Sunday call wasn’t bad. We got several quiet hours in the afternoon. I worked on my cross-stitch, and then joined the residents in a nap all over the lounge. It was interrupted by a page from the ER, which when answered proved to be a mistake on their part. . . but the end of the nap.

Towards the end of the day we got a couple of patients: a guy in DKA, with necrobiosis lipoidica diabeticorum. No one else was excited, since it was a long-standing condition for him, but it was the first time I had ever seen such a weird rash outside of a textbook. It’s always nice to find proof that the textbooks are not merely works of imagination.

Then there was a patient with a systolic murmur so loud you couldn’t hear anything else in the stethoscope, and a guy who overdosed on a pesticide and got rhabdomyolysis. The residents were very unimpressed, and I must admit that I seem to be attracting suicidal/psychotic patients onto our call nights, but I thought it was nice that just about every patient we admitted had either a real, serious medical condition, or a unique physical finding, or both.

One more day of medical school. I cannot believe it’s the end. I feel like I ought to do something else to “earn” my degree. (Don’t tell the dean I said that, ok?) I feel as though somebody promised that I can start flying now. Is that real? Is that possible? And boy, if it works, it will be fun.

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