I am lazy.  I should be on my treadmill, instead I am writing.  Half one the other of those dozen eggs.  

Eggs went splat and writing trumped treadmill.  

A dear friend of mine from radiology school, Lisa, we were reminiscing about our old stomping grounds just as of late.  Surviving our old stomping grounds is more like it.

The director of the program, Mrs. S., her name was too annoying to pronounce so she went by Mrs. S., she was a tyrant.  The wicked witch.  She smiled, but it was like the Cheshire cat grinning back at you.  

Mrs. S. liked me fine but she hated Lisa. Hated. Lisa was and still is smarter, sharper, wittier, literally nothing can get by Lisa – which made Mrs. S. feel threatened.  Lisa’s whit can trap it, smash it, and swing around to show you what is next.  It was enjoyable to watch. Lisa didn’t use it at Mrs. S., Lisa just had it. Lisa was always nice and had natural charm to boot.  Mrs. S. did not think she was charming. Nonetheless, Mrs. S. had it out for her.  

We were thick in the program and Lisa’s dad had a stroke, she broke her finger, she traveled far, and it was just being challenged from all sides.  The gossip-mill was out-of-hand during lunchtime, so I was told. 

Me, I left every day for lunch.  I fled to my favorite coffee shop.  I ate my chicken breast sandwich that had been sitting in my bag all day, not refrigerated.  I think my gut built some sort of natural resistance to the bacterial growth on it.  

I studied, napped, and drank my coffee – relished in the silence.  At times when I returned from lunch Mrs. S. remarked,” You look like you just woke up from a nap.” As if, “This is no way to start class.” Half my face would be red, and yep – it looked like I just woke up, because I did. I said nothing of course. Those kind of statements do not have a good ending.  

One day Lisa was on edge, almost over, and I liked Lisa.  She was cool and Mrs. S. was unfair to her.  So, knowing I would be giving up my silence, my peace away from it all, I went with my instincts, “Lisa, would you like to go to lunch with me?  I just go to the coffee shop”, shrugging my shoulders.  

Her eyes were like an owl, eyes protruding first and face second. She said, “Me?”  

“Yeah, if you want.”  

“Okay . . .” From that point on we were tight.  Lisa and I went to lunch everyday thereafter and I enjoyed her company.  We studied together.  I sometimes put my head down.  She had a million little containers with food so neatly placed which I would give her a five minute heads-up to start packing up. Me, I still had my bacteria-filled chicken breast sandwich. 

She still says, “You saved me from Mrs. S.”  If she wasn’t cool – and a pretty damn good person, I would not had bothered. She saved herself. 

Nearing the end of the program, the last three months were the worst.  It was our second summer of rotations.  Mrs. S. wanted to be the best – so we suffered right along. We clocked-in enough hours per the program requirements time August hit, but we had to go to September 25 – the light . . . the light!

We were all trying to get our last comps at this time.  I could not get a humerus for the life of me.  We could leave our rotation to get a comp, but could never miss a class.  I got a call from the West campus of the University that a humerus was coming, but if I went, little time would be left to make it to class.  We all covered for each other at this point.  The rules were so tight, they were made to be broken. We all reverted to act like children – it had to be done. 

I took the shuttle over to the west campus, comped on the humerus, but then I believe I got a call that Linda, one of the instructors, was making her way to the West campus.  The timing when she would take the shuttle was unpredictable without getting caught.  I stepped outside, and I stood there – “right or left?”  One way to the shuttle, the other, book-it on foot across the bridge to the East campus and go through all the underground tunnels to get to the class, hoping I could sneak in.  It would take me 20-25 minutes minimum. 

There was a guy I used to work with and when he didn’t want to go out with the rest of us, he would say to whoever was organizing the event, “I have diarrhea.”  Then he giggled.  He said, “No one ever questions you.”  They usually say, “Oh, okay.  Take care. See you Monday.” That story could had been handy that day. 

I didn’t want to take the chance – so I booked-it on foot. Hot as hell. Sweaty and gross time I got there.  I opened the door slowly, and Lisa gave me a head nod letting me know when it was safe to enter, waiting for the professor to turn away from the class – I made it. 

When we wanted to get away from our rotations time-to-time we would go to Mrs. S.’s office, chat it up, “have a question”, and then return to our rotation. 

One day, I believe I was in Mrs. S.’s office for a legit reason.  Next to her office was a gigantic, heavy fire door with no windows.  As I was leaving, I put my weight into pushing the door open and just as I did, this young man opened the door at the exact same time.  

I flew . . . flew through the door like superman – smashing face down on my stomach, hands out in front, catching me a little.  My right knee flipped out of place.  A quick switch.  My right knee cap flipped out and flipped back in again. Then, several people came running.  

I got the wind knocked out of me. My knee was throbbing.  I could not bend it.  I tried to crawl my way to the side.  The young man just stood there still holding the door open.  Someone got a wheel chair.  They wanted to take me to the ER.  I just kept saying I was fine.  In 10-15 minutes I was able to stand again.  

I can laugh about it now, but it hurt badly. I had door karma and had to work on my door karma for quite some time. Doors hit me in the face.  I opened doors and I did not want to see the person on the other side of it.  I didn’t fly through any more doors, but I was extremely cautious. It was something about entering and exiting different phases of your life.  I don’t know, but I remember flying through that door full-force and the look on that man’s face.  

The funny things that happen to every one of us. The maybe “saving” some people from sudden misfortune when truly they become a friend for a lifetime.  Loving and keep loving people that deserve every bit of it.

 The survival tactics we learn by observing, taking in, and making it our own.  Staring the Cheshire cats of the world in the eye, then fleeing from them because why would you want to be by them?  Then eventually shrugging at it, letting it all roll off.  

And hey, I chose writing and eating pizza, taking my Orkambi, and I may just enjoy a little wine thereafter instead of other such aerobic activities. That can be tomorrow.  I didn’t get here by all work and no play.  

Surviving it all – and enjoying a lot of it. 

To much love and peace as we enter this New Year.  The only way to go I say –