As I wait for my Uber outside of work I soak in the summer air. It’s fragrant, soft, and cool. Like burying your face in freshly washed sheets. It’s wonderful, and most of the summer hasn’t been like this.
In my backpack is an article I’m supposed to read on lesion characteristics I need to be able to identify by the end of residency.
“By the end of residency.” Four and a half years seems like a judgement, dare say a prison sentence sometimes in terms of its sheer absoluteness. No matter what happens, no matter how much or how little I do, or learn, it will be four and a half more years.
My child will be walking and talking and about to attend school. I will be 35 and most likely reaching the halfway point of my working years.
My medicine intern year was spent in anticipation of what this would be like, and now that I’m here I’m painfully aware of how much I have yet to learn… it’s like stepping foot in a new country. At this point, I can order a beer and buy a train ticket but this isn’t my home. And only time and earnest effort will make it so.
Med-Derm, MD 