There are some changes coming.
If you’ve noticed, the logo and header have changed. I’m not abandoning healthcare as a topic, but this blog has naturally evolved. It’s always going to carry a Fallout Wasteland theme—let’s be honest, that’s been a consistent vibe for a while now.
But I’ll still write about healthcare issues. And personal stories. And anything else that lights the proverbial fuse under my brain.
When I first started this blog years ago—shortly after leaving grad school—it was meant to be a platform to confront the problems in healthcare that kept me awake at night. The original podcast included a friend of mine from high school who had zero background in medicine outside of being a patient. That pairing made for a great back-and-forth. We explored the absurdities, blind spots, and bureaucratic nonsense from both the inside and the outside.
Then COVID hit.
And my personal life… well, it hit back even harder.
That was when I took a long break. I probably only wrote a half-dozen entries during that time. Life got scary, serious, and soul-warping. I was in a relationship where nearly anything I wrote—no matter how innocuous—would somehow upset my partner. So I stopped.
Fast forward. Fallout became a bit of a lifeline. Strange, maybe, but it gave me a world to wander where everything was already broken and nobody expected me to fix it. Somewhere in between the Nuka-Cola quests and irradiated fishing holes, inspiration struck. My therapist kept nudging me to journal. This blog, once again, became that journal.
So yes—expect changes. But also expect the same old truth: real talk, dark humor, and medical observations with a radioactive twist.
9/11: Past & Present
I almost forgot what day it was when I started writing this.
September 11th.
If you’re in the U.S., chances are you remember where you were when it happened. It’s our generation’s Pearl Harbor. An entire worldview shattered in real time.
I traveled to New York City in November 2001—barely two months after the attacks. Lower Manhattan still bore visible scars: debris everywhere, police checkpoints, and flight and train security that felt lifted straight from a Tom Clancy novel. One of the project managers at the meeting lived in Chelsea, not far from Ground Zero. When the planes struck, he lost cell service entirely because one of the major towers for cellular transmission was atop the North Tower. He couldn’t return home for several days. The area was simply too unstable—literally and emotionally.
Strangely, I found myself back in New York on September 11th, 2023.
It didn’t click until I boarded the No. 1 train heading south and found myself in a sea of firefighters in full dress uniform. A wave of memory hit hard and fast. I chatted with a few of them. Good guys. One joked about how rarely they wear those uniforms unless it’s for something serious.
First responders were the heroes that day—and every day, really. I’ve worked rescue. I’ve worked trauma. I’ve seen what firefighters do. I even have family in the service. The real ones? The ones who don’t run from flames or chaos? They always say the same thing: “Just doing my job.”
But that job? It’s nothing short of heroic.
So yes, I’m late posting this. It’s the 12th now. My apologies. Time gets slippery these days.
But remember: be a hero for your mom. Be a hero for your dog.
The world could use a few more of those.