I started to write a post earlier, before all this started. It’s very strange. One and a half weeks in, and every day is as potentially scary as the day before. When will familiarity and comfort set in? I worry that the answer is never.
It’s very strange. My medical students are older than I am. Some of them have lived previous lives with much more wisdom than I will ever accumulate. And yet here I am, teaching them how to write a progress note. I am nothing but lies. Lies and Saturdays.
Sometimes, I forget who I am.
I’m in the middle of writing an order, and I have to stop and think how to sign my name. M. D. It’s very strange.
I sit quietly through beepers. I always forget that someone is looking to me for answers to something. Not that I have answers.
So, who am I?
I wander through the hospital, passing by unfamiliar hallways and ignoring them altogether. I am only looking for my Pediatric Inpatient Ward. Up Elevator D and to the right. My tunnel vision makes me wonder what else I’ve been missing. The corridors are filled with artwork that serves no other purpose but to be and to be looked at. I have looked at none. Only Elevator D. It’s very strange.
And the keys that they gave me, I haven’t yet figured out what doors they open. Three keys. Which door should I open first? Perhaps behind Door Number 3, I will find my answers and my artwork and my breath. Just give me a minute to catch it.