better than a maxi van, I suppose

So!  I guess we bought a minivan!

I would post a picture but I'm not really sure what it looks like yet--and yes, that's precisely how much interest I have in cars.  I do know what kind of car it is, though.  It's a Toyota Sienna.  Which is a kind of minivan car.  Joe and I very briefly went to both a Toyota and a Honda dealership during our date night while Joe's parents were watching the kids (because the only thing I can imagine more nightmarish than bringing your kids to a car dealership is maybe bringing your kids to Ikea when those kids refuse to be left  in Smölville or whatever the hell that Ikea kids' penitentiary is called). Honestly, they're very similar cars, but we kinda liked the Sienna slightly better.

Anyway, I found a good deal online for below the MSRP with good financing options blah blah blah financial talk and Joe had an early afternoon off while I was on call and I told him to just go get the damn car because it's not exactly like I wanted to spend a weekend myself in some car dealership back office arguing with Jerry Lundergaard about not getting that Truecoat and fine, he'll do a damn lot count, what the Christ! So Joe did. Get the car, I mean.  The reason we don't have it in the driveway yet is because we decided to listen to everyone on the planet and get the leather seats after all (I always thought of them as some sort of unnecessary luxury option, like a seat warmer, until the cleaning benefits were pointed out to me) and the leather seats take about a week and a half to put on.

I think the car is grey, with a beige inside.  That's...about as much as I know.  Whatever, Joe saw it.  I'm sure it's fine.

So!  Minivans!

*          *          *

I like to think that we're generally financially cautious.  For example we decided, after some consideration, that we probably shouldn't get a new car and have a baby and landscape the backyard at around the same time, so the backyard improvements are shelved until at least next year.  Which is fine.  I mean, it would be nice to have a swingset upon which evict the kids from the house, but what the hell, indoors is nice too.  All the better to develop osteomalacia, kids.  Now do like on "Mad Men" and go watch TV.

That said, on the way home from Hilton Head I made a declaration.  (I do that sometimes.)  I declared that we should live frugally in so much as it was possible, but that also, we should try to take trips together as a family as much as we were able.  They don't have to be big trips or expensive trips--I'm not talking about flying us all to Rome or anything.  But just little day trips.  Weekend trips.  Stuff like when we went camping last fall, or when we lived in New York and used to go to that pick-your-own-fruit farm.  Just time away, all together, making memories, on purpose.  Spring Break was great but since we've been back, I've really noticed how little time we're all able to spend together, and how much, during the course of a normal week when the kids are going to school and Joe and I are at work, that time together is purely process-driven.  It's all: rush home, get dinner into gullets, homework, bath, snack, bedtime.  The weeks blend together.  And they go too fast.

So on the spur of the moment, Joe and I decided that, instead of staying around town for Memorial Day weekend (which was the original plan--and I'm sure if we did the weekend would have been consumed purely by errands and minutiae) we were going to take a small trip, a family trip, and spend time together as a family of four (well, five--we're bringing the dog) before we expand our ranks.  Kind of a babymoon for all of us.

Therefore, we decided to rent a cottage in North Georgia--a little short notice, most of the cottages were already booked up because most people are smarter and think ahead--but we found one that's close enough and not too expensive and folksy looking as all hell.  I think it's across from a cornfield, actually.  Also I think there's some sort of fishing creek right nearby not to mention a fire pit outside the house, and what the hell, your kids are only young once.  I think they're going to love it.

It's funny, because I've been kind of stressed out about all manner of things for the past few weeks--just about all the usual, like time and money and kids and job stuff--but now that we have a little something planned, I feel a lot better.  It's nice to have something to look forward to, with people that you like.

And since we'll have a minivan by then, think of all the crap we'll be able to bring with us!

How about you guys?  What small do you like to do for quality time with your families, and what bigger things are worth the splurge?

hauling ass

One thing that did not totally occur to me until Joe pointed it out was that crossing the threshold into the three-kid arena meant that we would need to get a bigger car. Serendipitously, the lease on Joe's current car (a Honda Fit--which is a fine, and more importantly inexpensive car, though likely one of the smallest four-door cars on the market) runs out in July, so we should be all set to trade up for some sort of three-rowed conveyance device, likely a minivan.

Having grown up in Manhattan well away from car culture, I have no particular prejudice against getting a minivan--I have heard the arguments before about how uncool minivans are, but in my mind, ALL cars are uncool, so really for us it purely comes down to a functionality issue. Also, let's remember that I'm already uncool, so it's not like the car I drive is going to change that. (Obnoxious penis-substitute car drivers, take note!) Anyway, the most likely finalists are the Toyota Sienna versus the Honda Odyssey--we're leaning towards the Toyota because it's somewhat cheaper--but if anyone has any particular recommendations on a seven-to-eight-seater car, please feel free to recommend or dissuade. Whatever the brand, we will likely get one of the lowest trim packages (meaning no DVD players, no navigation, no leather seats, no flux capacitor), so fancy features are not a concern. The only add-on that Joe thinks we should likely get is some sort of "backing up" camera, mostly because I am, uh, not a good driver,  and he wants to make sure I don't run over anything vital, like our mailbox, or a mailbox-shaped human.

(Of course I have been reading online car reviews and consumer report guides, but I have noticed one thing in the minivan guides in that after you read many of them in a row, you realize how many of them are jarringly anti-kid. One example from Motor Trend magazine: "...since children and their Cheetos-encrusted boogers are the target audience, perhaps a really nice interior doesn't mean a whole lot in this segment." In minivan reviews, apparently, there are lots of "jokes" like that, mostly related to how disgusting and annoying multiple children are. You could well make a drinking game out of it. Drink every time a review mentions crushed Cheerios messing up the backseat. Drink every time a review talks about the DVD players quieting your squalling hellions. Drink every time a review talks about how multiple kids are the death of cool, and how the utilitarian suburban drudge cart is now your cross to bear. I GET IT, CAR MAGAZINE, YOU HATE KIDS.)


* * *


19 weeks. Look, a different shirt!

I know that externally, it seems like kind of a gradual progression, but let me assure you that it sure doesn't feel that way. Look, just think of this week-by-week photo project (granted, more for personal archival purposes than anything else) as the most boring flip-book ever. Anyway, the fundus is just below the umbilicus that this point, and I can tell we're moving along because the umbilical port scar from my old med school lap appy is actually visible now. THINGS ARE EVERTING. Sorry, was that gross?  Well, take it from a doctor, that's how the human body is, kids.  Gross.  Gross but functional.  Like a minivan.

(And that's what we call "coming full-circle.")

second opinion

Yesterday after I gave my Grand Rounds (which went well by the way, at least to the extent of my experience giving it), I was in a good mood and celebrated by taking my car to the fixit shop.  Well, actually, the second thing had nothing to do with the first, it just sounds more festive that way.

All the important mechanics were fine (you know, like the wheels, the engine, the other...drive...pistons), but there was something wrong with my trunk. To be clear, the trunk was working JUST FINE up until we went camping last weekend, when:

JOE

Hmmm.

MICHELLE

What "hmmm"?

JOE

Could you open the trunk of the car before?

MICHELLE

You mean was I able to open it earlier today?

JOE

Yeah.

MICHELLE

Well, of course, that's how I crammed all those sleeping bags and blankets and camping stuff in there.

JOE

Hmmm.

MICHELLE

WHAT "HMMM"?

JOE

I think I just broke the lock on your trunk.

The trunk could no longer be opened by the car key itself, nor by pulling the lever in the driver footwell, though oddly, the remote control keychain button still worked.  I didn't think this was a big deal at all--usually I open it with the remote anyway--but Joe pointed out that if we ever lost the keychain or it malfunctioned, we would be toast.

"OK, so I'll stop locking the kids in the trunk then," I responded (I thought) quite reasonably.

Joe made me take the car in anyway.

The car fixit place (I just took this one picture there of the pretty rust pattern, though I realize this photo makes it look like a vehicular internment camp--not that far off, I guess) told me that I should expect to leave my car there for at least the rest of the day.  They would most likely have to dismantle the whole trunk, replace the lock apparatus en bloc if (IF, they emphasized portentously) they could locate the correct parts, a process that might take a day or two.  When I balked at the day or two (or two? Two days?  TWO EARTH DAYS?) they replied that they would make their best effort to at least have the car in drivable condition by nightfall, though under no circumstances (they underlined this with an eye-roll, to illustrate how crazy this would be) should I expect the trunk situation to be anywhere near fully resolved without another one or two visits for full repairs down the road.

Anyway, I thanked them for their opinion and diagnostic time, and proceeded to take my car to a Toyota dealership across town.  (Not to ruin your fancy doctor car dreams, but I drive a used Toyota Camary with a sizeable dent on the rear drivers side.  If you see me on the road, say hi, I'll be the one gripping the steering wheel in panic.)  At the dealership, the guy looked at my trunk for two seconds, clicked something over in the lock mechanism, and said, "There.  You're good to go."

Apparently we (Joe) had automatically engaged the trunk into "valet mode," which I wasn't aware existed but I guess is what you do if you are getting your car valet parked but don't want the parking people to look into your trunk and see you stash of dead bodies or whatnot in there.  The trunk wasn't broken at all.  It was such a no-brainer the people at the Toyota place didn't even charge me.

So from a multi-day, labor-intensive, thousand-dollar estimate to a problem that was fixed with a seasoned eye, some common sense, and a flick of a switch.  I guess this would be a good time to draw an analogy back to patient care, but I think you can probably take those last few steps on your own.

apparently turning into a running tattletale series about other drivers

So I was driving back from my local Asian Grocery Mart (Super H Mart!  I love you and your multiple Pocky species!) when I was stopped at a red light behind this SUV.  Suddenly the door opened, a hand stuck out, and dumped a half full plastic cup of some beverage out of the car onto the pavement.  Not just the liquid part, mind you, the whole cup.  Then they closed the door, and when the light turned green, they just drove away.

Part of me was incensed, because if Ranger Rick and his Forest Rangers taught me anything, it's that LITTERING IS BAD.  But it's the complete disregard for the social contract that really drove me crazy.  It's like in that episode of "The Simpsons," when someone asked Homer why he threw trash on the ground instead of looking for a garbage can.  ("Because it's easier.  Duh.")  Which is funny because it's true, but this was broad daylight in the middle of a giant street, wasn't this person even a little embarrassed to just jettison trash out their vehicle?  What was this, outer space, and they're just blowing detritus out of their airlock hatch?

Like George McFly, I'm essentially a coward when it comes to confrontation, but I was two impulse units away from beeping my horn in disapproval.  The only thing that stopped me is that I've watched enough local news to have a healthy suspicion that, particularly in the South, outrageously rude drivers actually carry firearms in their vehicles with alarming frequency.  So in the interest of not getting shot, I didn't do anything more disapproving that taking a picture with my cell phone and posting a scoldy commentary on my marginally trafficked blog.

Uh, that'll teach them a lesson!  Or something!

like one of those urban legends, but dumber

So look, I'm not a good driver--you know this.  I am a little bit better at it now, because I am forced to drive every day in order to get...well, anywhere (it's Atlanta) but still, when things happen that are out of the ordinary when I'm driving, I don't like it.  I get nervous.

So when I was driving down a major street yesterday and that big van pulled up close alongside me, I didn't like it very much.  I liked it even less when some guy stuck his head and half his body out of the window of the front passenger seat and started frantically gesturing to me, then to the back of my car, and then back to me again.

At this point, I figured one of several things.

1.) My brakelight was out. 

2.) The back of my car was on fire. 

3.) I had just run over something (or, god forbid, someone). 

4.) I had a flat tire. 

5.) I was going to get carjacked.

6.) There was a killer in the backseat with a hook for a hand, and the call is coming FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE! (Also, my trunk was filled with Pop Rocks and Coke.)

I looked over at the guy and gestured quickly (again, difficult to do, I have this thing about keeping both hands on the wheel--and by "thing," I mean that I am a constitutionally nervous driver) "What?"  He didn't say anything, just make this desperate, panicked face, again gesturing to me, then to the back of my car, then to me again.  Well, shit.

Cautiously (again, remember, we're still driving high speed down a road at this point, a big, busy road, with no place to pull off), I rolled down my window and tentatively shouted out my window, "Is something wrong?"

The guy in the van, not missing a beat, shouted back, "I can't help but notice that you have a big dent in the back of your car, ma'am.  Would you like me to help you fix it?"  He was looking for freelance auto body work.  What did he I think I was going to do?  Say yes so he could throw a handful of business cards into my window?  I very politely said no thank you (trying all the while to keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road), and rolled up my window again.

What I didn't tell him is that I had made that big dent in the car myself, while backing up our other car into it in our driveway last year.  Because I'm a terrible driver.  And he's lucky I didn't put a dent in his van while he was trying to arrange some sort of high speed interaction with me as we were both barreling down a major street during rush hour.

In sum: I hate driving.  The end.

internal monologue of the not-quite-good samaritan

There are two left turn lanes off the exit of the highway that I take to work. Usually I get to work so early that traffic of any kind is not a problem, especially on the local roads, but this morning, there seemed to be an awful lot of brake lights and lane changing on this one short span. I was in the right lane, everyone ahead of me seemed to be changing into the left lane to bypass something that was apparently obstructing traffic up ahead. As I got closer, I saw that there was actually a stopped car up ahead. A car that was braked at the intersection, not moving despite the fact that the light was green.

Because of my position in the line, I pulled up right alongside the car. I figured it was probably some kind of breakdown or engine problems, thought I thought it was odd that the car would be stopped in traffic without any hazard light turned on. But there was a guy inside the car, alone, sitting in the driver's seat. He was sitting up, leaning up against the back of the seat with his eyes closed, and he wasn't moving.

Well, shit.

First thing I thought was, cardiac arrest. I craned my neck more. Was he breathing? Hard to say. He definitely wasn't moving in any way that I could make out through my car window. He didn't looked slumped over or anything obviously ominous, but who falls asleep at an intersection, for chrissake? So clearly, he was dead.

Shit.

I should get out and see if he's OK.

Well obviously he's not OK, just look at him.

He had an MI. No, wait, he had a stroke. A hemorrhagic stroke. No, wait, a ruptured aneurysm.

Could he be sleeping? Who falls asleep off the exit of a highway?

OK, I've got to get out there. Ew, I don't want to touch a dead person. I don't want to do CPR on a dead person. I don't even have any gloves.

Get a grip, woman, you're a doctor.

But...ew, dead people.

I have to go out there. Is that safe? Am I going to get hit by another car? What's going to happen to my car? Now both lanes of traffic will be blocked. People are going to be mad. There's going to be honking. I hate honking. Why do they honk so much here?

OK, I've got to go see if he's OK. Shit, I'm going to be late for work. What cases do I have this morning? I have to start that CABG, don't I? Oh, and I have that shoulder replacement too, now I'm not going to have time to block that patient before we go back. I have to call the OR front desk. I hate being late for work.

But who cares if you're a little late for work, there's a dead guy there! Anyway, we're right around the corner from the hospital. You'll just get in his car, drive him over to the ER...wait, what if I don't know how to drive his car? What if it's a stick shift? I should call 911. Yes, 911. That's what people do.

JUST GET OUT THERE AND CHECK ON HIM, ASSHOLE.

I put the car in park. Just as I was reaching for my door handle, the guy in the other car, apparently not dead, opened his eyes and drove off. So I would like to say that I was in the process of doing the right thing, but honestly, since he never gave me the chance, I'm not so sure.

this is what is known as a multi-pronged approach to preparation

One other consistent piece of advice that I received about taking my oral boards (yes, I'm talking about the fucking boards again, but just bear with me, they're on Wednesday, and then hopefully never again) is that I should be sure to take some beta blockers before showing up. This under no less authority than my partner at work, the oral boards examiner himself. As he explained it (and not like I don't know this to be true, but he's actually seen it happen year after year) is that when you show up to take the boards, you are very NERVOUS and you get a HUGE CATECHOLAMINE SURGE and meanwhile you're WAITING AND WAITING for your exam to begin and your SYMPATHETIC NERVOUS SYSTEM is all revving OUT OF CONTROL, so by the time you actually get into your first test room you're all WRUNG OUT and EXHAUSTED and SHAKING, which just makes you feel like hell before they even ask you your first question. Also: flop sweat. So, I agreed that if he thought it was best, then beta blockade I would.

(Now before the non-medicals accuse me of taking the PERFORMANCE ENHANCING DRUGS, let me assure you that this is not the same as blood doping or taking, I don't know, Ritalin or whatever. Beta blockers are a non-narcotic medication usually prescribed for hypertension and/or ischemic heart disease that work on bringing down your blood pressure and heart rate, thereby reducing the stress on your heart. They have no psychotropic effects, and lots of people--actors and public speakers in particular--will take them for stage fright and whatnot to block the physical effects of anxiety. So don't worry, I'm not juicing like Drago in "Rocky IV.")

Anyway, beta blockade seemed like a good enough idea, and conveniently enough, I actually have some metoprolol at home, which Joe has been taking for a few months after his run-in with myocarditis. (He mainly takes his to suppress ectopy--that is to say, he gets palpitations and the metoprolol smooths them out.) However, given that I don't usually take any medications to reduce my blood pressure, and it's not like my baseline blood pressure is super high to begin with, I wanted to do a trial run with the metoprolol. You know, so I wouldn't take it for the first time and keel over in front of my first two examiners in some ungainly display of orthostatic hypotension. You know, like a demo.

After taking half a tab of metoprolol this weekend (which had basically zero effect) I took a full tab today. And I felt...the same. I thought my heart rate was maybe a little bit slower, (it was maybe high 70s when I took the med, and when I checked it again it was low 70s) but how could I say for sure, I was sitting down, I'd had something to drink, I was chilling out in a Starbucks for chrissake--not exactly the greatest stress test in the world. Of course, you could argue that the fact that my heart rate was not higher after drinking coffee was diagnostic, but I had a chai, so who knows how much caffeine is in that? Anyway, I had dodged the worst case scenario (read: I WAS NOT DEAD) but as for the intended effect of the beta blocker, I still wasn't sure.

The one other thing that I wanted to do today was take a test drive to the hotel where the exam is being held. The oral exams are being administered there all week, and candidates are told a specific day and time to show up so that they're sort of staggered throughout the day, Monday through Friday. I know where the hotel is (thank you, Google Maps) and I know that it's only 9 minutes from my house, but given that it's a busy part of town during a busy time of day, and given that I am the novice driver you all know me to be, I thought it best to practice the drive.

Well, I drove to the hotel. But see, where this hotel is located is right next to the on ramp for the highway, and though I could see where the hotel was--if I stopped my car and got out, I could have actually walked right up to in in about 30 seconds--it was one of those things where I couldn't see any way to turn into the driveway, and once I passed the hotel it was all MUST TURN THIS WAY and LOOP BACK THAT WAY and DO NOT ENTER and THIS WAY TO THE INTERSTATE. I had been warned about this last week, but seriously, that area is a major clusterfuck. And so I was slingshotted in the traffic like a helpless projectile, trying to figure out how not to end up on the interstate and how to loop back to the main street, all while trying to avoid all these Atlanta drivers who were all honking and merging with their penis-substitute convertible sports cars and all giving each other the finger (honestly, I grew up in New York City, and I've never seen as many drivers give each other the finger as I have in my two years here). It was terrifying. But even though in my mind I thought, "This is terrifying," my body did not feel terrified. My body felt calm. In fact, when I finally got out of that traffic vortex and stopped at an intersection, I checked my pulse. Still in the 70s. So I guess beta blockade works.

I had to loop back around to the hotel a total of four times before I finally found the entrance driveway, by the way. And then I saw all these people walking around with suits and notecards looking like they were going to puke. So that made me nervous again. But only in my mind, not my body. My body was sipping boiling water and spitting out icicles. Yay for beta blockers!

Medicolegal addendum: Please know of course that beta blockers are not for everyone and that there are certain conditions that should preclude you from taking them, consult your primary care doctor before starting any prescription medications, etc. etc. ad infinitum

both a reassurance and a curse




When I went to take my written test for my learner's permit (probably a little less than a year ago), I saw this middle-aged guy at a computer testing station about two seats away from me with a book in his lap. Upon closer inspection, this book was a Myanmar to English/English to Myanmar dictionary. This poor guy was slogging through this test, word by word, flipping frantically through his dictionary trying to figure out what "merge" and "signal" meant in Myanmar before answering.

My first thought? Wow, that's rough. But if this Burmese guy who doesn't even speak English can pass his written driving test, surely I can too.

My second though? Wow, if this Burmese guy who doesn't even speak English passes the test and I don't, I am going to be extremely embarrassed.

As it was, I was probably just one question away from failing that written driving test. (Though to be fair, almost all the questions that I got wrong were related to various speed limits in various zones--couldn't I just look at the speed limit signs in real life?) But I passed. And I think about that Burmese guy sometimes still. I hope he passed too.

Anyway, the point of me writing this is because, well, obviously I'm taking the oral boards in a few days. And I'm not overly stressed about it, I think it will be fine, though of course occasionally, I will think, OMG OMG THE ORAL BOARDS OMG and I'll get a little anxious that I'll get nailed with the crazy obscure stem question about the quadriplegic achondroplastic dwarf newborn with mucopolysaccharidosis, and that my examiners will be a tag team known as "Bad Cop" and "Worse Cop." But several people have tried to calm me (and they said that this was the most comforting piece of reassurance, or at least perspective, that they themselves received before their oral boards) is that a good number of my co-test-takers are foreign nationals and actually don't speak English very well, so I, aside from being reasonably well-trained, at least have a huge advantage in the fact that I, you know, grew up speaking the language in which the exam is administered.

And that is a little reassuring, I suppose. But my second thought? Wow, if this Burmese guy who doesn't even speak English passes the oral boards and I don't, I'm going to be extremely embarrassed.

(Of course this is in no way to discredit those colleagues among us--my parents included, each Board Certified in their respective fields--who have tackled the extremely unruly language of English and managed to get through all the hurdles just as us native speakers have. I couldn't do what you have done. Bravo.)

unorthodox, but grateful nonetheless

I got my first driver's license a little more than a month ago. I KNOW. However, since then, I have driven to and from work every single day, and even though I don't really know how to go anywhere else and I get really nervous whenever I have to deviate from that home-work-home route, I'm kind of getting used to driving. This is a big step for me, as every time got behind the wheel even two or three months ago would have me shaking with white-knuckled terror. I can even change lanes on the highway now without activating my fight or flight response. I am becoming a normal person.


MICHELLE
I wouldn't say it's enjoyable, but driving is becoming...satisfying. You know, like any other repetitive, habituated behavior.

JOE
(Brightly)
Like pooping!

(Long pause)

MICHELLE
No...not like pooping.


I used to not even be able to hold a conversation while I was driving (truth be told--I still don't like to talk when I'm driving somewhere that I'm not familiar) but at least with my commute to and from work, I recently progressed to being able to listen to the radio--the soft rock station only at first, until it started to drive my slowly insane--and now I am comfortable enough that I can listen to my podcasts* again. I can actually listen to other people having a conversation, concentrate on the conversation, and not veer off the road. Do you know what a big deal this is? It is. It is a very big deal.

I AM THIRTY-ONE YEARS OLD AND I JUST GOT MY FIRST DRIVER'S LICENSE.

So anyway, I can drive now is all I have to say. And I drove my kids around (twice!) when Joe wasn't around and we had to get somewhere and I had no other choice, and we all lived! Even though I had to tell Cal don't talk to Mommy while she's driving the car


CAL
Why?

MICHELLE
Because I have to concentrate.

CAL
What's "concentrate" mean?

MICHELLE
Concentrate means when you have to think hard about something.

CAL
Why do you have to think hard?

MICHELLE
Because...shh. Shhh. I just do, just...shhh.

CAL
Mom, why did you say "Shh?"

MICHELLE
Cal, don't talk to Mommy while she's driving!

CAL
But Mom, you're not driving.

MICHELLE
Well, I'm in the car, sitting behind the steering wheel.

CAL
(Pityingly)
But it's a red light.

MICHELLE
That's it, no more talking forever.


Um...Happy Thanksgiving!


* I used to only have the "This American Life" podcast to fall back on, but as of late I am in love with "Jordan Jesse Go!" because it is funny and I don't want to be depressed about the war in Afghanistan or teenage runaway heroin addicts first thing in the morning. If you can suggest any other similar funny podcasts, please advise. (I am trying to get the comments section back online but it has been disabled for so long that I kind of don't know how to do it. Bear with me.)

60 posts in 60 non-consecutive days: the stink of failure

So...I failed my road test. But it wasn't totally my fault.

Wait, let me rephrase that. It was my fault. Nobody failed my road test for me. But the nature of the failure wasn't (in my opinion) related to skill or disobeying traffic rules or running over granny or anything like that. Well, let me get to that part.

First of all, yesterday (the day I took my road test) was maybe one of the rainiest days I've seen since moving to Atlanta. This was not rain as you or I understand it, this was monsoon season on the Ganges. This was, "I can barely see out of my front windshield with the wipers going at full speed, giant lakes of water on either side, can't hear what anyone is saying because of the volume of water beating down on the roof" typhoon level rain. It was also the first time I had ever driven in the rain. Ever. Not making excuses, just saying. There was a note on the DMV website that said that driving tests would be cancelled under unsafe weather conditions, but I guess they were talking about, I don't know, tornadoes or something. I know I'm going to have to learn to drive in the rain at some point, since, you know, it does rain sometimes, but probably trying to do it for the first time the day of the road test would not be the way I would want to break into the practice of inclement weather driving. Anyway, again, not an excuse, but non-ideal conditions they were.

We waited at the DMV for about two hours. It was a little annoying since we actually made a 9:00am appointment for the test (in the end, it turns out there was some sort of problem with the light-up board that calls your number, hence us waiting an hour past the appointment time for our ticket to get called), but at least it allowed us to play sociologist in the fascinating and occasionally grim world of the DMV. Like, for example, noting this conversation next to me, between a a mom and a teenage girl filling out an application for her learner's permit.


TEENAGE GIRL
(going through checkboxes on form)
"Do you want to be listed as an organ donor on your license?" What does that mean?

MOM
It means if you're in an accident and they have the choice between saving you or saving your organs, which one should they save? If you say you're an organ donor, they'll just take your organs and let you die.

TEENAGE GIRL
Oh. I don't want that.
(Checks "NO" on the form)

MICHELLE
Sigh.


When it finally came time for the test, we had to run out from the rear doors of the DMV to this tin metal shed, where "the licensed driver" (Joe) was instructed to pull up the car. The rain on the tin roof was deafening. The road test instructor was kind of a small lady, clad in a full-length (and I mean full-length, down to her ankles) yellow rain slicker with a gigantic hood. With the hood up, she looked like that killer with a hook for a hand in "I Know What You Did Last Summer," except, you know, yellow. I know that instructors aren't supposed to give a lot of feedback or show emotion or whatever, but she was also rather sphinxlike. Meaning that she was unusually stoic and stony-faced, not that she had the body of a lion or anything. (Though, under that rain slicker, who knows?)

"Get in the car and (blum blur blar) so I can check your (inaudible)," she mumbled grimly.

"Excuse me?" I moved closer to her so that I could hear. "Sorry, I didn't catch that, the rain is really loud."

She looked at me about a beat too long. "I need to check your TURN SIGNALS and your BRAKELIGHTS," she said, as though to someone of questionable intelligence.

"Oh. Yes. Right away." I duly fired the signals, and she neither conformed nor denied that everything was OK, just got into the car.

"Cool raincoat," I noted. I wasn't trying to kiss up, though the second those words were out of my mouth, I wish I hadn't said them, because--complimenting your road test instructor's attire? How could that not be perceived as kissing up? In any event, she didn't respond, just telling me to pull out into the driving course in the back lot.

The driving course part went OK, I think (again, I didn't get any feedback, so who knows. It was fairly hard to see out of any of the windows despite the windshield wipers going full blast and the defrosters going front and back, but I think I parallel parked OK, and I think I managed to do what she was telling me. ("Yes ma'am." Southern people seem to have this innate ability to say "Yes sir" or "Yes ma'am" sounding totally sincere, but for some reason, when I say it, it sounds sarcastic, even if I mean it. But no matter.)

The real trouble came when we had to start the "road" portion of the road test. Now, let me just say this first: I had been told by several people (including one of our OR techs, whose daughter just took her road test at this same DMV location a few months ago) that this would consist of "driving around the block." I also heard from one of the other parents standing under the tin shed (I guess they were there for a repeat road test too) that the instructor would take us "in a circle." So I was all geared up for that. We pulled out of the parking lot, turned right, and started going down this long, straight road which ran parallel along a larger street.

"Up ahead," the instructor droned, "there's a left turn coming up. Go left, straight."

"Left, got it." I approached the turn and saw a couple of signs indicating that I could make a left turn to double back at this point. Figuring that this was the part of the circle where we turned around, I signaled, pulled up to the intersection, and turned left, heading straight down the road back the way we came. Only as I was completing my turn (visibility not so good, remember), did I see a small, side street a little off to the right from the left turn, across another lane of traffic, which went straight down into kind of a warehouse-y type neighborhood. And I probably wouldn't have thought much about that, except that for the first time, the road test instructor showed a human emotion, a barely perceptible moue of annoyance and displeasure.

"Oh wait," I said, trying to salvage the situation. "Did you want me to go into that side street? When you said 'left, straight,' I thought you wanted me to turn left and head straight down this road. Sorry, I didn't understand what you meant. Do you want me to go back?"

"Pull back into the center," she said. And that's when I knew that I'd failed.

Anyway, after I made the Drive of Shame back to the shed, she told me that I "didn't make it today" and that I "needed to learn to follow instructions." I remembered that not following instructions was one of the automatic fail criteria of the road test, lumped in with trying to bribe the instructor or driving on the wrong side of the street into oncoming traffic. I would argue (not that I did, NEVER ARGUE WITH THE DMV) that "not following instructions" is different than "not understanding instructions" (for example, if she had said, "turn left here, across the lane of traffic slightly off to the right is another road, I want you to go straight down there" we might not have had this issue), and I exhibited no unsafe driving or violation of traffic laws...but whatever. You can't semantically debate your way out of a DMV fail. I will make another appointment for as soon as I can and hopefully, it won't be hurricane conditions that day.

(And I definitely didn't say this part, but saying that a former medical resident needs to learn to follow instructions? Until last year, following instructions was all I ever did. Medical training is like the army, but with worse food.)

60 posts in 60 days, day 9: road test

September 19th, I'm going to take my road test for my Georgia driver's license. I've been able to hold off for more than a year (a fact that defies credulity), since we live near a subway station at present and I don't go anywhere during the week except between home and work. However, once we move, I won't be able to take the train to work anymore, and if I can't drive I won't be able to get to work, which basically means that, as the primary breadwinner of this family, our entire livelihood is resting on the fact that I will pass this road test and get my driver's license.

(No pressure, though.)

Not wanting to shell out any more money for Driver's Ed, I'm relying on Joe to get me up to speed (as it were) for this test. Luckily, he is already on beta blockers. Since driving is such a reflexive, intuitive thing for most people by adulthood, it's proving harder to teach in a constructive manner than one would think. Though he is overall a fairly calm, patient person, I think there's something about teaching your spouse to drive that reduces all your constructive instruction to: quit driving so crappy. Yesterday, we were practicing parallel parking.


JOE
Now back in straight. Straight. Now cut it hard. Are you cutting it all the way?

MICHELLE
Yes, I'm doing it. God.

JOE
You're never going to make it in now.

MICHELLE
Thanks, fatalist. Well, once I get in the spot, I can try to get in closer to the curb.

JOE
Just start again. Cut it hard when you clear the cone.

(Reattempt)

JOE
Now you're going in too steep!

MICHELLE
You told me to!

JOE
But look at you, you're going in sideways!

MICHELLE
Well, if you'd just let me do it the way I was doing it, I'd be fine!

JOE
You're not getting close enough to the curb! The manual says you have to be 18 inches from the curb.

MICHELLE
Well, but those cones are in the way. Do you think you can get 18 inches from the curb with those cones there?

JOE
Oh, easily.

MICHELLE
OK, show me then.

(JOE parallel parks. Opens the door to check. Car is two feet from the curb.)

MICHELLE
"Oh, easily."

JOE
Shut up.


It's not so much the road test that I'm worried about, though, it's the actual driving myself to work. It shouldn't be that bad in the morning, since I'll be on the road before 6:00am, but it's the commute back home during rush hour. When I started my anesthesia residency, it took me a good month of being in my own room to feel at least slightly more comfortable at the helm, so I expect it will be the same thing with the car. The difference is, the anesthesia machine isn't moving at 60 miles an hour on the highway. Hold me.