I love the show Chopped. When I am tired and want to veg out, this is what I watch. While my ever-so-patient husband will tolerate the obsession, the conversation usually goes something like this:

Him: “Oh, what are you watching? No, wait…I hear Ted Allen’s voice…let me guess: Chopped.”

Me: “Yes. It’s the coveted dessert round!”

Him: “Uh, haven’t we seen this one before? I think I recognize Ted Allen’s tie.”

Me: “No…you may be confusing this episode with the one where they use dragon fruit, frog legs, raspberry kefir and Parmesan cheese for dessert–(getting angry at TV)–Pan perdu?! He’s making French toast!  You know that’s all pan perdu means!”

Him: “Uh, yeah. You’ve mentioned that before. You know, they can’t hear you through the TV when you yell at them.”

Me: “You know, I could totally do this show.”

[He gives me a long stare.]

Me: “Fine. The show is done in ten minutes. Then we can watch Law and Order.”

Well, Wednesday I was in my own version of Chopped: The Final Return Demonstration. The Return Demonstration is a weekly oral exam of what we have learned in clinical simulation lab during that week. The exam is often panic-inducing to many students (including me); while most of the clinical instructors are kind and patient, a few can be bit intimidating (and make me cry). This Wednesday was the final oral exam before we start working on real people.

Let’s compare:

My mannequin/patient’s name was Joe Montana, which I thought was kind of cool, until I realized that many of the young students in my class have probably never seen Joe Montana throw a football or even know who he is. And then I just felt old.

Mr. Montana looked a little like this, except he was lying down.

Mr. Montana needed various medications and had an amputation and a stage IV pressure ulcer, which looked very nasty–I didn’t tell him that, though, because that would be rude and unprofessional.

The good news? I wasn’t chopped! Thankfully, I was able to properly treat Mr. Montana the Mannequin’s diabetes,  glaucoma, pain and crabbiness.  I didn’t give him any expired medication, and I didn’t kill him.  I also chatted Mr. Montana up–though he didn’t have much to say–and while I really, really wanted to,  I was professional enough that I didn’t ask for an autograph.  He probably wouldn’t have given me an autograph anyway, because I told him I was a Packers fan.

And I love Ted Allen, and his Pretentious Foodie Bullshit: