Horses...

K and I decided to go out Sunday night to meet up with a few friends in Chinatown for dinner, and I was feeling particularly lazy so I proposed that we take a cab rather than wrestle with the weekend trains.

"It'll be faster." I said convincingly, knowing full well that a taxi would most likely take twice as long with the traffic.

During the ride downtown, I joked about how much I had been eating lately. We had a string of birthdays and anniversaries dinners recently, and as the weather warmed, we had indulged more in sidewalk cafes as of late.

As we arrived at the restaurant, I pulled out my wallet.

"I'll get the cab," I offered. After all, it was my idea to taxi 60+ blocks rather than walk the four blocks to the nearest subway station. "You get dinner?"

"Sure." K chuckled. Then he randomly proceeded to tell me a story about when he was a child and visited his uncle who had a small farm in upstate New York.

"...and I said to him, 'Uncle, your horses are so beautiful!' You know what he told me?"
"What?"
"'They ARE beautiful, but they sure are expensive to feed."


<3

Resuscitated

I decided to shadow one of the interns on Friday. I have been nervous about starting residency and I figured I should take advantage of the fact that I am already in the system and just spend a day in the life to get over my fear of the unknown.

My day started at 4:30am. A year ago, I'd be falling asleep around then. Now... FML.
But in all my pre-dawn jitters, I woke up fairly easily. I got ready, and left the house.

I saw two inebriated stragglers from the night before on their way to a home with a  bed.
I waited patiently for the subway (5:03am is the scheduled stop) which runs few and far between at that hour and doesn't switch to rush hour frequency until 6am.
When I re-emerged above ground, it was still dark out.
None of the vendors had set up shop yet, no newspapers, no bagels, no coffee.

Rounds started at  5:30am. There were 3 pages of patients, and where most hospitals I had  worked on before split up the patients, here, the interns were responsible for knowing everything on everyone. Pro: You have everyone watching your back. Con: That's a lot of f-kin information. Then they proceeded to see the patients, place orders and do other floor tasks..

There were only 2 intern-level cases for the day, both minor procedures, and I got to go in one of them. I should have picked the other.... it was a large woman (and by large, she had a BMI of 90... that translates to roughly 500 lbs..) with a peri-anal abscess... I will spare you the details of that hour of my life...

There were consults, there were transfers, there were discharges...

I started getting the hang of it all about 8 hours in... or what should have been a full shift at any other job... but then I realized that it was only lunch time..

The rest of the day was pretty mundane and uneventful (which for surgery is great news... no one wants an 'event' on their shift)... and around 6pm, when we were getting ready to check up on the patients again before signing off to the night team, we got a page...

'28 year old young man in ER with lower GI bleed'
Normally, this is a non-emergent page.. a little bit of BRBPR (bright red blood per rectum), or maybe some dark colored stool.. or maybe he's spitting up some blood from an angry ulcer...
We get down there, and it was like I was in the middle of a trauma. Blood everywhere. The fellow coded and was resuscitated. There were bags and bags and bags of blood being transfused back in... All I could do was watch.

The team quickly assessed the situation, made a few calls, and got the patient into the OR. Within 10 minutes, the drapes were up, the doctors were scrubbed in, and the patient was opened up. Within another 15 minutes, they found the bleeding artery, closed it up and suddenly... the patient stabilized. The beeps on the monitor evened out, his blood pressure rose, his heart beat slowed and the tension in the room lifted.

His wife who was lead away in the ER, eyes red from shock and tears, fearful that she would lose her husband to a tragic twist of fate, would soon get to hear the good news of a second chance.

And as I watched the surgeons close him back up, and listened to their joking banter, and stories of their day, I realized that this was the field that I was meant to be in. All the anxiety and self-doubt that I harbored melted away into certainty. I could tolerate waking up at obscene hours, and spending the majority of my waking hours engaged in mundane activities, knowing that when that critical moment came that required precision, skill and speed... I would one day be able to save a life. And it would make it all worthwhile.

This was their job. This was their life.
This will be my life...

...and it starts in 40 days.

McDonalds

Our latest case....

...where would this fit in the GET SMASHED pneumonic?
M=McDonalds



When you know, you know...

I am the luckiest girl ever.

<3

My Best April Fools Day Prank Yet...

This is quite possibly one of my proudest, most ballsy, most elaborate pranks I've ever pulled.

My friends all know that I'm a total prankster at heart, and in true holiday spirit, I had the impulse to April Fool's Prank my boss... 

 

She is pretty high up the food chain as far as hospital attendings go, and generally feared by most of the students, residents, fellow attendings, and housestaff.... she is meticulous and very anal about publication submissions, making sure that each and every word is exactly what she wants it to be...

 

Sooo... while she is away on vacation with her family in Europe, my co-coordinator and I decide to submit a couple of abstracts to a conference on her behalf... and by that I mean, write up some fictional abstracts for a fictional conference sent by a fictional email address....

 

The abstracts were written in traditional scientific jargon, so when glanced over, were pretty legit looking, but when actually read, were just painfully ridiculous:

 

 ....contamination was ensured by application of 100% New York Central Park dirt...

 ....statistical analysis was performed by a blinded medical student without no clinical knowledge...

...results suggest that patients are unhappy with urinary flatus...
 ...incidence of appendicitis in pregnant females is significantly higher that rates in pregnant non-females...
...we recommend a larger study in patients pregnant with twins to be twice as sure...

 

Then, around 2pm our time (8pm her time) we submitted them from our fake email account AmJGenSurg@doctor....com and waited....

 

Sure enough, less than an hour later... she calls from overseas...

The first convo lasted only 5 seconds cause the signal cut out... but the second call immediately thereafter...

 

I wish I could post the recording, but in the off-chance that she ever finds out I've embarrassed her not just in our department, but on the internet... well.. that probably will not end well for me... so transcribed:

Accomplice: Hi Dr.X.
Dr.X: Yeah, sorry, I keep losing you. I said I can't read it very well. For some reason it gets jumbled. All I read was that we had submitted it and I had been... auth... I have to AUTHORIZE IT. Anyway, what.. what... what IS this?

<pause>
Me: It's an April Fool's prank. Happy April Fool's Day! <giggles>
Dr.X: <stunned> You are... Youuu.... arrreeee...... <searching for the right word> CRAAAZY.

<laughter>

Dr.X: You guys have nothing better to do?!? 

<more laughter>

Accomplice: We miss you Dr. X!
Dr.X: And.. No wonder you guys sound so happy there, you know...

Accomplice: Cause we were predicting that we would get an international phone call from you.
Me: And we did!
Dr.X: Wait, you were EXPECTING a phone call??? <pause, then chuckling> I hate you both! I'm never coming back. Tell that.. tell that [my last name] that I am gonna put her on vascular surgery for eleven of the twelve months. Tell her now. Tell her now.

<laughter>
Accomplice: Okay. She heard you, you're on...
Dr.X: CAN YOU HEAR ME [my last name]?!?!?

Me: I hear you. I love you Dr.X....
Dr.X: <chuckling> I'm putting you on VASCULAR SURGERY for ELEVEN MONTHS!!! Or maybe six months, and six months on my service so that I can TORTURE you.
Accomplice: <giggling>I think you should Dr.X, I think that's a great idea.

Me: Whose side are you on??
Dr.X: She's gonna be on Team IV, she not gonna know WHAT hit her! She thinks she can have her holidays, and you know, PARTIES??? she's just gonna be on Team IV, vascular surgery, Team IV, vascular surgery,Team IV, vascular surgery... <chuckles>
Me: Ohh... we miss you Dr.X Come back.
Dr.X: <laughs> Happy April Fools Day. Bye!
Us: Bye Dr.X!!!

 

pwn'd!

Match made in Heaven...

Match day is next week. For those of you who don't know what that is, it is the day that will determine the direction of the rest of a medical student's life.

Monday at noon, eastern standard time, thousands of medical students will get the incredibly impersonal email that will start with either 'Congratulations' or 'We are sorry to inform you...'

I feel fairly confident about which email I will be receiving and I am really looking forward to finally getting back on track. I have busted my ass this past year and I can't wait to finally see it all pay off...

Except...

Now I feel like a dog who's been chasing a car.
... I don't know what to do now that I've caught it.


It's been over a year since I've done anything clinical and my basic science knowledge has slowly been seeping out my skull. I'm planning on studying the month or two before the start date in July and hopefully that will get me a little back up to speed... and I can spend the month of May studying for Step 3 while K studies for his Step 1. I guess you can say that I'm a little nervous. I just don't want anyone to question 'how the fuck did this idiot get an internship here?' And my position is just a preliminary year, so next year, I'm back to the Match again to try and secure a position for the rest of my training. I have my foot in the door to the one of the greatest places in the field, but I'm only guaranteed one year to prove my worth against peers from Ivy League medical schools. Intimidating.

But I'll go on a little tangent here..  I was talking to one of my best friends A the other day about life. He works at another hospital here in the city doing exactly what I do, but gets paid for it as a career. He started medical school and halfway through decided that he didn't want to practice clinical medicine. Let me clarify that he didn't flunk out. He passed the Step 1 of his boards and 6 weeks into clinicals decided to walk away. People will always question his decision, but I can respect that he did what he felt was right. Now as he watches his peers about to finish what he started, we started talking bittersweet.


"Do you even regret leaving medicine?"
"No. I hated what I did then. I love what I do now. It just wasn't for me. But I'm glad I went."
"Why?"
"Because that's where I met my wife."

And that got me thinking.... I've always believed that everything happens for a reason. 10 years ago, I never would have thought I would be a medical school graduate. 5 years ago, I never thought I would make it into the surgical profession. 1 year ago, I never imagined I'd be working where I do. The journey to get to where I am has been an unpredictable one... and I've learned to have no expectations for where I'll be a year from now... but if there's one thing I know and am grateful for, I am definitely meant to be here now. Not only is it a boost of self-confidence, and a reviver of my morale, but maybe... just maybe.. it'll be where I met my future husband.

K is everything I ever wanted.

Third time is the charm....

<3

How Asian Fathers Should NOT Talk...

I told my parents that I was heading up to Connecticut for the weekend to visit a girlfriend at Yale.

My dad: "Yeah, have fun drinking with the brainy chicks."
Me: "Chicks, dad? Really?"

Jamaica

I have dated many men in my life... I tried to make a list the other day, and I came to the sobering realization that I don't remember all of their names (what the heck was Fuzzy Navel's name??). There are more than a few I probably couldn't pick out of a line up, and ten minutes later, I'd remember that there was yet another faceless random from that one time that I'd forgotten about, which makes me wonder how many others there are that I can't recall...


But this is not a post about my whore-ish past.

My point is that despite my numbers, there are two things that have never happened:
1) I have never dated someone younger than me.
2) I have never dated someone I deem smarter than me.


K is a medical student at my institution. He is three years younger than me.

He is also quite possibly one of the most brilliant people I've ever met. We had a random conversation the other day where I asked him, "If you could have any job in the world, what would it be?" Now, I'm thinking my ideal job to be along the lines of a 'traveling restaurant/food critic', or 'rockstar', or maybe a 'tabloid celebrity'... something that is self-serving, with it's fair share of alcohol and doesn't require too many functioning brain cells. His answer: "Astrophysicist."  I honestly don't even know what an astrophysicist does, and while I'm trying to formulate a response to that, he adds, "but there's no money in that, so I decided to do medicine instead." 

Way to settle, dude.
Don't I feel like a retard for only aspiring to be a mere doctor.

And if someone ever described a person like that to me, my ego's defense would come up with a smart ass answer like, yeah, but he's probably socially retarded and awkward. But the truth is, after having known him since April of last year, and having gone out with him and his friends to various bars and restaurants in NYC, he's equally socially awesome. His friends are all cool and well versed in everything from clubbing, to politics, to rap music, museums, drinking games, movies and even ballet. His sense of humor is so deadpan and random that he literally makes me laugh out loud in my office with a gchat comment, drawing curious looks from my quieter coworkers. He's the type of person that is down for anything, anytime, shamelessly self-depricating and narcissitic at the same time, and I imagine would easily make friends with anyone in the room while making them feel like they are the coolest person there.

And because this is me blogging... did I mention that he's better looking than more the half the men I've dated? He's a white guy with blue eyes. I didn't mention hair, because honestly he doesn't have any, but I imagine he was a blonde baby. This may be a personal preference thing, because I definitely have a taste for bald guys or at least super short hair... but he's got this cute but tough guy look going on. He's 6'0", goes to the gym regularly and has got biceps that I just want to squeeze.

Looks. Personality. Brains.
Trifecta.

So what am I to do?
Pass up the opportunity and let some other girl take his eligibility off the market?
I think not.



Looks and personality were always important to me, but the IQ factor seriously has me turned on. He has an intellectual curiosity that I've lost somewhere along the way... I'd gotten used to just being happy with knowing what I know. Learning was fine if it's self serving, but I had come to consider the world of academia a bore and chore. But to him, I can tell he enjoys it. Watching him register and analyze things on a totally different level has now got me thinking.. how does he do that and how can I?


I'm planning my moves carefully because I think this one's a keeper. We've gone out a few times already, and I've demonstrated self-restraint by not over drinking and inviting myself over. We flirt constantly via texts, gchats, and emails... but then in person at the hospital, we are purely professional with inside innuendos and it is my own episode of Gray's Anatomy. Working here has motivated me to reconsider my capacity, and I know I can do better than I have been. Mediocrity was acceptable when I was a big fish in a small pond.
Now, I wanna impress.
I don't think my pride could take it if he thought I was a dummy.

So now what?

I'm working on getting my residency secured here. In addition, I'm writing abstracts and manuscripts like mad to try and get as many publications as I can before my year of research is up. I'm flying all over the country to conferences to present my findings and also trying to squeeze in some studying for my Step 3...

And now that I've gotten his attention..

I'm taking him to Jamaica.
We've booked an impromptu vacation during his spring break and we will be eating, drinking and sunbathing for four glorious days while I seal the deal on my greatest catch to date.

Ya man...

..and more bad decisions...

I suddenly feel like a couger... or the teacher from 'The Graduate'...


I'm finding myself flirting dangerously with one of my students...

Nothing good can come from this.

Shit bags?

I work as a clinical researcher at one of the largest hospitals in the NYC area and part of my job entails going through electronic medical records to glean bits and pieces of information relevant to whatever study I am conducting at the time... The other day I came across this gem.

Shit bags? Ummm... excuse me doctor, but is that the medical term? 

Lol!

Megu

I love restaurant week in NYC. It allows me to taste morsels of heaven from restaurants that I'll never be able to afford to eat at... like Megu.

Megu Midtown is the latest location of the famous Japanese restaurants, and it's located in the UN Plaza. It's your typical overpriced, underportioned, pretention on a place sort of venue. However, they convince you it's worth it because they serve their food on geometric plates with pieces of fruit cut like flowers and strategically placed colorful drips of sauce.


B took me to Megu yesterday and it was deeeliiicious!

Would I ever go again? Probably not on my dollar, but if you're a sugar daddy looking to feed a sugar baby.. I'm your girl!

We started out with some simple appetizers...

I had Crispy Shrimp with Kanzori Cream Sauce and B had Okaki Crispy Asparagus:



The presentation of everything here was just awesome. I had to really control myself to not ogle at everyone else's food that came out to the tables around us. And yes, it does taste better for it. 

I wish I had a picture of the fried shrimp, but I guess there was nothing really special about how it looked. Just some flash friend shrimp dumpling looking things with a cream sauce, some green onion shavings and little spoon of some spicy chili/cayenne pepper combination that I was a little overzealous with... *cough cough* Spicyyyy!!!! but it was quite possibly the best fried shrimp dumplings I had ever had.

For the main course, we both ordered the signature 'Super Premium Kobe Beef Steak Kagero Yaki Stone Grill with Hennessey Flambee". It wasn't just Premium. It was Super Premium... lol, what ever that means...

And those are thinly sliced garlic chips on top... oohh yeahhh...  no kisses for youuu...

Dessert was simple. New York Cheesecake for him and Green Tea Crepes for me... but what I really wanted was about 17 more orders of the Kobe Beef Steak.. It was soooo good! ...and soooo tiny....

For a restaurant week option, $35 wasn't too bad for the venue. If I was a server there, I'd have scoffed at us common folk trying to eat at a restaurant meant for Japanese Investors, Arab princes and Angelina Jolie.. with a Umami prix fix menu of $195 (plus an extra $70 if you want the sake pairing), I can safely say that I'll probably never get the chance to eat there again... nor should I... 

I mean, just look at this:

... *drool*.... and this...

That's sake fed, hand massaged, slices of the luckiest asian cows on earth... IN AN IGLOO!!!

When you place this kind of food in front of me, I'm compelled to order and eat it without second thought to cost or calories... I'm just missing any kind of self-discipline in that matter. But when an appetizer costs up to $48... well... let's just say I may be a little behind on rent next month, so it's probably best if I just don't go there at all.

But if I do... I'm gonna have the 'Tajima Kobe Beef Chateaubriand'. A 9oz portion of Buddha's devine fuckin creature for only $230. Curiousity just gets the better of me... I can't imagine what could be so amazing it's worth $300 with tax and tip... but I want to find out.

I hear I get 3 wishes for that price too...

My Sex and the City Episode 245 - Mama's Boy

I had a Sex and the City episode yesterday.

I had a date with this guy from Brooklyn whom I had met online.

Meet "Mike"
Mike works in the public school system in Brooklyn and is thankful for his family, friends, and his job. He likes going to the gym, going out to local bars and clubs, and watching the NY Rangers hockey team. The five things he can't live without are his Blackberry, his new Camero, Tivo, guitar and guacamole, but not necessarily in that order. He is looking for a girl that he can 'have fun and experience life with'. He is 29 years old,  5'10', Italian, muscular and has two large tattoos over both his shoulders.

We talked back and forth for a few days and finally decided to meet in person on a Wednesday night that was later forcasted to have a snowstorm of over 20 inches. I texted him earlier in the day before the snow started asked if he wanted a rain check.

     “Nahh, I'm not worried about the storm. I'll drive out there. I really want to meet you.”

     “Okaaaayyyy....”

     We decided to meet at 8:30pm at a local tequila bar on the Upper East Side, close to my place. I'd been there before and its a cheesy Mexican themed bar and restaurant with cow print benches and frozen house margaritas and a completely misplaced live band that played rock and roll music in the downstairs basement turned lounge. When I arrived, it had already started snowing and there was a couple inches of snow already on the ground, but it was nothing that commuters couldn't handle. The place was about half full which seemed about right on a Wednesday night, nevermind the shit storm that was about to fall out of the sky.

     Mike was at the bar and when he saw me coming, he stood up to greet me.

     “It's so great to meet you.” He smiled as he gave me a kiss on the cheek. I have to admit, I had the worst case scenario playing in my mind on the way to the bar. Of Mike being ten years older than his profile, 50 pounds heavier than his profile, maybe he talked nasally or had tourettes. Maybe he had a gimp leg and six fingers on each hand... much to my relief, he turned out to be surprisingly normal.

     We ordered beers and some guacamole (which we agreed was fantastic) and despite myself, had a really great time. We conversed about everything from South Park, religion, butt modeling, Ferraris and even about the type of tanning lotion that we preferred. He was a funny, witty and incredibly laid back guy that I thought I wouldn't mind getting to know on a second date. I may not marry him, but he sure as hell is fun company. Who knew online dating could be successful? Even our bartender was feeling our vibe and gave us a round of shots on the house.

     As the night got later, we realized that most of the other patrons had left the restaurant and it was now down to just a handful of us, buzzed at the bar and glad that we were indoors. The storm outside had taken a turn for the worst and the had been given a new term called the Thundersnow. The streets was completely deserted and the snow was everywhere and halfway up to the wheels of the cars parked along the curb. I vaguely remembered that Mike had driven from Brooklyn to meet me in the city... I checked my phone for the time and sure enough, it was after midnight.

    Then my phone rang.

     An unknown NY number popped up on my phone. Wondering who and where one of my drunken retard friends could have gotten stranded in the city to need to call me from a stranger's phone, I answered it.

     “Hello?”

     “Umm... hiiii.” A female voice said to me. “I'm so sorry to bother you right now, but are you out by any chance with a Michael?” I was speechless. Instantly, I ran through the mental list of potential callers: a jealous girlfriend, a crazy stalker, a wife??? I tried to pick my jaw off the ground and say something coherent...

     “Michael?” I stammered. His eyes shot open. That look of horror. Like you know shit just hit the fan. “Why yes I am out with him.” I confirmed while bracing myself for the barage of angry 'homewrecking slut' insults I was about to receive. “I'm sorry, who is this?”

     “This is his mother,” I was speechless for the second time in the span of ten seconds. “It's just that it's getting late and the storm is getting pretty bad, and I was just worried because he hadn't come home yet.” This sentence took me a full minute to register. With my jaw still open, I looked at Mike and handed him the phone.

     “It's your mother.”

     He took the phone and immediately turned bright red, obviously mortified. He turned his back to me as he proceeded to yell at his mother. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to ask him why he still lived at home with his mother. I wanted to know why she had my number. I wanted to make fun of his curfew. I wanted to do a lot of things, but when he handed the phone back to me, all I said was “We should probably get going.”

     I hadn't been on a date with a person who still lived at home since high school. I wondered briefly if she was sick, or if he was really unemployed, or if he had recently gotten kicked out of an ex-girlfriend's apartment. I couldn't decide if it would have been worse for him to have been cheating on a girlfriend or still live with his mother. At least cheating is a socially accepted thing to do. If you hear a man cheat on his girlfriend, you think 'that cheating bastard', you vent, then you tell the girlfriend that she's too good for him and move on. But a man who still lives with his mother? That can only be chalked up to three possibilities: 1) She is terminally ill and needs someone to take care of her which is noble and aww-worthy of what a good son he is, and most girls would still consider sleeping with him, but only at their place. 2) He is unemployed and lazy, down on his luck and broke, or any combination of the above which still makes him a potentially nice guy, but please don't call me until you find a job and an apartment. Or 3) He is a mama's boy to the extreme and suffering from some deep Oedipal issues that require him to garner her approval in every aspect of life from the clothes he wears to the girls he dates, but it's a lose lose situation because you will never be good enough to replace dear old mom. Nor do I think you should you really try...

    

     “Some people think it's weird that I still live at home, (Uhhh... cause it is) but I save a lot of money that way (you have a job). Besides, I'm Italian and family is really important to us. (you're a grown man) I thought about moving out and getting my own apartment (so why didn't you?), but I decided to get a car instead. (Cause you really need a car living in New York City...) And I only gave her your number just in case something happened. (Like if I was an ax murderer?)”

     “Check please.”

     We walked out of the bar into the howling night and I should have just booked it to the nearest cab, except there were none. There were absolutely no vehicles on the snow covered streets.

     “Let me at least take you home. It'll be an hour before a taxi drives by.” I looked up the street desperately for a glint of yellow, but he was right. I'd get home faster walking in this weather if I didn't die and get frozen til spring first. Mike had parked his Camero on the corner and when I glanced at it, I knew that car was not going anywhere without some effort. The snow was up past the wheels and bumper and caked at least 8 inches high over the hood, roof and trunk. Why he decided to drive a low sports car into the city on the night of a massive blizzard is beyond me. I almost wanted to tell him to forget about the car because it obviously isn't going anywhere, but then I didn't want him thinking that was an invitation to stay at my place because the last thing I needed was for him to wake up in the middle of the night asking for a warm glass of milk. I tightened my scarf and trudged into the snow. After dislodging the snow in front of the drivers side door, he started the car up and popped the trunk. From the trunk he pulled out a small shovel and started to dig the car out from the curb. Myself, not having a shovel, kicked at the snow in front of the car, half out of spite and half out of exasperation, trying to kick the mountains down so that the car would be able to drive over them rather than sink and spin wheels futily in the snow. After a good twenty minutes, he got into the car and tried to drive out. The car moved back and forth a few feet, but refused to clear the snow bank in front of it. The rear tires just kept spinning and the car would just sit defiantly. Finally, he put the car in park and looked at me.

    “How about I try and push the car while you try and steer us out?” Sure, it's only a 4800 car that's rear wheel drive so you can get sprayed by slush while you channel your inner juicehead... on second thought, that was strangely satisfying to me.

    “Sure.” I reversed the car back a few feet and rolled the window down and counted, “One, two threeeee!!!!” The Chevy inched forward in the snow and just when we feared it would get stuck, it roared over the low bank and we were free. I climbed out of the car into the passenger side and Mike triumphantly slid into the drivers seat. After all he's been reduced to in my mind, I thought let him have this small victory. He's still got a long drive home to mom.

     Mike dropped me off at the corner of my apartment and I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and thanked him for an interesting night. As he drove off into the Thundersnow, I suddenly wished it was the weekend, so that I could run off to another bar and keep drinking. Only the because of the snow, I used my better judgment and went upstairs, peeling wet layer after cold wet layer of clothes until I was naked and dry. I picked up my phone and texted Mike one last time: Get home safe and tell your mother I'm sorry I kept you out past your bedtime.