#personal #reflection: This post is not for everyone. In fact, it is probably for very few. Most honestly, it is for me: a capstone of a journey of self-discovery and the pursuit of peace. Evidence (as is scattered elsewhere across this account) that despite a non-linear and somewhat prolonged journey, progress and growth are in abundance. A simple celebration of the best kind of love story (the one when you lean into self-acceptance). The joy of being able to dance (because, my friends, I never stopped dancing) with a lighter load. For the past year, I have tried to make the time to write my novel and felt blocked - by what, I am uncertain. Perhaps fear. Perhaps guilt. Perhaps both. And now, I feel so ready to write. The reflective piece shared above follows a photo of the most brilliant of sights in Iceland. It was a such a profound moment. I took the time away from the tour group to pray; I was in awe of the beauty; I was grateful to the have the privilege to witness. Our tour guide mentioned that such beauty follows something that is less - less beautiful, less striking, less inspiring. That resonated. For years, I’ve tried to find purpose in what caused me pain. I learned empathy, I said. I learned self-reliance. I learned strength. I have learned a communication style that has strengthened my interactions with patients. What I never said: I learned to blame myself for everything that came before. What I avoided on my journey: the repair of the injuries I inflicted upon myself. As always, sharing content of this nature is not easy for me. The conversations that follow moments of vulnerability have often been imperative for my further development. And so again, I share. For you: the individual in the midst of your journey - I see you, I hear you, I know you, I am here for you. For you: the individual afraid to start your journey - I was you and I believe in you. For you: the loved ones who walked alongside me - my gratitude knows no bounds. For you: the one who is uncomfortable with this content - this is not for you; not all spaces are for you.
.
.
(Brief continuance in comment)
* some typos (but we’re gonna roll with it fam) ♥️
On my birthday I said: “everything I wanted, I already have.” It was true when I said it and even more true now. I never knew that 27 would bring me this amount of joy. Here I am, overlooking a city we had planned to visit together, on my first international solo vacation - years out from the moment I chose myself over you. I’m only ten hours into my exploration and I’ve already found delightful ice cream, had a heart to heart with a stranger now turned friend, danced and sang with strangers who will remain strangers, and found beauty everywhere I turned. Iceland, you have already captured my heart.
.
.
.
#iceland #visiticeland #reykjavik
#reflection on #oncology: We were sitting across from one another in my call room when you asked, “how does it feel to spend a month doing what you believe is your calling?” You’ve always been that way - getting straight to the point. Our conversations of substance are why I tell people that you’re one of my residency big sisters. My answer: “I’m tired.” Fatigue of unspecified etiology, likely multifactorial with at least some emotional component.
.
.
“Okay so? We came here to work hard. If you want to be hot at this job...if you want to be brilliant at what you do...forget tired. We’re chasing our passion.” You’ve always been that way - dispensing tough love when I want a hug and ice cream. You’re always right.
.
.
“And it’s a privilege, I know. I feel an indescribable amount of gratitude to be on this journey,” I said tentatively.
.
.
“Residency teaches us to bemoan what makes us good. We gotta snap out of it. Challenges make us better. Sleepless nights mean we are learning. Don’t whine about not being a white cloud. Be grateful.” You answer your ASCOM: someone wants you to push TPA. I answer my ASCOM: someone wants me to assess a kiddo with altered mental status.
.
.
I thought about what you said as I spent the rest of my call awake. I thought about what I described as the hardships of this month: the patient turnover, the acuity, the loss of a patient I loved, the painful conversations during which “I’m sorry to tell you, we don’t anticipate a cure” was dropped, the moment when I held the hand of a child soon to pass and she smiled, the moment when a patient having received a diagnosis of lymphoma paged the overnight nurse to ask me to stop by for “girl talk” because she needed a friend (I can’t blame her), and the moment when a patient in excruciating pain pushed her PCA for upwards of 400 times and then reached for my hand and wept.
.
.
(Continued in the first comment)
.
.
.
#medicine #pediatrics #residency #medlifecrisis #caregiverburnout #narrativemedicine #writersofinstagram #miniblogpost
