Dr. Abby Lockhart
27 November 2008 @ 11:03 pm
 


Ruairi is supposedly working, looks more like he's playing. He sent me pictures of teeny tiny little horses. All that's missing are the sneakers.

Why do these things make me go all soft and mushy inside? Don't normal people have this sort of reaction to puppies and babies and big pans of fresh baked brownies?
 
 
Current Mood: amused
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
26 November 2008 @ 11:45 pm
1. Make a list your upcoming holiday plans.

Work
Work
Work
Work
& Work

(This is mostly because I took time off for someone's wedding)

2. Make a list of people you hope to see before the New Year.

I live in NYC, I think I see enough people on a daily basis.

3. Make a list of relatives you try to avoid.

All of them?

Wait, am I counting distant relations? Because really, I suck at avoiding certain Irish...people.

4. Make a list of anything you want.

Socks
Scrub pants
One shoe
Books
Ew
Shirt
Newspaper
How the hell did that get there?
Box of...boxes.
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
Gallery. Show. Artsy-fartsy—shit! Abby dropped her earring in the sink for the third time and this time; of course, the thing went into the drain. Three being a magical number and all of that type of irritating thing. Why had she let Elizabeth talk her into this?

Oh, that’s right. Because you don’t really refuse when one of the very few female friends you have calls up out of the blue and asks you to spend an evening doing something socially acceptable for women of your age and stature. Besides, this was Elizabeth here. It was bound to be more interesting than just a stuffy showing with a herd of art snobs milling about. They’d be there of course, but they’d also be mocked, gossiped about and generally be an unsuspecting part of the show.

Screw the earrings. Abby looked fine without them.

Dressed in a smart (for her) pants suit and somewhat passable heels, Abby grabbed her purse and headed for the door. If she lingered any longer, she might be tempted to do something insane, like put on lipstick.
Tags: ,
 
 
Current Location: Someplace Spiffy
Current Mood: artistic
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
15 November 2008 @ 07:31 pm
 
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
11 November 2008 @ 06:27 pm
If you know me, you know that I have no use for organized religion. It creeps me out. It’s weird, kooky. It…comes into conflict with everything that I know as a doctor. I certainly had no proof of a benevolent or merciful God when I was growing up. Back then I actually used to want that, some sort of validation for the things the nuns tried (yeah, tried) to teach me.

I keep my mother’s bible in my locker at the hospital. It was given to her when I was born, it was given to her mother when she was born and so on and so on…I don’t have children, but I have that white leather bound book. I don’t really know why Maggie sent it to me—all right, maybe I do. It was a not so subtle hint that she wants to be a grandmother. Sorry, Mom, not happening.

The point is, I have it. I keep it at work. I keep it locked in a dark, cold, metal locker and it is buried under spare t-shirts, coffee mugs, old paperwork, half-eaten snacks that should really be thrown away. But it’s there. I know where it is and I know why.

I keep it there just in case there is a higher power watching over us, you know, the one I’m supposed to believe in and draw strength from (so says the AA literature that might also be shoved in that locker). If there’s a place that needs that sort of thing, it’s the ER of a huge city filled with violent crimes and unbelievable accidents. I once read somewhere that more people pray in hospital waiting rooms than in churches.

Do I believe God exists? Not really.

Sometimes, I hope I’m wrong.

Abby Lockhart//ER//293
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
THREE NAMES YOU GO BY: Abby, Lockhart, Dr. Lockhart

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU'VE HAD: abbyissues, abbytude, countysucks Read more... )
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
02 November 2008 @ 01:48 am
OOC  
A few words about the ArPea Awards:

The mun would like to thank you for all of the nominations, especially for the category of Romance Writer (my mun journal is [livejournal.com profile] hinkydoodle.)

I am completely amused that Pippa has been nominated as a muse you'd like to slap. Pippa, on the other hand, is horrified. She believes she has been used, abused and tortured enough without suffering further abuse at the hands of more fellow RPers/muses. Larch was quite enough, thank you.

She does thank you for acknowledging that she and Ro are made for each other.

Congrats to everyone else that was nominated.
Tags:
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
30 October 2008 @ 11:08 pm
1. Think of the first word that comes to mind when you think of me.
2. Go to http://images.google.com and search for that word.
3. Reply to this post with one of the pictures on the first page of results -- don't tell me the word.
4. Put this in your own blog so that I can do the same.
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
27 October 2008 @ 10:08 am
1. If your doctor told you TODAY that you were pregnant, what would you say?
Nothing, I'd just punch them.

2. Do you trust all of your friends?
Hmm, yeah the whole big list of um...three. Mostly.

3. Would you move to another state or country to be with the one you love?
No. Big mistake, did it once. Ended in divorce. Brilliant plan. Read more... )
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
23 October 2008 @ 03:21 pm
 
Take a picture of yourself right now.
Don't change your clothes, don't fix your hair...just take a picture.
Post that picture with NO editing.
Post these instructions with your picture.


 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
22 October 2008 @ 05:54 pm
Peace and quiet. Alone time. Personal space. Abby has learned to value these things more and more in recent months. It’s not that she doesn’t like the people she lives with, some days she might even admit to loving them, but the transition of living on one’s own to sharing an apartment—no matter how spacious—with two other people, well it is an adjustment. For the next little while, the place was hers. Ruairi and Cait had been charged with the dubious task of procuring candy for the fleet of Trick-or-Treaters that would drop by on Halloween. Abby’s only request had been candy corn, the good kind, loose and sold in the one pound bags, not the preportioned and individually packaged garbage that was so stale it wasn’t worth opening the cellophane bags for.

Never mind the arguments that there is no such thing as good candy corn, the important thing here was that Abby could curl up on the couch, alone with her book (borrowed from Robin some time ago) and a cup of hot tea. She wiggled her toes and laughed as she turned a few pages of the old and doubtlessly valuable tome. The subject matter was what prompted her to take the book out of The Puck’s personal library after all: A Guide to Irish Faeries. It would figure, she chases two of them out of their home only to read up on them instead.

“…the pooka is an adroit shape changer, capable of assuming a variety of terrifying forms.” She snorted and set the book aside. “Sure if being drop-dead gorgeous is terrifying.”

Abby was quickly coming to the conclusion that there was very little in these dusty old books that actually applied to the people in her life and it made her wonder just what these tired old scholars had been writing about instead. As she considered the useless book in her lap, her eyes drifted and wandered around the apartment. These terrifying and tricky ‘pooka’ did things like arrange flowers artfully on the dining room table and place family photos along the fireplace mantle. A particularly old ‘pooka’ left his cell phone and jacket on the other end of the couch. He had also given her the thin and delicately braided bracelet she was wearing around her right wrist. Romantic gestures…terrifying.

Getting up and intending to toss the book back into a bag of things to be dumped back at Robin’s, Abby glanced down and noticed something sticking out of the pages at an odd angle. A piece of paper, maybe a bent page in the otherwise pristine novel, whatever it was had her thumbing to that section of the reading material. Hah, it was a loose sheet of note paper, unlined and yellowed but covered in still (mostly) legible script. After studying it for a moment, Abby closed the book and laughed.

This could not be real. Whoever wrote this, Robin maybe, had a good sense of humor though. She sat the book down but kept the note. Maybe she should slap it up on the fridge with a magnet and see how long it took for Cait to notice it. Or…

“What the hell?” Abby thought. She was home alone and bored now that the book had proved far less interesting than she had hoped. If nothing else, this was bound to be worth a laugh. She tucked the note, well…the ‘spell’ into her pocket and went about gathering the listed tools and ingredients—that’s how she thought of them anyhow. A couple of candles, a book of matches, glass of water…and yes, she was actually taking the mirror down from the entranceway wall.

She set everything out on the coffee table, lit the candles and turned off the reading lamp just to set the tone. It was the week before Halloween, may as well have some fun with the hoodoo garbage that had so thoroughly inundated her life. The burnt smell of sulfur dioxide and the flicker of candlelight gave the normally airy room a claustrophobic feel and compelled Abby to keep her voice to a hushed murmur as she read from the scribblings.

With the same sort of mocking attitude one might close themselves in a dark bathroom and chant for Bloody Mary to appear, Abby placed the lit candles at the four ‘corners’ of the oval mirror and laughed at her own illuminated imaged as the tiny flames were doubled and distorted in the polished glass. Her laughter grew as she poured the water onto the mirrored surface, her reflection rippling and taking on eerie features.

As she waved her hand over the water, the light, the warped images, Abby scoffed. This was stupid. You can’t contact the living, the dead or anything in between by making a mess in your living room. She certainly wasn’t calling forth and waking anything of interest, the only thing she’d achieved was soaking the sleeve of her shirt as it slipped down her arm and, dammit, getting the woven bracelet from Ruairi damp as well. It was made of horsehair, his own, and now…ugh. Damp animal never smelled pleasant.

Abby’s fun and games were effectively ruined by her own clumsy behavior, besides Cait and Ruairi would be back soon and she’d hate to have to explain her foolishness to them. She pulled the circlet from her wrist and left it on the table to dry, lifted the candles one by one and extinguished them. Then she grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table to mop up the water. By the time she’d rehung the mirror and put everything else away, she’d forgotten the slip of paper and its warning to close any portal opened, not that she took any of it seriously in the first place. It wasn’t real. It was all an elaborate joke, a ruse, an illusion.

And there wasn’t anyone watching her or the apartment from the other side of that glass, was there?
 
 
Current Location: manhattan
Current Mood: amused
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
19 October 2008 @ 10:42 pm
3. Make a list of things that would be in your dream home

Really bad cell phone reception. (dream home, remember. I don't need to consider the practicalities, but how nice for work not to be able bother me when I'm not scheduled?)

Freezer filled with ice cream.

A doggie door that's big enough for a sneaker-wearing mini to get through.

Large garden tub because bubble baths are just what the doctor ordered.

Enough bedrooms to accommodate someone's herd of children.
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
17 October 2008 @ 08:13 am
 
Jack Shephard wants to kiss me.
 
 
Current Mood: amused
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
17 October 2008 @ 03:47 am
 
Why is it that everyone I know with red hair is a bit...odd? Anyway, survey from Zippy the Librarian.


What was your love life like a year ago?

12 months ago? Non-existent, mostly. Read more... )
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
14 October 2008 @ 03:32 am
Meme  
The problem with LJ: we all think we are so close, but really, we know nothing about each other. So I want you to ask me something you think you should know about me. Something that should be obvious, but you have no idea about. Ask away.
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
14 October 2008 @ 03:04 am
1. The ER always turns into a freak show.

2. Treating patients in bizarre costumes is really not fun, or funny. Though once we had a dead clown and Malucci was scared of him...that was funny.

3. I'm going to miss telling Frank the candy bowl is filled with treats only for the Satanists.

4. I never seem to get the memo about whether or not we're supposed to show up in a costume.

5. I hate people who carve pumpkins to look like they are vomiting.

6. The candy corn is MINE.
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
14 October 2008 @ 03:01 am
The most embarrassing thing I have ever done while sober is talk about the things I have done while drunk. I don’t mean at an AA meeting when it’s one of those days where I share. That’s sort of the point. You’re with your peers and they have, if not the same, but similar experiences and a frame of reference people who aren’t addicts and alcoholics don’t have.

No, it’s when I’ve had to explain to the people close to me that I’m an alcoholic, what that means and how it affects my life on a day-to-day basis. It’s not that I ‘like’ beer or that I ‘miss it because it tastes good.’ (Thanks, Luka for that oh so understanding and enlightening assumption, really.) It’s that I don’t know when to stop. I can’t. You might be able to have a beer or two, a shot of the good stuff, a glass of wine—not me. I don’t know how people can leave half a beer on the table or one more glass in the bottle. I don’t know how to drink vodka in anything smaller than a twelve-ounce tumbler filled with ice.

I have no control and I hate admitting that. I hate admitting that once I start, I physically feel like I need it to function. To function, that’s a joke. I use it to numb myself and to avoid life and its problems. That’s not really functioning. I’m an addict—I crave it. I wake up and want a drink. I pass a liquor store on the way to work and I think about it. A bar on the way home and I really want it. I fall asleep thinking about how a nice smooth shot of whiskey would burn as it slides down my throat. Sometimes, I think of ways to hide it: in a coke can, in a travel coffee mug, if I duck in here or there and carry it with me. Stick it in an empty shampoo bottle so it’s there in the middle of the night when I wake up to pee. How’s that for embarrassing?

It was really embarrassing to have told the one significant person in my life just how low I’ve been because of alcohol: One morning I woke up in this apartment, and I had no idea how I got there, lying next to this guy I didn't even remember meeting and he was going through my stuff looking for money so he and his buddy could get a fix. So I ran out of there and I went downstairs. I tried to get a cab but I had no idea where I was and it was five o'clock in the morning and there were no cars on the street. So I just, I just sat down on the stoop and I waited for something to happen. And at that moment, I'm telling you I knew, I mean I was positive that happiness was something I was never going to find.*

You know what, screw that. Posting this is the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done while sober.

Abby Lockhart//ER//393* (not including quote)
 
 
Current Mood: ashamed
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
After making sure Rory was feeling at least a bit more optimistic about his girlfriend’s state of recovery, Abby and Ruairi had gone through the routine harried dance that goes hand in hand with last minute travel plans. Plane tickets, packing a bag, handling work absences and then the maddening adventure of dealing with airport security at JFK and the crowds at O’Hare left very little time for Abby to dwell on why they were back in Chicago.

They’d checked into a hotel not far from where she used to live, they used to live, Abby reminded herself. Those last few months, the silver-haired man had all but moved in with her. She spent most of that first evening calming and caring for Ruairi, he really did not enjoy the human method of long-distance travel. Abby felt bad that he’d suffered on her behalf, but not so bad that she’d wished he’d stayed home. No, she was selfish enough to want him there despite how miserable he felt.

Throughout the funeral service she’d held his hand, stayed by his side. Afterward, when she’d been asked by her former colleagues to take the ride back to County with them in the black limo, she’d hesitated. She felt like an outsider now. She hadn’t been there that day, hadn’t gone through the same struggle and loss the rest of them had. Did she really have the right?

Abby was still standing there, debating, maybe waiting for one of them to make the decision to leave without her…
Tags: , ,
 
 
Current Location: Chicago
Current Mood: sad
 
 
 
Dr. Abby Lockhart
The Dark Side does actually have cookies. And cigarettes and the really good coffee, too. Making the transition, finally, from nurse to physician was one of the most challenging and rewarding stumbling blocks in my life. I say stumbling block because it was far from easy. In fact, I almost gave up the idea on more than one occasion. There were times the effort required and the obstacles that had to be cleared were just too much. Back then anyway. I didn’t see things as a challenge to be beaten and overcome; I saw them as excuses to stop. Things became hard and I shut down. It was easier. Little disappointments instead of the feared giant, soul-crushing, ones were easier to get over.

In short, I was an idiot.

She stopped mid-page and picked up the telephone, calling the one professional writer whose opinion and encouragement meant anything to her.

“Cait there is no way the publishing house wants to sell this crap. Who would want to read it? No one cares about the trials and tribulations of a nurse turned doctor and it’s not like I can even include any of the interesting shit…we’d have to market the thing as some sort of sci-fi/fantasy work of fiction.” Abby snorted and pushed her glasses back up on the bridge of her nose after reading back several pages to the woman on the other end of the line. “Stop laughing at me, Caitlin…and tell that niece of yours, no she is not currently my granddaughter after that comment, that I will not be calling it a horror story and including my kitchen mishaps. I’m hanging up the phone now…”

And immediately discounted the conversation on account of grandchild.

In short, I was an idiot.

I like to think I’ve grown wiser and not just older over the years…

Abby Lockhart//ER//306

Caitlin MacEibhir mentioned with mun knowledge if not permission. I steal things and put them back later, usually unharmed.
 
 
Current Location: upstate new york, future
Current Mood: busy