Sunday, June 15, 2008
that's mrs. DOCTOR stroud to you.
Friday night Jaymeson graduated from Washington University's radiation oncology residency program. Thus ending his TWENTY-EIGHT years of school. Sweet. Four years undergrad, four years med school, one year transitional residency and four years radiation oncology residency. Sheesh. That boy can study!
We've had so many beginnings lately, I had forgotten the endings. I was all about NEW. New house. New job. It didn't really hit me until Friday that he really was graduating and done. End. Wow. I am so proud of him that I could burst. I know first-hand what kind of doctor he is. They passed around an email to his department and asked for a word or two that came to mind when they thought of Jaym. They said he was the best-dressed, hottest, nicest boy scout. (Luckily for me, the one who said he was hot was a gay guy.) They said lots of nice things about him. Sometimes I don't whether to burst with pride or stand up and tell everyone to BACK OFF - he's taken.
I'm so lucky. He has handled so much of this without ever acting like it's too much. He has always made time for us no matter how hectic his work got. He has helped me with my job and supported me in my stressful times, too. He is an awesome dad. Not only my kids, but all the kids we know are crazy about him. He's so much fun.
Some other things you might not know about Jaymee:
He is a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. He has been known to remodel train stations on his lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. He translates ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, he writes award-winning operas, he manages time efficiently. Occasionally, he treads water for three days in a row. He is probably the best soccer player in the world and perfectly understands the laws of physics.
He can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and he can cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. He is an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.
Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, he once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. He plays bluegrass cello, he was scouted by the Mets. He is the subject of numerous documentaries. When he's bored, he builds large suspension bridges in our yard. He enjoys urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after work, he repairs electrical appliances free of charge.
He is an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over his original line of corduroy evening wear. He doesn't perspire. He is a private citizen, yet he receives fan mail. He has been caller number nine and has won the weekend passes. Last summer he toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. He bats .400. His deft floral arrangements have earned him fame in international circles. Children trust him.
He can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. He once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David
Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. He knows the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. He has performed covert operations for the CIA. He sleeps once a week; when he does sleep, he sleeps in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, he successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery.
He balances, he weaves, he dodges, he frolics, and our bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off steam, he participates in full-contact origami. Years ago he discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. He has made extraordinary four-course meals using only a Mouli and a toaster oven. He breeds prize-winning clams. He has won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. He has played Hamlet, he has performed open-heart surgery, and he has spoken with Elvis.
Now he has graduated from his radiation oncology residency.
I couldn't be more proud. Or a bigger plagiarist.