and Dominicans all sitting and walking outside, enjoying the beautiful afternoon. Mostly Dominicans. The four men sitting around the square of a domino game on a card table in the middle of the sidewalk reminded me of my time in the Dominican Republic. As I walked my bike toward home, children played in the side streets, and women sat with their chairs lined up in the shade. What community!

After a shower, I changed to a collared shirt and slacks and headed for the 1 train to Lincoln Center. My friend Hansen had scored some cheap tickets to the New York Philharmonic, but unfortunately Hansen was in a minor car accident and couldn't join me at the symphony...er, philharmonic. The orchestra performed the Tchaikovsky First Piano Concerto as well as the 1812 Overture, ballet music by Borodin, and Prokofiev's Cinderella Suite. It was my first of what I hope will be many concerts by this world-class orchestra, but I have to say I was disappointed by the acoustics of the hall itself.

I sat next to an eccentric elderly couple. The husband couldn't seem to hear a thing. I'd seated myself beside the wife, at which point she leaned over and said, "I'm glad you're sitting beside me." Before I could feel too appreciated by her gracious words, however, she continued, "...and not in front of me. You sure are tall!" This was a woman who applauded for the orchestra by ever-so-gently tapping her fingers against the opposite palm. Ah, well, I suppose that by her age, she's earned a right to be rather blunt!

A moment I particularly enjoyed was venturing out during intermission. The upper level overlooks Lincoln Plaza, and the light rain during the first half of the concert meant that the pavement glistened in the warm lights reflected from the Metropolitan Opera. Down below, I could see the opera patrons strolling the plaza. Punks.

I finished the evening by catching a train down to the West Village and met up with some of my anesthesia colleagues at a little bar called Gaslight. One drink and 45 minutes later I was on the train headed toward home. Sadly, though, the express train stops running after 11:00 PM, so waiting for the train and riding 10 miles home took the better part of an hour!

I'll cover the rest of the weekend in future posts!

Hello New York City

Several days on the road have finally brought me to this exciting city! I've noticed, however, that some of the magic of skyscrapers, crowds at street corners, mazes of dingy subways, and the bright lights of Broadway has lost a bit of its luster as I've gotten used to these things. A moment's reflection makes me realize that even the most amazing things are bound to become ordinary...I'm just beginning the process of becoming a New Yorker.

And in this process, I can begin to appreciate a whole new level of subtleties. The joy of living close to an express train that quickly takes me to church, Lincoln Center, work, the Port Authority Bus Terminal, Central Park, Penn Station, or Battery Park. Buying fruit on the street. Discovering a hidden green space tucked away in the far northern reaches of Manhattan. Ducking into a subway station for cover during a sudden summer afternoon shower. Reading The Economist on the subway (thank you John F.).

The trip here was also one to remember. After a tough day of driving, Mom and I crashed at Aunt Chris' house in Lexington, Kentucky. The following day brought us to picture-perfect Cleveland to see my newlywed friends David and Louisa. From this time on, the weather was dreary until after I'd moved to New York City. We got to spend a couple days with Uncle Paul and Aunt Betty in Philaelphia in their small but cozy and amazingly hospitable home. Dad flew in from Germany during this time.

I'm toying with giving up a degree of anonymity on this blog. Whereas I'd kept my city hidden in the past, I've already made it clear I'm now living in New York. It would be hard to write about life here without it being obvious, anyway. More specifically, I'm living in the predominately Dominican neighborhood of Washington Heights. One of the jewels of this part of town is Fort Tryon Park with its Cloisters museum. Rent is not bad for a spacious apartment, and the subways of course make it easy to commute to work.

So that's where I am. I look forward to whatever adventures may lie ahead...