So… who’s looking for a new job?

“So… who’s looking for a new job?”

We scanned each other’s eyes over the Zoom screen, as if the miniature windows of these four pixelated beauties could reveal any hidden truths.

Nothing.

Taking a sip of my pinot gris, I soaked in the uncomfortable silence.

Conversation was always going to land here.  Months spent on Slack commiserating over this foreign new world of startup culture, complaining about our ineffective EMR, griping about entitled patients – and yet, this topic had never been breached.  It felt like heresy to mention it on a corporate owned platform during work hours.

But in this safe cocoon I’d created on my private Zoom channel, restarting another chat session every 40 minutes in order to keep our conversation away from prying eyes – L finally asked the burning question during our work Galentine’s date.

It clearly had been top of mind as I watched everyone glance away from their screens, yet no one wanted to answer.  No one wanted to shatter the illusion that we didn’t know one of us would eventually walk away from our unexpected support group.

Of all the places I’d worked as an attending, nothing else replicated the camaraderie I had during residency.  I hadn’t found people I wanted to hang out with after work, and certainly hadn’t found people I was willing to stare at onscreen after a Zoom telemedicine visit filled week.  I latched onto these women like a salve for a wound I didn’t even realize I had.

Where are they now, M?  Those friends from med school and residency you have such fond memories of?  Are they still present figures in your life?  Or do they only exist in a catalogue of names on Facebook? 

Not all connections were meant to last.

Maybe this wasn’t real friendship.  Maybe there was nothing really connecting us other than the shared trauma bonds we’d formed through this year.

And what a year it had been – all of us starting at our organization at the height of the pandemic’s uncertainty.  When did we all realize we’d be the the only consistent people in each others’ lives for the foreseeable future?  Our laugh out loud memes curated in our private Slack channel cast long shadows, hinting at the fracturing personal relationships we once held close.  As the fault lines widened in our pre-pandemic circles while debates about Black Lives Matter and science erupted, we turned to each other like a learned reflex.

We didn’t know this was just the beginning.

As COVID and politics intertwined into an obnoxious web we were forced to navigate, the transcript of our conversations became a living document of our shared nightmare.  Play by plays of breaking news about the climbing death toll, increasing parts per million of wildfire particles spilling into our clinics like a toxic cloud, belligerent people scaling Capitol walls and our downtown offices evacuated for bomb threats – memories of this time would forever be framed by our collective horror.

And yet…

Had these conversations carried enough depth to form real, lasting bonds?  Or was this just another chapter filled with intense experiences during which we clung together to get through, only to dust ourselves off in the aftermath and go our separate ways?

Shaking my head, I pushed my avoidant tendencies away.

Why are you like this, M?  Just because it isn’t forever doesn’t mean it’s not meaningful.

It doesn’t mean I’m not right though.  Just because you ignore the pattern doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

My sigh at my ever warring inner dialogue attracted the attention of the other ladies.  Their gaze pleaded for me to break the silence.

Dammit, I should’ve put myself on mute.

With an eyebrow raise, I finally answered.

“I’m always looking.”

D inhaled sharply.

“NO YOU ARE NOT, M.  Don’t say things like that!”

Shrugging, I smiled without apology.

“It’s like my Zillow… I just like to see what’s out there.  Keeping my options fresh!  That way when I’m ready to make a move, the initial research phase is already complete.”

L launched her head back and cackled, causing her skittish cat to scamper out of her bedroom.

“Okay Ms. I-paid-my-student-loans-off-in-5-years-and-can-retire-when-I’m-42.  The rest of us mere mortals still need to make this job work.”

“Oh, come on L. You’ve had as many jobs as I’ve had in the last 3 years when you were doing locums. Do you really believe you need to make this job work? At the end of the day, you and I both know all primary care jobs are the same – they just have different 401k vesting requirements.”

As we locked eyes in provocation, an unexpected pang of future nostalgia hit me.  It wasn’t every day I met someone who challenged me so bluntly.  I smirked, recalling the first time she came at me:

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, convincing D to become a vegetarian!?  We’re a meat eating office here!  Don’t make me have to change my one potluck dish!  You have to stop with this TMAO nonsense.”

Sure, agreeable people make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  But the ones who challenge you inspire your next level-up.  Whatever this was, I’d miss the bickering that forced me to clarify my thoughts and pull the truth out.  I wondered if she felt the same.

“You’re right – it’s all the same healthcare corporation/insurance bullshit.  But this job has US.“

Another moment of silence as we pondered this sentiment.

Heartwarming, yes.  But there was no doubt in my mind one of us would leave soon.

Who’d be the first?

This time T’s fidgeting broke the spell.

“M, could you really leave?  Medicine, that is?”

A shiver trailed down my spine as I thought back to my 35th birthday, hastening memories of that brisk, epic day. It began with a special request for oatmeal breakfast in bed, followed by my first snowshoeing adventure. The chill of vast, blue, cloudless skies countered the steam coming off my sweaty head as I floundered my way alongside White River to views of Mount Hood.

Still flying high from taking the best picture of my life, I rounded out the day with paying the remaining $6,368.86 left on my student loan balance. My quickening heart rate and rush of relief clashed with the anticlimactic act of clicking a submit button.

I had expected… more. I didn’t know what that more was, but maybe a little more clarity would’ve been nice? Perhaps deep down I’d wanted the heavens to open up like my day’s cloudless adventure to an epiphany, the way Mount Hood emerged like a beacon:

Screw medicine!  Now that you’ve freed yourself from this financial burden, become a freelance photographer or writer or whatever you want to be!

Or perhaps:

Now that you no longer have to work to pay off this debt, admit it M.  You love this – the tears, the victories, getting to know people in a way very few people in their lives ever will.  You’re here to stay.

So here I was, languishing in the same spot 2 months later.

It was easy to justify my inertia.  I hadn’t gotten to my FI number yet, that elusive amount where I could comfortably bow out of medicine – this seemed to be the current best option to achieve it.  Being out of the 24/7 grind of the hospital, I resumed my evening walks with my husband and dogs and adventured up mountains on weekends.  Yes, the anxiety and depression in the clinic was wearing me down, but at least I wasn’t always chasing down sleep while I switched days for nights.

Medicine was the devil I knew.  And I got paid a lot to do it.

But T wasn’t asking if I could stay for the money.  She was asking if I could really leave the “calling”.  

Echoes of prior protests clawed at my chest to make their way out, but the genuine curiosity in her tone held them back.  Maybe she’d been struggling with this very question herself.

As I looked at all the brilliant, compassionate women facing me onscreen, my eyes were drawn to the thin, black crossroads separating our little windows.

Like me, they all landed here to rest – from traveling locums, a toxic private practice, collapsing from the never-ending pressure at a county clinic.  We were all trying to figure out our next moves, never intending this to be our final destination.  But the last year had trapped us in this liminal space, with nothing to anchor us other than the shared routine of our days.

Real or not, these bonds were necessary.

But not as necessary as moving on.

“I don’t know, T.  What does medicine even look like in 7 years when I get to my financial independence number?  I don’t think anyone can predict that, but I do know if I keep putting all my student loan money into my investment accounts, I’ll at least have more options.

In the meantime, I can still do good work while I’m here.  I still enjoy my patients and I still enjoy you all.

Right now that’s enough.”

---

“Once T leaves, I don’t know how this is going to go if I’m the only provider in the clinic.  Maybe I should drop down to 3 days.  Or… just go on a sabbatical altogether.”

J’s silence was deafening.  The less he said, the more he actually had to say… just like me.  It always struck me how similar yet dissimilar we were.

“Just say it.”

“You won’t like it.”

“I can deal.”

“You’re doing exactly what you were meant to do, M.  You’ve always listened, always given advice.  Remember when you were 20 and giving life advice to E who had to be 10 years older than you??  Because I do.  And that’s not going to change.  No matter how many jobs you quit, you’re still going to do this.  You might as well get paid doctor money to do it.”

The stillness of our conversation clashed with the chirping birds’ sunset song.

“… you didn’t like it.”

“Yes and… you’re also not wrong.”

“You can just say I’m right.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with familiar knowing – baiting me for a response he knew wasn’t coming.

“ANYWAY, the soonest they’ll be able to get someone else in will probably be 4-6 months.  I’m going to lose my f*cking mind.”

“So where does that leave you?”

Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, we looked at each other while the dogs wandered off to get their sniffs in. 

Such a simple question.  But I still hadn’t found the answer, 3 years and 2 jobs later.

Immediately my mind exploded with the same, tired dialogue swirling in my mind the last 2 months:

Here.  It leaves us HERE.  In this same exact situation where I complain about the same exact things until the day I die because I’ll never stop coming into work because deep down I’m actually a masochist.

Maybe I should start on some prophylactic antidepressants and stay on them for the rest of my working career.

Ugh, just drop down to 3 days and minimize the harm.

OR FIND A NEW JOB.

No, don’t do that!  You already know everything out there equally sucks. 

You know what to do:

QUIT

QUIT

QUIT

God, I really need to see a therapist.

A gentle squeeze of my hand snapped me back to reality.

“Hey… we’ll figure it out.”

Blinking my tears back, I squeezed J’s hand in response – his knobby knuckles anchoring me like they always have the last 17 years.

Jobs will come and go. 

Friends may enter into our lives and leave.

The world can fall into a sinkhole and continue to descend.

But I will always have my one constant.

 

***

Photo of J carving a path on our first snowshoeing adventure up to Mount Hood, Oregon.

***

Every time I come back to the blog, I say I’m going to write 2 posts a month. 

And just like that flaky friend you can’t seem to get ahold of despite their declaration of plans to finally catch up soon, I quickly disappear into the ether.

If you’ve been following along on Instagram, you’ll know some of the reasons why → my colleague quit, leaving me the only provider in clinic, I had some interesting showdowns with my new medical director, our senior dog Ernie was on the brink of death, the furnace had a tiny electrical fire… AND we’re still dealing with a bit of a rat infestation in our crawlspace.

It’s been quite the year, but fortunately I’m currently regrouping during a 3 week time period between jobs (foreshadowing: I quit!) and plan to actually follow through this time around!

Current goal is to get posts out every other Sunday – sign up below for email updates when new posts go out OR follow me on Instagram where I post my latest updates!

Leave this field empty if you're human: