The Waiting.

This was my Perfect Song on Friday morning………



I sent it to one of my best friends, a fellow Vedder lover, also stuck in the middle of one of life’s unavoidable, at times almost unbearable, holding patterns.

I feel like I shouldn’t have anything to complain about right now. I’m on the last of three weekends off, basically unheard of, but most likely due to the hellacious call schedule I’ve got looming over the next two months.

I am absolutely dreading/terrified of it, it’s been building over all these weekends off, just waiting for it to start.

Mostly I am terrified of the 24 hour, Big Girl call shifts we start taking second year at the Mothership.

Last year it was all 12 hour shifts on L&D. Really, no big deal, and after I’d done a few, mostly just fun. But this year, my remaining (we are down one resident, hence all the extra call I’ll be taking over the next few months) 20-something, Energizer Bunny-esque, classmates have decided to switch even L&D calls to 24 hours.

I have no idea how my body and brain are going to take it, but I’m thinking, it is not going to be good. When I mentioned this to one of my cohorts last week, they replied that I am definitely in the wrong specialty if I don’t want to be taking 24 hour calls, as many of our attendings do all the time. Which stung, until I remembered and replied with, well that’s why (at least one of the reasons why) I want to be a hospitalist on L&D (with the much more humane 10-12 hour shifts that will entail).




Career aspirations aside, I still have all those imminent 24 hour calls to deal with as long as I’m in residency here. I say that because I really am so freaked out about being able to do them. Like I said, especially at the Mothership, where I’ve had mostly horrible experiences so far. I’m pretty sure (/very hopeful) that they won’t actually, literally, kill me, but I am still extremely concerned about my ability to metaphorically survive them (and, therefore residency here), while maintaining competency, and a modicum of sanity.

Today I coped with all the dread by burying myself in bed, the (really, thankfully) meager food supplies I had on hand, and book two of the Game of Thrones series (which, btw, is also thankfully freaking amazeballs). Until my temporary roomie (it’s a long story) came home from her own over night call shift at the Mothership and (unintentionally, but again thankfully) shamed me out of my gluttonous, dread cocoon.

Mostly to go buy the third book of the series, but as long as I was up and briefly disengaged from the battles of Westeros (Okay, the girl at the book store who checked me out just named her new dog Drogo, I’m not that bad. Erm. Yet.), I also cleaned my apartment and did laundry.

And now I’m blogging. Seems a more productive step in coping with the dread than just going back to bed, reading, and dreading. And cheaper than therapy (as if I would actually be able to make it to an appointment).

And as I’m blogging about it, as I told a friend recently, I can’t help but think of all the tests and trials (sometimes seemingly insurmountable) I’ve made it through to get this far. I just seem to keep making it, and hopefully, I’ll make it through this too.

Until then, I’m waiting.