September 2007

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Autumn.

9/29/2007 in Lamenting | 2 comments

The days went and got itself cold in a damn hurry.

It gave no warning and came upon like a mugger in a dark alleyway. It ran me over and left me breathless. Somehow, it feels different this year. The fall is sharper and unforgiving. The leaves have not yet turned but rushed to fall anyway, and the trees in front are bare. Naked, as if it were a crime. And it is. I am not ready yet. Not for this.

When the little girl came to us, she was already dead. Well, at least where it counts. She was comatose, and fingers were quick to point the blame. I don’t know. It was no one’s fault, and yet it was everyone’s fault. We couldn’t protect her, and she went on to be yet another number. Case report of abuse and shaken baby. It took 9 months to put her together and only minutes to unravel her. I will never forget how empty she looked. The wires and tubes and catheters navigated to and from her bedside, beeping and chirping with heart rates and ventilation.

They were waiting to sign papers for her organs. They call it “harvesting”. Somewhere, there will be another little girl getting a heart. A liver. Perhaps kidneys. There is meaning behind all this, a plan. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

Mountains and seas.

9/12/2007 in Happenings | 2 comments

You give me miles and miles of mountains,
And I’ll ask for the sea.
–Damien Rice, Volcano

It’s been ages, I know. Listen. I’ve been busy.

I was at Career Day last month. Or this month. Time slips away, and I forget. But we’re suppose to decide soontodaynow what we are going to be when we grow up. I mean, when we graduate from residency. A baker, a butcher, a candlestick maker? I’ve got 1.8 years left. 658 days. Not that I’m counting.

So I don’t know.

I’ve spent the last 9 years in school. And now I’m suppose to go get a real job. Not that this isn’t a real job, but you know.

It just seems that no matter where I am, I would rather be somewhere else. The grass is greener, etc. I love what I do. Sort of. I’m just so tired. I convince myself that it will not always be like this. But I just can’t see myself doing this for another 3 or 4 years of fellowship. As if I was wasting my life.

Am I wasting my life?

I don’t even want to think dinner, let alone the rest of my life. Give me clinic, and I’ll long for the wards. Give me call, and I’ll long for the shift. I find myself floating aimlessly, and they’re asking me to find an anchor, a port. But the winds will not stop blowing.