Is this just pure sleep deprivation? Is this dehydration? Am I just hungry? Or maybe this is the characteristic post-post-call torpor? Paranoid thoughts about the H5N1 virus flit briefly through my brain, but the probabilities are pretty slim.

I didn’t make it home for Thanksgiving from 1999 to 2002. The first Thanksgiving I spent away from home was probably the most pathetic. I think all I did was watch “The Goonies” on TV and all I ate was a can of Campbell’s soup and spaghetti with marinara sauce for lunch and dinner, respectively.

I always figured that those sucky Thanksgivings would be preparation for having to miss Christmas and New Year’s, too, once I started residency.

But Fate (and the chief residents who have put together my schedules for the past three years) has been exceedingly kind. Somehow, I’ve always been able to make it to Thanksgiving dinner (although this has probably a lot to do with the fact that home is only a 1½-to-2 hour drive.) While it’s nearly impossible to get both New Year’s and Christmas off, I’m more of a fan of Christmas anyway, and I’ve managed to get Christmas off every year so far. And for the past two years I’ve had both holidays off. (This year, though, I only get New Year’s off.)

So yesterday, despite being post-call, I planned to take the train up to L.A. Now, granted, I was able to sleep for almost four hours on call, and we only had taken 6 admits and a unit transfer (out of the possible 10 admits and 2 unit transfers), so I didn’t really think I would be that tired. But even though the call rooms are much nicer than when I was an intern (I can’t believe I’m using the line “when I was an intern…”), it’s still a call room. With supreme effort, I wrenched myself away from my apartment and drove myself to the train station, finding a sweet parking spot, and hopping on the train.

This was the first time I decided to pony up the extra $14 and try business class, mostly because I knew that coach was almost guaranteed to be a clusterfuck, and I didn’t want to accidentally fall asleep on my neighbor’s shoulder, smelling of post-call goodness and funk. For the first 30 minutes of the ride, I found myself the only passenger in the business class cabin, which was quite peaceful if not a little lonely, but oh well, I always have my iPod.

A funny moment was when a young couple came aboard. They apparently eventually made their way to the cabin’s restroom and proceeded to have sex. I only suspect this because some time during the ride, I really had to pee. Not realizing that while the door was unlocked, the restroom was actually occupied, I was treated to the blinding sight of white man ass, jiggling as he scrambled to slam the door shut while continuing to boink his girlfriend. After the astonishment faded, I walked away laughing to myself (although by then I really, really had to pee.)

I made it to Union Station sometime after nightfall. My brother and my dad came to pick me up, and they had the radio on, and they were playing Christmas carols non-stop. I grew nauseated with the thought of having to listen to non-stop Christmas carols for the next thirty-two days. Is this some kind of Clear Channel scheme to assuage its Bill O’reilly-watching, neuropenic listeners that they weren’t going to give in to the anti-Christmas jihadists?

By the time I made it home, everyone there was already tapped out. There was still a good amount of turkey left, as well as mashed potatoes and gravy, and lots of desert. I stuffed myself silly and somehow managed not to pass out. One of the biggest reasons why I wanted to make it to Thanksgiving this year was because my cousin from Hawaii was spending her Thanksgiving at my parents’ house. The last time I had seen her was in 2003 when my sister graduated from undergrad. She’s now going to college on the mainland, although still a 2½ hour flight from L.A. She is also the youngest person in our extended family thus far (although I guess, technically, I do have a niece, but that’s another story) and she’s the only cousin who grew up in the U.S. who shares my last name.

Afterwards, we played with the dogs. One of the dogs (the older one) at my parents’ house apparently has eczema (just diagnosed at the vet’s office today.) My brother had been getting worried because the dog has been biting himself raw on his rump. A huge area of fur was matted, and you could see that the skin underneath was red and angry-looking.

We also watched DVDs that contained copies of some 8mm film that my uncle took when me, my brother, and my sister were little kids. What’s weird is that when I was a baby, my parents were my age. I find that kind of trippy. My dad grew wistful, wishing that there was some way to turn back the clock. For some reason, this idea was in my mind, too.

For some strange reason, I decided to glance at a computer magazine from the late 1980’s and early 1990’s that was mouldering on the bookshelves in my brother’s room (despite both being in their late 20’s, both my brother and my sister are back living with the ‘rents, trying to figure out their destinies.) It’s odd how the vaunted retrospectoscope can change contexts. It definitely gave me this illusion of time travel.

On the northbound train ride, I found myself ruminating over the past 10(!) years or so, and how, despite all the great defeats, all the unrequited loves, all the unfulfilled wishes, all the buried aspirations, I’ve managed to achieve at least one of my goals in life. And while, even in the best of times, I’ve never been an optimistic man, I find that knowledge of this fact of achievement actually heartens me, and makes me believe that maybe, just maybe, at least one or two of the other things I hope to do with my life may actually come to fruition. And even still, I would never have made it even 1/10th this far without the hardwork and sacrifice and support of my family, and for that, despite all the rough spots and shouting matches and blows exchanged, I am extremely thankful. As I’ve said all along, family has always been important to me.

My brother, my sister, my cousin, and my cousin’s friend dropped me off at the train station around 10 pm. In all, I had spent four hours at home, which is kind of insane, but I’ve got this warm feeling inside, so it was worth it. My brother, my sister, my cousin, and my cousin’s friend then sped off to an outlet mall (either the Citadel in the City of Industry, Camarillo, or maybe even Cabazon out in the desert. Hmm, how alliterative) to do some midnight shopping for Black Friday. (I have decided to celebrate Buy Nothing Day from here on out. I have absolutely no desire to contend with the seething masses in this orgiastic bacchanalian of outright materialism and excess. Mostly because I can’t deal with driving around looking for parking, and I can’t deal with all the cranky babies and the irate adults. It brings out the worst in humanity, it does. Plus Christmas shopping always reminds of me of the time I got the chickenpox, and how I felt like I was going to die because I felt so sick, and it also reminds me of one of the most significant non-relationships in my life, but I digress.)