Sometimes I have these weeks where my feet are dragging, I've had no sleep and I wonder why I chose this life for myself. Why did I choose a lifetime of on-call, of tragedies, of devoting myself to a career that is taking me away from my loved ones, my hobbies, myself. Some days the bad news comes in waves and the years ahead feel heavy.
Then I find myself standing in the OR, as we are giving a moment of silence and thanks to a young patient donating organs so many people have a chance at a new life. The solemn surgeons are carefully and methodically removing precious organs and transferring them to the next room where a sick person has been desperately hoping for this day. And then I see that same heart start hesitantly beating in a new child's chest; the overwhelming gift this child has been given has been born out of a family's generosity, saturated in grief and pain.
These last couple years of medical school have been like this for me. One moment I'm wracked with physical grief and sobbing so hard I can't breathe and the next I'm elated, my soul soaring with the beauty, vulnerability, hope and tenderness in moments I'm privileged enough to be a part of. I remember that I did choose this and that I feel the nuances of this career so deeply for a reason. I am fiercely passionate and I chose it because I can make a difference.
The distance with Josh feels like nothing when our few moments together make up for it in joy and laughter. The constant unrest and moving around is insignificant when I find a program of attendings, residents, patients that fits perfectly and I feel like I could have a home here for the next five years. The strange cities are familiar when I get to reconnect with friends from all different stages of my life. And I'm so lucky to have all these people loving and supporting me from near and far.
These CaRMS applications are daunting, as I try to convince strangers across the country that I am worth investing in, that my passion is sincere, that I will do my absolute utmost to humbly, skillfully, kindly treat every person that I can. It's an exercise in self-reflection and in humility. It's an exercise in rediscovering the reason I'm doing what I'm doing. Years ago, I longed for a fire in my heart and for my restless bones to run feverishly toward a future. I've finally found this meaning, this longing and that fire. And no matter what kind of week I'm having, I will always be able to tell you that I love this journey. There is peace as each step forward grows in confidence.
- Lydia
Note: This was written in October. It's amazing how quickly things change, and now I'm preparing for interviews around the country in the specialty I'm passionate about. Here's to a season of change and new beginnings! Happy 2018!
