poured out before bed
Six months is a long time. For some things, that is.
Like, “I’ve been waiting for my paperwork to go through for six months.” That sort of time spent waiting is a nail biting, terrible forever experience.
As in, “I’ve had this cough for six months.” Yep, that’s a long time. And maybe you should get that checked out…
Similarly, “I haven’t posted to my blog in six months.” Six months is- wait, six months?! You are a bad, lazy blogger.
But six months can be a short time.
Consider, “They gave me six months to live.” A sharp inspiration, a dull expiration. How does one fulfill all the purposes one intended for a life within such confines?
And, finally, as in my own experience, “I’ve been a doctor for six months.” Six months. Six months… Not quite a baby. I’ve learned all the drug seeking and elder dumping tricks at this point and have managed my fair share of crazy situations, both social and medical. I’ve learned when to act quickly and when to pause, ask for help. I’ve learned to be a human before being a physician, but also the importance of distancing oneself from one’s professional life. But certainly I remain a medical toddler, still growing into the scrubs+long white coat couture and the new stethoscope and that plastic name batch which screams in large blue letters , MD.
And I have been busy and happy and tired and frustrated and angry and brilliant and mistaken and content and lucky and lucky and lucky and lucky in these last six months, this marathon, this education of a hundred thousand different lives and diseases and X-rays and lab results, all neatly organized in a giant electronic medical record to be pored and sweated and pimped and sniffled and early-dawn-coffee-sipped over.
My life, in the midst of great sorrow, careful disease management, and sometimes, rarely, cure, has been wonderful. How I’ve managed to be present in so many catching, freezing, haphazard, intense, real moments and not found the time to capture them in writing is shocking to me. (Well, perhaps not shocking. The choice between sleep and story is often out of my hands entirely…). But even more beautifully numbing to me is that I get to live these things. For the last six months I’ve been part of something big, beyond myself and yet somehow part of my making… And, as these kinds of things often do, it has flown by, in a measured cadence of heartbeats.
I am well. I hope you all are well. And I look forward to more of this driving, conscientious madness and, barring an unwieldy sleep debt, to sharing it with all of you in a meticulously mercurial fashion.