It’s been 2 years now but I still think about There Is by @antarespromise once in a while. I was an intern then, I think, and having regular breakdowns. I’m now 2 years into residency and still having maudlin spells, but yes, I think I’ve grown a little as a doctor myself, too. Also yes, I’ve written my own fair share of med fics for myself along the way, too, mostly for self-indulgence. For these reasons and more, There Is will always have a special place in my heart.
1.5 months into family medicine residency so far, and already I’m beginning to feel so much better. Love the company of my co-residents, love the work, love the downtime I’m enjoying. It wasn’t my ideal residency at first — Internal Medicine will always be my first love, but that didn’t work out so well.
One thing we were asked during our first department meeting was the achievement we were proudest of — mine was quitting internal medicine pre-residency. It was one of the most difficult decisions I’ve made in my life, despite the nature of it sounding like I merely chickened out. “Cowardly” as it may have seemed, however, deciding my own definition of happiness and taking it into my hands was definitely more than worth it. The fact that I’m home and writing this post is something I will forever be grateful for for the rest of my life.
I’ve also learned to be less hard on myself — to no longer insist on perfection, but to focus more on growth and learning. I thought I already had that mindset down pat back in internship, but I realized that at that time I still wanted to impress my attendings so they would consider me for residency, so I was unable to free myself of the shackles of overperforming and overcompensating at every turn. Even now, I’m still not good at it, but little by little I’m getting better.
Maybe this, too, is growth. Still a long way to go, but growth, nonetheless.
6 months to go until I graduate from residency (hopefully).
Things are somewhat better. I'm still not on top of things but I'll do what I can with what I have.
I actually ended up crying to our department chair about things. Should have done that earlier.
Now, a big presentation and some accomplished requirements later, I feel like I'm not as bad as I think I am, after all. Residency still sucks, but it's not as suffocating anymore (so far). Let's see how much time it'll take for me to come to terms with this phase of my life.
I really should title my life update posts better, but I don’t want to bother for now. Oversharing, I should say, is how I cope with things. Haha.
These past two weeks were overwhelming, to say the least.
Started off the New Year by taking over as resident-in-charge of our hospital’s teleclinic for employees. Nothing new. Should be simple enough, really.
Then the COVID surge happened.
Before I knew it, I was seeing around 20-25 patients for 2-3 hours daily. All with flu-like illnesses gotten over the holidays. I felt like parroting the same words over and over. Get tested, stay isolated. Wait for your swab results. (They were all positive, of course.) Then update the daily census after. Wash, rinse, repeat for two weeks. (My stint finally ended yesterday, Jan 15th.)
I already hated spreadsheets with all my heart before this, but ugh.
Then my own family got COVID.
It started with my sister complaining of a sore throat upon waking up in the morning, just as I was about to leave for the hospital. I didn’t want to think anything of it. She always slept late because of schoolwork. Maybe she was just dehydrated.
Then my dad had fever. I was in the middle of advising a patient when my mom texted. Fuck my life, I thought.
I decided not to go home that night. I had an emergency change of clothes in our call room, after all. I did not have symptoms - yet. I prayed I would never develop any. Then I went home the next morning wearing an N95 and collected a bag of clothes and other stuff just at the front door, and never looked back.
(Good lord, I never expected to live out the very fic I wrote, but Good Lord.)
I would later learn that my brother would develop fever and malaise the following day, and my mother a cough. No one got any worse, fortunately. I was nothing but grateful.
Fortunately I tested negative, 5 days after exposure to my family. Never became symptomatic. God really is good. I still live in the hospital, though, since I have to let my family finish the recommended isolation period before I can go home to them. That would be this Thursday.
All that, combined with the past two weeks of teleclinic, was overwhelming, to say the least. For now, I’m just relieved it’s over.
I don’t know if I’ll be writing an obligatory footnote to 2021 since it’s already 16 days too late for that lmao. (I probably will, though. Backdating is always an option. Haha.)
Today my mind feels like everything clicked into place. It’s a miracle.
Come to think of it, I only ever get the time to write my thoughts down when I’m calm and collected. I really should develop the habit of doing the same even when I’m a mess, but knowing what I am that’s likely not gonna happen - yet. I’ll try, though.
Well. Few days to the end of October. I’ve officially finished ten months of Second Year in residency.
Looking back, I thought I’d never survive, but here I am.
We had no Third Years above us, for starters, so we had to step up and become chief residents (without being called that). Since we inherited the position prematurely, we were far from prepared.
Training activities were overhauled and restructured, so every day felt like we were going into the unknown.
Plus lots of inside drama. Lots of things I don’t even want to remember.
But it’s been ten months so far, and things... aren’t as bad as they seem, after all. I guess it’s a good thing?
There have been many bad days. I relapsed thrice, but never consulted for all of them. I put my work first. I don’t know how I was able to pull through despite my mind being utterly chaotic.
Then last Saturday, I went for therapy for the first time.
It’s a different experience from my first psych doctor. Or maybe I know how to handle myself better now. Or maybe it’s because this doctor is an actual colleague. Or maybe it’s because we share the same experiences. But after that consultation, I felt like for the first time, things will be okay going forward.
Having said all that, one good thing that probably came out of all this is that I’ll be prepared for next year. Whereas everyone else who will become their respective departments’ chiefs will be adjusting by next year, it will just be a repeat experience for us.
I sincerely hope we get new residents next year, though. Please, St. Jude.
It was here that I realized I wasn't meant to become an internist. It's currently closed due to the pandemic situation. The somber sight reopens an old wound I didn't know I still nursed.
It was a Friday, three weeks into pre-residency. I didn't report to duty the day before, having taken ill and spending the entire day in bed and miserable in my dorm room.
Still, I tried to make it the next day. Pre-rounds at 4AM. I can do this.
At 6AM, I realized I couldn't.
I almost vomited in front of the nurses during shift change. Despair welled from deep in my gut, threatening to spill out from my parted lips and weakened limbs.
I called mom and gasped for air. Discussed plans, alternatives, consequences. Anything to get out.
At 9AM, I quit.
A year and a half later, I still don't know if I made the right choice. Seeing my former batchmates and hearing their stories still makes me ache with regret for the life I left behind because I was too weak to live it.
With each passing day however, the pain gets duller, better. Only time will probably tell. Or maybe not.
What's most important to me now is that I live this one well, past misgivings and insecurities be damned, and in that respect I'd like to think I'm doing well. I wouldn't be here otherwise.
status post a week of work (hospitals, patients, ugh), and i guess i'm slightly worse off emotionally than where i was last week.
deleting bird app was definitely the right thing to do last week; never predicted to be in this mental and emotional clusterfuck that makes me all but want to yeet myself into the sun.
talking to people makes me angry and worn out right now. sitting through webinars and lectures give me anxiety and exhaustion at the same time, and my mind is having a hard tine straddling these two extremes.
i don't even know if what i'm saying is making sense right now. literally not even spellchecking this.
maybe the weekend will give me more clarity of mind to tackle things and people's messages. ugh.
I don’t know if the quarantine drove me crazy or what, but I realized one morning that I didn’t want to be a doctor anymore.
Of fucking course, I couldn’t do that. Even I knew that.
(And I really hate to admit all this right now because we are badly needed during these times, but I just got tired.
I didn’t quit, by the way.)
My toxic relationship with IM, of course, had a lot to do with it.
It happened that, by letting go of Internal Medicine, I ended up losing a big chunk of my identity, as well. My so-called “passion”. My motivation to get up, study hard, and work harder. So horribly enmeshed was our one-sided relationship, that its after-effects on me linger strongly even up to now.
Without my raison d'etre, I was nothing.
And such a useless person had no business continuing being a doctor.
Thus, I was left in despair: how on earth do I go on now?
I told my father this a few days later; he got mad, as expected. How could I waste my (his) time and money like this? There was something wrong with me, he said. I was “obsessive-compulsive”, was “borderline” and “histrionic”. I had to fix myself if I wanted to continue living in (t)his house. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have a future left.
(First of all, you used all those terms wrong. Don’t challenge me; I studied these for the board exams. Stfu--)
Okay, so the last part is true, to some extent. No matter what I said now, I am “stuck” with this profession, whether I liked it or not. It’s what I make of it in the future, I guess.
I asked a cousin and some friends for advice. Their responses really struck me that night, and I ended up a crying mess.
My cousin noticed how I progressed from ranting to saying I hated doctors and medicine in general. Funnily, he banned me from using the word hate. “It’s a really strong word. It would just kill off whatever embers of passion you have left. Perception is reality.” I have to learn to reframe my thinking, bit by bit. Some days I know how to do that, but these days my thoughts go negative the more I dwell on them. (”An idle mind is the devil’s playground,” said another senpai of mine.)
My friends told me to think back to why I wanted to be a doctor in the first place. Joke’s on y'all, though; I never did. But again, I’m not getting out of it anytime soon. “The best thing you can do for now is to somewhat regain that passion in a different way. Maybe you can look for a new role model in Family Medicine.” (Another from my cousin: “Passion can be acquired with time.”)
It was one of them who finally labeled IM as “toxic” for me. “Your relationship with IM was toxic, and you're still getting over it. You're still moving on.”
I guess that was the last straw. Even though I claimed to have let it go, I could never bring myself to admit that I had a horrible experience. I couldn’t call it like it is. Probably because I saw it as a betrayal of sorts-- to the specialty I (thought I) loved, to all the people I admired, mentors, attendings (consultants), residents, my former batch-mates. I guess hearing it from someone else was the one that struck me the most, like I finally had a word for something I’ve been grasping straws at for so, so long now.
Funny how I knew it all along, yet still denied it like the coward I am.
To be honest, though, I still don’t know how to do that. I am still lost. A bit better, but still not there.
These days, whenever I relapse, I try to remember the patients who thank me for being their doctor. I am loathe to admit that sometimes I am not proud of myself for sending patients home from primary clinic, because “every doctor should be able to do that,” I would think disdainfully. I’ve been too hard on myself for longer than I can remember. I shouldn’t have been surprised there.
A gratitude notebook is a good idea. Maybe I should start writing in it.
I don’t know how long I will last this time before cracking again. Am definitely considering going to therapy after the pandemic is over. Apparently, I’m so much more fucked up than I ever could imagine, I don’t know how I made it this far. Either I got lucky, or I’m not as weak as I thought. I don’t want it to happen again, though. I want to get better.
Until then, I’ll remain Dani, M.D., for myself and the people who believe in me. For now, that’s enough.
