The Promised Land
(am·bu·la·to·ry, Pronunciation: 'am-by&-l&-"tOr-E, a : able to walk about and not bedridden b : performed on or involving an ambulatory patient or an outpatient)
The morning has come and the sun has risen. Free at last. The shackles of my CCU are only a distant memory from my ambulatory block exam room, shall we call it “The Exam Room of the Madman, M.D.” (What do you think Charles?).
Nothing brings more joy to my life than the beginning of a good ambulatory block month (unclear as to what that says about me). This means, that instead of pacing the halls of the Mad House whiffing the wonderful aroma of feces in diapers (a.k.a. “Odeur de résidence”) I get to talk to wonderful little old ladies and treat their perfectly harmless urge incontinence and gossip about life.
Gossip, oh how I love thee.
If you could see me now. My smile is a canyon and my dimples are beginning to show, I am soooo cute when I smile (did I ever tell you that). Tonight, I will be home at a normal time. We’ll enjoy a normal dinner. Maybe even a good movie. Although, last time I checked, they weren’t making any of those any more.
(p.s. The sunrise pictured above is the sunrise over my most favorite city. does anyone recognize it?)