The First Block of Derm

When I get home after clinic today the house is uncharacteristically quiet. My husband is at work (unusual for him since he usually works from home), and my daughter is in daycare. And I soak into the silence, hearing sounds I don’t usually do: the hum of the air conditioner in the background, some voices echoing from down the hall.

My first “block” of dermatology ends this Sunday. Starting on Monday I’ll go to a different hospital and start fresh with an entire new building, nursing staff, attendings, and expectations. Between Medicine and Dermatology, I cover four different hospitals, each with their own EHR, staff, and culture. My hospital next week is supposed to be the “favorite” of the dermatology residents, and the one we spend the least amount of time at.

But I can’t even be excited about it at the moment as I’m still reeling from the emotional exhaustion of what the past few months have been like. While I’ve had some wins, with good calls and grateful patients, I mores feel like I can’t go a day without disappointing someone, as if my teachers and bosses are asking for ten dollars when I have a five, two crumpled singles, and an old receipt in my pockets. “You can’t add a patient to that time slot.” “Your patient has been waiting for an hour now.” “You should pick treatment X over treatment Y,” “Are you a real doctor?” “What fungus typically makes this reaction pattern?” etc. etc.

When I get home, it’s a different type of pressure. My husband takes too much of the domestic duties and in my role as a resident I struggle most days to pick up the slack.

My current location is known to be one of the more isolating and arduous of the three different sites we rotate at. And if I’m speaking honestly, it’s been draining. I’m more emotionally exhausted than I ever was on medicine.