"I think I'm done with medicine." Finally uttering the words that had been on my mind since my last stretch of work left me with such a sense of relief. Followed by immediate regret. But I couldn't prevent the word vomit from spewing out.
Category: Burnout
What Are You Going To Do About This?
"You know, my wife has been through a lot in the last year. And every time we get the same run around from her doctors and we're sick of it. We are paying you to help her, and she only gets worse and worse! You're just wasting our time here. So we ask you again, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS?!" Y's husband's bulging eyes held mine as his voice crescendoed into a passionate outburst. Daring me to look away and crumble into an apology.
Are You Sure You Still Want To Do This?
"So before we get this meeting going, I just wanted to announce that J will be going part time, effective May. We've hired N to take over his role as demand planning manager and they will work in tandem until she gets up to speed." Murmurs on the other end of the conference call blared through my husband's work computer speakers. "He's doing it so he can spend more time with his wife." Silence.Interesting... was that a patronizing tone I heard, or did it fall more along the lines of scoffing laughter - like, can you believe this guy? Sitting in the other room cuddling with my dogs, I waited for J's response.
Are You Running on Empty?
"I'm surprised you stayed in there for as long as you did," the nurse said to me as we stepped out of the room. "You were so patient." Shrugging, I gave a non-committal reply with a deflective smile, per my usual. "I had time." As I walked down the halls of the nursery to finally hopefully eat lunch at 2 pm, my response echoed in my head. You didn't have the time, M. But you needed to MAKE the time for this. How else was I going to drown out the cries of my 90 year old patient from this morning? "Why hasn't God taken me yet? I can't bear this anymore!"
Modern Medicine: What Are You Really Accomplishing?
Thanks to modern medicine, we have successfully prolonged the lifespan of multiple disease states.
But are we actually promoting living?
What if we have this all wrong?
This Doctor’s Secret Shame: A Patient Suicide
Sitting at my new hospital cubicle workstation, O's hoarse voice rang out in my ear as her obituary on my screen sucker punched me in the gut. Squeezing my eyes shut to stop the onslaught of burning tears only brought visions of O down on the ground, clasping the pill bottle with my name on it. Of course they were prescriptions that I wrote... she wouldn't have had the time to find a new PCP 2 weeks after I had left the clinic.
Time of Death: Welcome to Residency
As I see med students' anticipation rising for Match Day this Friday, I wonder if they wrote the same thing I did on my personal statement, if they said the same things in their interviews → I want to go into medicine because I want to help people.
8 years into this career, I wonder when help turned into a diagnosis/treatment algorithm:
Hypertension → lisinopril
Hyperlipidemia → statin
Heart failure exacerbation → lasix
Isn't spending the extra 10 minutes to help 30 people achieve closure after the death of a loved one also helping people?
Or is it not truly helping people if we can't toss them a pill or do a procedure to make it all better?
Did we really help someone if the encounter is non-billable?
Now looking back, I realize day one of residency started the erasure of tending to another person's humanity.
Are You Happy Now?
"Are you happy now, M?" I remembered the despairing woman in her hammock staring up at the forest canopy 6 months ago, wondering if she had it in her to reach higher. Would she only see the clouds cresting the horizon, signs of another storm eventually rolling in? Or would she be content to finally touch the sky, if only for a moment?
When Was the Last Time You Let Yourself Be Free?
"So how do you feel?"
"...I don't know. It hasn't quite set in yet that I'm never going back."
The last 24 hours had been the longest, yet shortest day in recent memory. After saying my last 14 goodbyes, I had spent an additional 2 hours crossing every t and dotting every i to make sure I left in the best way possible.
Reality was a stark contrast to what a friend had thought I would actually do: throw up the deuces and walk out at 5 while yelling, “I'M OUT!!”
One Last Goodbye: I’m Not Ready to Let You Go
And just like that, our time had come to an end.
Had I adequately traced the wrinkled outline of his face? Memorized the way he waved his hands to punctuate his speech? Figured out the cadence of his filler words of "anyway" versus "anyhow"?
You’re making these final stops of your farewell tour much harder than they need to be, M.