Four Degrees Fahrenheit

The weather has been relatively mild (mostly in the 20s to 30s in daylight, dropping to the teens overnight)...until today when it was still only 4 degrees at high noon.  Yes, now I will admit that it's a teeny bit cold.  I've been told that the snowpack which has developed over the past few weeks will likely persist until May.  Luckily, Fairbanks has a crack snow-plowing team that seems to work round-the-clock.  Because Fairbanks lies at the bottom of the Tenana Valley, cold air tends to accumulate over the city. The average low temperature in the winter is around -25 degrees, but it has gotten as cold as -60 degrees in the past.  Being just 188 miles south of the Arctic Circle probably doesn't help.  What amazes me is that, despite the cold and the snow, many people still travel on bicycles--you can see bicycle treadmarks all over the sidewalks:

THE VIEW FROM MY WINDSHIELD
October 17:

October 23:

October 30:

Cleared and All CAC'd Up

I'm cleared to see patients!  Finally!  I've managed to score the following essential items:

1. Hospital ID badge with a blurry picture of me sitting in front of a huge American flag, clutching a tiny notebook filled with crib notes on how to navigate the clinic EMR system.

2. CAC (Common Access Card): a smart card issued by the Department of Defense with an embedded circuit chip that enables me to access the computer system, sign documents electronically, and send encrypted email...and BONUS: it also doubles as an identification card under the Geneva Conventions [...in case I get captured by the enemy on my way to work??]

Processing for the CAC involves the use of an optical fingerprint scanner on your right index finger.  Turns out that after 7 years of obsessive-compulsive handwashing through medical school and residency, my fingerprints are quite worn out.  The clerk had me try alternate fingers from my right hand: ring finger, pinky...all terrible quality prints.  Then, as a last resort...

Clerk: Can you place your middle finger on the scanner?                                         Me: Please don't tell the Feds I'm giving them the finger

Will my lack of readable fingerprints cement my future as a crime kingpin?  Stay tuned...

Sunrise Over the Hospital

The clinic is situated inside a 32-bed hospital, built in 2007 with a very sleek and modern look.  After entering the foyer through the first set of automatic doors, you are greeted with a delicious blast of heated air just before you step through the second set of automatic doors into the hospital lobby.  The patients are all military personnel and their dependents.

Most of the clinicians are also in the military; they wear army fatigues and combat boots in clinic.  I am extraordinarily jealous of their multifarious pockets.  I've never heard anyone addressed by their first name: it's always Sargeant B or Major V, or, in my case, Doctor or Ma'am.  The office that I share with Major V is haunted by a poltergeist who:
a) keeps the temperature rather chilly in contrast to the rest of the clinic which is reasonably warm
b) mischievously turns off the light without warning several times a day

The Alaska Railroad, which connects Fairbanks to Anchorage, runs part of its Denali Star route behind the hospital:

3 Levels of Classified

Classified information is rated as one of just three levels: Confidential, Secret, and Top Secret. Somehow I always envisioned a more complex hierarchy of progressively classified information: from nylon-static-cling Level 1 Confidential, to ironclad-amber-waves-of-grain Level 5 Confidential, all the way up to hermetically-sealed-and locked-out-of-my-apartment-AND-my-car Level 23 Top Secret.  My military issue laptop is unbelievably secure...so secure that I am not authorized to install my own office printer.

Maybe this explains why I've been here for an entire week and I still haven't been cleared to see patients [perhaps they discovered my overdue library book fine from 1994, or my occasional propensity for jaywalking...?].  I remain officially in Processing Purgatory.

We Use an Irritant Smoke

The Respiratory Fit Test
This is the rite of passage where you try on a special mask that covers your nose & mouth to make sure you have the correct size that will prevent you from inhaling airborne pathogens like tuberculosis or [insert your favorite airborne pathogen].  In all the hospitals where I've done rotations, an aerosolized form of saccharin is used to test the fit of the mask; if you perceive a sweet taste after the saccharin is sprayed, your mask does not fit properly. My fit test this week was conducted by an RN in the Occupational Health building.

Military Occupational Health RN: Most places use saccharin to conduct the fit test, but we use an irritant smoke
Me: What?!

It's true!  She was literally blowing smoke at me after I applied the N-95 respirator mask, and she had me turn my head in various directions, count to 10, and bend forward at the waist, all to prove that the mask fit snugly enough to prevent smoke from entering my airway.  It was after she allowed me to remove the mask that I was fully exposed to the "irritant smoke" and promptly launched into a prolonged coughing fit.  Now I feel like I have emphysema.

Snowfall

My weapon of choice for clearing snow off the car in the morning:

The slotted spoon is surprisingly adept at scooping out snow from odd little crevices in the region of the windshield, and there's something oddly genteel about wielding a spoon in the wee hours of the morning.  [Would you like one lump of sugar or two...?]

When I picked up my rental car at the airport,  the sales clerk handed me a blue extension cord and explained it was for the yellow plug protruding from the grille of the car:

    

The other end of the extension cord plugs into an outdoor outlet that is controlled by a mysterious red switch in my apartment:

   

Everyone's car in Fairbanks has an engine block heater that helps prevent the coolant around the engine from freezing overnight, making it easier to start the car in subzero temperatures.  The block heater has a plug extending out through the grille of the car so that it can be connected to an AC power outlet.  All outdoor parking lots are equipped with rows of power outlets for exactly this purpose, although it is tempting to imagine appropriating the outdoor outlet for a waffle iron or a toaster.

Prepared to Vanquish Fires!

Day 2 in Fairbanks: a very toasty 38 degrees. The apartment complex staff that I met yesterday was rather...eccentric. When I explained that I was scheduled to move in by my locums agency, she looked at me suspiciously and commanded, "Go stand over there", pointing to the farthest corner of the room as if I were a domesticated but still slightly dangerous grizzly bear that needed a time-out. I signed a ton of paperwork as she went over a zillion rules & regulations I was LEGALLY required to follow.

Most exciting part of the day: testing the fire extinguisher in my apartment (one of the LEGAL requirements). I released the fire extinguisher from its wall mount, pulled the pin and sprayed into the kitchen sink, releasing a high pressure gush of yellow powder which immediately coated the entire kitchen. Since I am LEGALLY required to NOT open the windows between the months of October and May (for fear of the entire apartment freezing into a solid cube of ice?), I had to settle for the fan above the stove.

Please Tone Down the Atropine

I think they overdid the dilating portion of my eye exam:

My Summer of Spectacular Slackerdom

After graduating from residency, I forced myself to put off finding gainful employment...because I'm a workaholic!  From the east coast!  With OCD!  
The early part of my laconic summer was spent designing and hand-sewing outfits for an asian baby doll that belongs to the 4-year-old daughter of a friend.  It was like a Lilliputian version of Project Runway, but without the backstabbing and smarmy comments ("That is so bridesmaid!"; "It looks like a disco straitjacket!"; "I question your taste level!").  My favorite piece is a set of miniature fairy wings I fashioned from an old underwire bra and some glitter.  I think Tim Gunn would approve:

My pack rat tendencies really came in handy for other intriguing outfits made from scraps of denim, stretch cotton, wool, and red velvet:

  

Sadly, my summer of spectacular slackerdom is coming to an end, and soon I'll be shipped off to a locum tenens position in Fairbanks, Alaska where the aurora borealis can be seen 200 nights of each year.