Dedicated to Dedicating

National Jewish is dedicated. Both in the sense that its healthcare personnel are dedicated to patient care and in the more literal sense, that everything is dedicated by someone to something. Everything.

Got too many awards? Put 'em on a plaque. Got too many award plaques? Put them in a stack on the wall. 



The last plaque is the award for the faculty member with the most awards.

Stack of plaques still insufficient? Use them as wallpaper.

If you rearrange the plaques into the correct order a secret passage opens up. Leading to a room with more plaques.

 

Of course it's not all just about the plaques at NJH. They've also got dedicated bricks.

Dedicated bricks are just like dedicated plaques, but with more Old World charm.

 

And dedicated bricks with plaques.

The greatest honor is getting a brick made out of plaques.

 

Since apparently one can run out of bricks to dedicate there's always plant life and local fauna.

The best woody shrubs are always dedicated first.

Dig donors don't trifle with pea gravel and compost, though. They go straight to dedicating buildings. Unfortunately buildings tend to run out pretty fast. So why not dedicate... parts of buildings?

Best damn vital signs room in the country.

 

 

I guess one should look at all the dedications and memorials as a sign of people's trust in the institution to use their resources wisely and for the benefit of future generations, and less as some over the top onstentatious display or kickback to the plaque-making industry. NJH certainly does good work. It is a little distracting, though. And just a little ridiculous.

 

 

"I dedicate this picture in the name of Mars. Ooh isn't that lovely?"

Surviving the Colorado Curse

Steep atop Denver International’s darkest crag lies perched, peering, seeing, watching: the cursed stallion.

 

With beady red eyes, bulging blue veins, and a nasty bite he haunts the mile high city. All who fly into Colorado’s newest, great airport are cursed. Cursed with a terrible curse.

I myself was afflicted by the apocalyptic hell beast, and it began the day prior to my arrival – a tribute to its cursiness. An innocents night sledding was ended tragically by my left knee bending in half the way nature never intended. Contributing factors may have included sledding from the top of a three hundred plus yard sledding hill, a small craft advisory, and a near complete lack of prior sledding experience; nevertheless, I was without warning catapulted from my sled and onto my left leg which promptly collapsed like papermache. I additionally somehow got a road rash on my right forearm from the experience, the stallion!

A few days later transgressions continued when I learned my four-week clinical “elective” would actually be four weeks of 12 hour days, tedious dictations, and regular floggings. I had hoped to commute to the hospital via bus or carpool with a friend, but the partial ACL tear, mild MCL sprain, mild LCL sprain, patellar-tibial contusion, and gastrocnemius strain all limited the feasibility of the former while working till the darkest dark of night limited the feasibility of the latter. Eventually I was forced to rent a car for the mere sum of a whole hell of a lot more than advertised.

Paying about 3 times more than listed for taxes, fees, and any lick of insurance coverage was actually one of the few fortuitous decisions I made, however, as within 2 days of acquiring the new car – and 5 days from my original sledding accident – a young woman decided to drive into the side of it. Her initial reaction to pulling out into traffic and hitting my front bumper consisted of “why didn’t you stop?!” as if in the US -- or anywhere on any planet for that matter -- it’s perfectly acceptable to make left hand turns in front of rapidly oncoming automobiles whenever you want. Once her boyfriend pointed out this was insanity she then fell back to exclaiming, “it’s not my fault!” endlessly until the police finally came. My reward for this? A new car and a significantly more expensive new rental car contract. Curse you cursed stallion!

I had to lay low for the next few weeks while the jinx passed, and was thankfully sheltered by my friend Adam and Kate in their basement under an alias. They thankfully are exceedingly generous hosts, Kate’s cooking exceedingly delicious, and their children exceedingly prone to hop merrily in place at the slightest provocation. Aside from some additional difficulty finding dry cleaning – I eventually had to go to Denver’s Korea Town – and a general lack of improvement in range in motion of my knee, things began to blow over. Unfortunately a final blow came the final week when an unknown assailant struck down Dara their slouchier, whiter dog. Some say it was a veterinarian putting an old, good dog down to her final resting place. Others say it was that stallion. And still others say it was the stallion posing as a veterinarian. All that’s clear is that through Dar-Dar’s sacrifice the curse was lifted. Or it just went away on its own. Curses are weird like that. The boys were saddened by the loss of their beloved pet, but after determining she had gone down into the pits of the Earth to doggy heaven and that they’d likely be getting another, younger dog in the future they decided they were ok with their other remaining pets. They eventually returned to hopping, and after working far more than I ever cared to on an elective, I flew home away from the demon's stare.

This post is dedicated to Dar-Dar. The best old, white dog I have ever known. We'll miss you girl.

 En memorum.

This photo is an approximation. I do not actually have a photo of Dara, but she looked kind of like this. But older.