Last year, I had things to be thankful for on Thanksgiving. This year, not so much. For sure, I was accepted into and have spent the last 6 months slaving for my first choice residency program. But here I am, working for said program on Thanksgiving as the only doctor on the oncology unit. And what a non-doctor am I. I used to think being a doctor meant having all the answers, somehow, magically, I would know all. Instead, being a doctor means humbly accepting that I know 20% of the facts but still have to do 100% of the work. I'm getting good at guessing. And worrying, as Tom will tell you. I thought working in a children's hospital on Thanksgiving would be as upbeat as working on Halloween was, that the families would snuggle in and bring food from home and want to share their stories with me. Instead, it's been a day filled with tedium and confusion. I still have notes to write. And hours and miles to go before this training thing ends.
The hospital provided us with dinner tonight and it was so utterly depressing, nothing like Norman and Jonina's epic meals. I kept wishing for the wine to magically appear, and maybe those are the thoughts you have in the midst of working 21 days straight. Yet I looked around the table, and the 8 residents made an effort to go around and give report about what they were happy for. Every last one felt blessed to work with the other residents in the program, including me. So I suppose I am lucky to have this new family. But I still miss my own.
On this Thanksgiving, please be well.
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