Survival Tactics

I can't think of any great stories this week.
It's becoming common place now - all the small town quirks and strange occurances. I have gotten used to the ladies at the grocery store scrutinizing my purchases and eyeing quizzically which movies I check out. They even give me commentary - 'oh this one isn't very good' - or 'I don't think you'll like this one...'. Great. Thanks.
I ventured into the bar the other night with my preceptor to take the edge off a long week of old folks, head injuries and non-compliant diabetics. The converstations drifted from local boys coming back from Iraq to how many acres of hay we'll get this year out of the back 40, to the recent rectal exam one gentleman got from my preceptor, then from me.
Oh, good ole Halfway.
The clinic is good, kind of chaotic and full of interesting characters. I continue to learn and look like a fool much of the time - having forgotten most of the information I crammed into my head last year. I more often than not come home smelling of dirty feet, horse maneur or various abcess liquids.

So - I have employed the following means to survive and thrive during the remaining 6 weeks in this town.
#1 - I have overcome loneliness and the absence of my cute little bald husband by becoming a pet owner.
Meet Martin Baker Henderson.
He's my sweet little friend who blows bubbles and doesn't fall on his ramp and split open his head or yell or forget to take his medication.
He's fabulous.


#2 I have read at least 6.5 books and watched a dozen movies. Hoooray.


#3 - I have officially gone hiking by myself for the first time. It was strange, fun, boring, nice - a beautiful day. I only got attacked once - by this funny chicken-like bird who appeared to be injured. He was in distress.
I subsequently got a raging secondarily infected case of poison oak. Fun times.





#4 - I was able to sneak away for an 80 MPH 48 hour rendezvouswith two dear friends to meet their cute little squishy newborns.

Meet Rogan below, and











Miss Madelyn



I'm officially addicted. Don't you just want to eat them up?



My parents come to town soon. Then the rodeo will be here in 2 weeks and apparently that brings a lot of blood and guts and tight Wrangler-wearing folks to town.
I mean, more than I already see on a daily basis.

Love-Hate Relationship

The love - hate relationship of my current life circumstance continues. The pace at which I change from love to hate and back to love at anytime seems to be increasing.
This town, oh this tiny little town, is coming more alive to me everyday. As folks come into the clinic and I see who’s related to whom, who belongs to whom by friendship, marriage or neighborhood kinship - it’s all making much more sense. As we all know, love begets love, and dysfunction begets dysfunction and it’s no wonder that 75% of this town is on an antidepressant. Have mercy.

But in this dysfunction there is the silver lining of loyalty, kinship and the make-up of a support system - all of which are admirable. But this also becomes detrimental when the head of the clan crumbles - and down comes the rest of them - whether they’re related or not.

The drive to work last Thursday began with my newest favorite song about our 'right to be loved….” And I sang out loud as I came barreling down my lane, and the billowing grey clouds were low in the sky and as I turned the corner onto main street a handsome gentleman was leading 2 beautiful brown mares while riding atop his own. The ‘clop clop’ was magical. Two old big-gutted cronies were exchanging stories with wild arm motions in front of the liquor store - wearing their over-alls and baseball caps. A lady I knew crossed the street and walked to the market waving at me with a big smile.
Am I in the Truman Show?
But then I entered the clinic - a swirling storm of chaos was brewing inside, and a crash of thunder roared outside. An elderly man had fallen last night. He didn’t come to the doctor till this morning, still bleeding. Why hadn’t they called 911? Questions without answers were shouted out in every direction and the waiting room filled and folks were stirring uncomfortably as the rain started splashing down in torrents.

From Hollywood-like bliss one minute - to crazy scenes from ‘ER’ the next. But at least I got to put in my first 10 stitches. While staring at this old guy’s exposed skull picking out pieces of grass, I hoped to the Lord that he wasn’t bleeding deep inside or brewing a big infection.

One evening last week I jogged down my lane and onto a logging road that wound next to a creek and I marveled at the beauty God had created. The crows flew, the cows moaned, the dogs barked and the flies buzzed as I trotted by listening to the creek.
And then the quail ran.
It’s such a STRANGE thing - have you ever watched a quail? They have these beautiful smooth, plump grey bodies with an upside down comma on their heads. And they do have wings. But for some reason when presented with a danger from behind, a threat from a car or a human jogging - their best defense is to Run. Their little legs go a mile-a-minute, and they look like cartoon characters with their bodies staying perfectly poised atop their tiny legs. They run till they know they’ll be overtaken - and then they decide since all else has failed to open those wings and use them. This evening however, the poor obese quail who I was chasing, I mean following, was more plump than was healthy and as he ran, his top-heavy body was too much to overcome and down he went in a tiny cloud of dust. His body was down but his little stick legs were still running faster, faster! But he got up and ran - then faster, faster - then down again, in a tiny cloud of dust.
It was pure comedy.



Sometimes, at the less-than-logical choices of townfolk, dysfunctional relationship fallout, behavior of patients, escape routes of quail,
in order to survive...
I just have to laugh.