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Today was a good day... and a hard day.
I was part of an amazing team that helped many people. But it took 12 hours before I had a chance to eat and drink. I started at 7am. It’s nearly 10pm. I’m still here. We have 2 more cases. 2 more women labouring.
This is the job I love.
I was part of an amazing team that helped many people. But it took 12 hours before I had a chance to eat and drink. I started at 7am. It’s nearly 10pm. I’m still here. We have 2 more cases. 2 more women labouring.
This is the job I love.
I do. But some days are so hard. So so hard. Today was a day like that.
I texted my husband, “Home after midnight.”
He asked if I wanted him to drop off food. I said yes, just for a chance to see him and the kids. A chance to feel grounded and human. That minute was worth it.
I texted my husband, “Home after midnight.”
He asked if I wanted him to drop off food. I said yes, just for a chance to see him and the kids. A chance to feel grounded and human. That minute was worth it.
The nurses and I shared belly laughs as we joked about our lovely hubbies.
But we had to cancel a case, someone who waited hours for surgery because of another emergency case in a sicker woman. I felt so bad for the person we bumped... and so glad we saved a woman’s life.
But we had to cancel a case, someone who waited hours for surgery because of another emergency case in a sicker woman. I felt so bad for the person we bumped... and so glad we saved a woman’s life.
I’ve caught up to charting and my mind wanders...
An elderly patient called: her hands and feet are swelling. So I’ll give up my lunch tomorrow to squeeze in a house call. Also I have to call that patient with chronic pain back. And I have to check labs, investigations, imaging.
An elderly patient called: her hands and feet are swelling. So I’ll give up my lunch tomorrow to squeeze in a house call. Also I have to call that patient with chronic pain back. And I have to check labs, investigations, imaging.
And I have to check this for this patient and that for that patient. Oh and don’t forget the referral to the allergist.
A family med patient sent a card: “You’re the best. Don’t forget yourself.”
I flush. I didn’t do a very good job this week. 12-18 hour days, Mon, Tues, Wed.
A family med patient sent a card: “You’re the best. Don’t forget yourself.”
I flush. I didn’t do a very good job this week. 12-18 hour days, Mon, Tues, Wed.
And today. Oh my god. One thing after another. Moments of joy. Moments of terror. In between, my husband brought the kids and food: grilled cheese sandwich with gruyere, butter roasted onions, sauteed mushrooms.
My kids laughed at my mask and gown. My husband blew me a kiss.
My kids laughed at my mask and gown. My husband blew me a kiss.
A part of my mind whispers, “I’m so tired I could cry. Everything hurts. I want to stop. I just want to hug my babies and sleep.”
And the rest of me says “You are ok. Everything is ok. Just get to Saturday. Go on. Make another joke. Laugh. Laughter & joy are the best medicine.”
And the rest of me says “You are ok. Everything is ok. Just get to Saturday. Go on. Make another joke. Laugh. Laughter & joy are the best medicine.”
This is the life lived by many many doctors. Ditto for nurses and other frontline healthcare workers.
It’s brutally hard. And heartbreaking. And joyful. And fulfilling.
You help so many. And sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose.
But you keep going. And going.
It’s brutally hard. And heartbreaking. And joyful. And fulfilling.
You help so many. And sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose.
But you keep going. And going.
It’s nearly 2am. I’ll sleep until 6 and then get ready for work again.
I want to complain. But then I get home. And look.
That sky. Those stars. This life we built, my family and I.
My husband left the lights on for me. I don’t need anything else.
I want to complain. But then I get home. And look.
That sky. Those stars. This life we built, my family and I.
My husband left the lights on for me. I don’t need anything else.
