T Fest

There is a 3 year old patient on my unit at the hospital who knows how to make moose calls, is covered with fake tattoos, shoots the nurses with his orange gun when they come in the room, and loves his daddy's music. I don't know what it is about that little dude, but he has captured my heart. Maybe it's his effervescent smile or the way he gets so excited when he watches his hunting movies. Maybe it's how he puffs up with pride when his baby sister is in the room or the fact that he has more girlfriends than most men could handle and there are more girls vying for a spot on the girlfriend list.

I'm not the only one who is smitten by him either. About every nurse on our unit loves this little cowboy and his incredible and loving family. I guess that's why, when I heard about the benefit in his honor I was jumping at the bit to go (along with about 25 of my other colleagues). I wasn't even deterred by the fact that it was in Woodruff, UT (middle of nowhere), or that it would keep me out late when I had to work very early the next day, or that it was called the Testicle Festival.

So, on Saturday afternoon, I loaded in the car with a couple of co-workers and headed to Woodruff. (For those of you unfamiliar with this town, don't worry, so were we. In fact, we missed the turn and ended up driving 15 minutes further into Wyoming than necessary (actually, is it ever necessary to drive into Wyoming?). But seriously, I-80 EAST to Evanston and then North 20 miles on Highway 89 drops you directly in the heart of Woodruff, UT.) We arrived at City Hall, the only building with much substance other than the LDS church across the hall, to find the event hopping...with about 100 people.

First was a concert, played by non other than my patient's dad, and it was inspiring. Great music, good lyrics, and made me want to marry a cowboy--tight jeans and all. And then, yes, bring it on, the cowboy's sac lunch itself...

Bull Testicles. Yep, that's right. Also known as the Rocky Mountain Oyster, it's a protein packed crescent shaped pieces of meat, battered and deep fat fried. And, because this is my year of no regrets I said, "pile 'em up on my plate, Sir." Hmmm...chewy, a bit rubbery, and tastes kind of like chicken. Definitely not the best thing I've ever eaten, but it could be worse. And, for my little cowboy back at PCMC I'll take one for the team!