The (not-quite) Grub Street Diet

Because it's hard to write the same things over and over again; A nod to my favourite Friday morning read. I don't expect the same level of scathing comments, but I can hope!

Wednesday April 20th

We are in Austin, Texas for a week of sun and swimming and tacos. Or at least that was the plan, when we booked the cheap tickets back in February. Today, Austin has other ideas. I am woken from a mild hangover by the sound of torrential rain on the corrugated tin roof of our AirBnB. Luckily, Mr G is also woke, so starts making coffee. He brings both coffee (something organic provided by our host) and baby Zozo to me in bed. I am doubly spoiled - breakfast in bed, and hungover from seeing a show last night - Liz Phair and Smashing Pumpkins. My 14 year old self could not have imagined such splendour.

We venture out in the rain and find Tacodeli - breakfast tacos served by tattoos and beards with alarmingly good cheer. Our server recommends his own concoction; egg, chorizo, bacon and mashed potato. I also get spinach and cheese, beef tips and eat most of Mr G's Al Pastor. And some of Zozo's scrambled egg. Still not satisfied, we venture next door to Houndstooth for flat whites and a chance to be sneered at by attractive youths. They do not disappoint.

In the afternoon we drive the 40 minutes to Salt Lick barbecue. On the way there, kilometres of highway are marked "sponsored by Salt Lick", so we can assume this is a successful institution. When we arrive, we think we've made a mistake. This enormous farm, with surrounding vineyards, and industrial-sized smoke pits, must be the Salt Lick factory? But no, it's a restaurant. Texan-sized. We order family style and Vickie, our server, keeps slinging meats at us until we're sweating. Brisket, ribs and sausage, plus sides of beans, slaw, potato salad and the most divine, sugary white bread. MrG and I debate tucking some bread in our bag, but then Vickie comes by to ask if we want this round "wrapped up to go". Of course we do. With extra bread and sweet tea for the road.

Thursday April 21st

Rain again, with no sign of letting up. Organic coffee, cereal and fruit. We don rainwear and head to the Thinkery, a huge interactive children's museum where Zozo delights in destroying everything she can touch. The wet room is the biggest hit and she comes out soaked.

To dry off, we head to Torchy's tacos; this is another Austin recommendation, and we try to order widely. The special of the month is the "Washingtonian" which has pork, avocado, a spicy salsa and extra cheese. MrG tries the deep-fried avocado and I eat the "Trailer Trash" -  served extra dirty.

Travelling with bub means being home for a nap at noon. We drink more beer in the sun and read the trashy magazines you can't justify buying at home. Esquire's money issue is stressing me out.

That night, a treat - a friend has arranged a sitter for us so we can go to Uchi, apparently the best restaurant in Austin. We arrive early for our reservation and have cocktails on the patio - champagne, ginger and mint for me, apple and bourbon for Mr. We ask the server to tell us about the omakase. She is so sweet and enthusiastic that we have to try it. Cauliflower, sashimi, wagyu beef rolls, thinly sliced mushrooms, a green curry sorbet with coconut pannacotta...Top it off with two glasses of sparkling rose and life is incredibly beautiful. Everything is sparkling and wonderful. Mr G has to drive.

Friday April 22nd

Travel day. We eat the contents of the fridge (cereal, milk, fruit) then head to Jo's Coffee for...breakfast tacos (we are not wildly imaginative). Zozo chases the aggressive pigeons on the patio, much to the delight of the other patrons, and we fill her up with scrambled eggs, salsa and black beans.

Our flight isn't until the evening, but Zozo needs a nap. We solve this problem by driving out of town to Lake Travis. Once you leave Austin, you start noticing signs of the "real Texas" - gun racks, cowboy hats and really big trucks with anti-abortion bumper stickers. We get lost and end up driving around a private lake-side community with the most enormous, over-the-top mansions I have ever seen. Every driveway has cameras and security gates. I have to pee, but I envision being filmed and pepper sprayed if we stop. Instead, we find the sketchiest gas station on earth and purchase the use of the facilities with beer salt and a packet of HoHos. This is America.

The rest of the day is full of unpleasantness; rental car drop off, security lines and a cranky baby in a small plane. Also, we probably shouldn't have fed a toddler a bunch of beans before putting her in a metal tube that lowers the atmospheric pressure, expanding all the gases inside her. Just saying.

Saturday April 23rd

Home! Zozo and I stumble down to the local for flat whites (for me) and a cheddar bacon muffin (for...her? She gets at least half). The day is spent enjoying the features of home. Our own beds! Our back yard! Our crappy Canadian Netflix!

We are scheduled to meet some friends for dinner that night, so the day eating is light. Our friends are new parents and want to stay close to home so they suggest AAA Bar. It is a great little bar that specialises in Texas-style barbecue. The irony is not lost. This is the first time I'm not driving after a meal, so I get a margarita on the rocks (bliss!) and a huge basket of brisket. The friends arrive and tell us they've already eaten as they thought this would be a snack night. I try to make them eat the brisket. They decline. There is still no brisket left at the end of the night. I am very full and very tipsy after two Canadian-strength beers.


Sunday April 24th

 Gloom! I have to go back to work today. But not until 4:30pm, so we try to cram a little more luxury and bacon into our lives.

Evergreen Brickworks is teeming with hipster families, but my hangover is so poisonous and palpable that people avoid us. We get a table on a patio and nobody sits near us. Perfect. We get scrambled eggs on buttermilk biscuits with vegan garlic aioli and the pain starts to ebb. Zozo and MrG choose plants for our spring garden. I wear my sunglasses indoors and burp brisket smells into the wholesome crowd. We head home and I sleep for two hours.

I'm alive! And off to work. They're implementing a new triage system at this site of my hospital and today it is not going well. The nurse in charge is not on board with the changes, so we go from periods of having nobody waiting to suddenly having "17 to see you and they're getting irritable". I end up staying till 2 in the morning to deal with the backlog. At the end of the night my summary says that I saw 40 patients. This is a new record for me. It seems unsafe, but hey, gotta move the meat, right? On the way home, I eat a protein bar and drink water for the first time in 10 hours.

Monday April 25th

Going to work on a Monday seems bizarre to me. I am startled by the presence of other cars on the road, of people lining up for coffee ahead of me. Give me weekends any day - I like my off-peak lifestyle.

Alas, Monday is another shift from hell. My first patient of the day is a 23 day old who has "funny breathing". I assess him, determine that he is stable and refer to the paediatrician. She grabs me later; "Thank God you sent him to me - he turned blue and we had to get ENT to intubate and they couldn't so anaesthesia was called and they couldn't and now he's being airlifted to Sick Kids!"...The day progresses much in this vein with lots of sick people. I end up seeing only about 25 patients for the day, which seems like an achievement given how chaotic the department is. During the shift I eat...uh...nothing. And I ate my protein bar yesterday, so tonight I stop at MacDonald's on the way home.

The guys manning the drive thru seem to be having a similarly chaotic night. "Uh, just hold on Miss...We're sorry for the wait...We'll get to everyone eventually..." The panic in his voice is reminiscent of my charge nurse. I sit back, crank the music and fantasise about my imminent fries.

Tuesday April 26th

Work again.

My internal medicine colleague brings me a Death By Chocolate donut that I shove, whole, into my mouth. It is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me at work. Thankfully, Tuesday is a cold, rainy day, so people stay home. (Most of the people who show up to ER are not actually sick, and if there's any inconvenience involved in getting there, they don't come).

We are training a new PA, so I get to show him lots of fun technical skills - incising an abscess, glueing a forehead closed and stitching a finger back on. When it's not so busy, I actually get to talk to my colleagues. Since I'm the most junior, I usually end up running cases by them, silently praying that they'll say, "Oh, that's what I would have done!". So far, I'm about 50-50.

By the time I get home, I'm done. I have no strength. No zazz. No pep. All I want is to drink beer in my pajamas and eat greasy food. Thank god for UberEats. Our local Hakka food joint sends us crispy beef, spicy eggplant and noodles soaked in MSG. I manage to drink a whole Labatt Blue (it was in the fridge, what can I say) and then pass out while watching the final episodes of The Hundred. This show started out as "sexy teens sent to Earth to start a new civilization" and has now become "progressive politics plus violence plus strapping leather-clad muscle bound"...Anyways. It's shot in Vancouver, which I really enjoy.

I crawl into my soft, white, fluffy bed and sigh. No work tomorrow and a whole day of cuddles and Peppa Pig and goldfish crackers. Life is sweet.

work

I come home at the end of a busy day and Mr G asks, "How was work?"...

"Busy. Nothing special..."

I saw a young woman who had been assaulted over the weekend. She met a guy at a bar, and after drinking and partying together, invited him back to her place. After a while, she asked him to leave and he got angry and beat her until she was unconscious.

I assessed her for skull fractures. She had a perforated eardrum. Her eyes were swollen shut by bruising. The rest of her injuries are too specific to mention, but they were extensive.

I documented everything carefully, and offered to give her copies of the documents for the police.

"Oh, I'm not going to report it. I know how it looks. I was drinking, I invited him home."

I said to her, "You know, inviting someone to your home doesn't mean they are allowed to beat you or hit you or physically harm you..."

But I didn't push. I didn't insist on calling the cops.

Because she's right. I couldn't say to her, "The police will help you. The police will be on your side. You will get the justice you deserve."

I know she's right. I know how it looks. She will be told that because she invited him in, she brought this upon herself. She was drunk. She was high. She didn't call the cops immediately. She waited 24 hours to come in to hospital. She is a woman who was assaulted by a man she knew.

It's infuriating, but the only thing I can do is be a good clinician. I offered her social work, I offered her pain medication. I treated her wounds and got her some clean clothes. We made arrangements for her follow up. And I repeated to her that her records would be on file, if she ever decided she wanted to report this.

As she left, she thanked me and said, "Usually the doctors aren't so nice..."

But, alas, when Mr G asks me, "How was work?" I would still say, "Busy. Nothing special." Because this is a totally normal experience in Canada in 2016.

I am so angry. All the time.