First, best pick-up line ever: "Does this smell like chloroform to you?" Love it. :-)
Ah, Saturday evening. Productive morning followed by a distinctly unproductive afternoon. A cup of Earl Gray, a bath and my giant terry cloth bath robe are in my near future, and for the first time in a while, I'm feeling optomistic about life.
It broke my heart a little. Anxious? I look anxious?!? I don't think I'd realized how much I'd changed since coming to medical school, how much I've lost, until that moment. All of sudden, words such as friendly, happy, kind, nice, words that have been used to describe me in the past, are replaced by anxious. Something was broken.
That's the real trick of med school; remembering, and maintaining, your person-hood, what makes you you, in the thick of it. Amidst the chronic stress of classes, the crisis of confidence and self-doubt, and your focus always turned outward- on class subjects, rotations and patients, residency applications, whatever- it's so easy to neglect your own interests and happiness.
I'm sure every profession has it's own brand of this, but somehow medicine seems worse. Perhaps it's because the people we're taught to admire in medicine- the great physicians- are all incredibly selfless, freaking Mother Teresas of medicine. Paul Farmer for example, a Harvard physician, practically established a health system in Haiti, a country, for godssake, and among medical students, his name is said with reverence, with awe. That's the sort of physician we all aspire to be, and for the vast majority of us, this aspiration is unrealistic. For myself, I'm pretty freaking sure I'm no Paul Farmer. But I'm still guilty of neglecting my mental, emotional and spiritual well-being in order to achieve some unattainable ideal I've imagined for myself. And when three years go by like that, well, you're sure to lose pieces of yourself, often without realizing it.
Armed with this realization, I've embarked on a self-improvement program. Don't laugh at me. I'm serious. :-) First, I'm trying to get back to what I love, or at least ientify those things, bring them back to my awareness. An abridged list of things that make me happy:
1) BOOKS. Good books, whether poetry, non-fiction, nasty SMUT, no matter, just something that hooks me, draws me in, and leaves me a little changed after reading it.
2) Laughing. I don't laugh nearly as much or as freely as I used to, and that is certainly something I need to rectify.
3) Cooking. When I have the time, I really need to cook more. There's something distinctly satisfying about taking a random grouping of ingredients and making something ssccccrruuummmpptious. :-)
4) Autumn, snuggling and comfy clothing. Comfiness. Big fan.
5) Pampering. I deserve a facial with my next hair appointment, damnit.
6) Photography. I keep meaning to make it downtown while the weather is nice to take some random shots, but I keep getting lazy. No more of that, fat ass.
7) RUNNING. Why did I stop running? The rush of endorphins, the wind in my hair, focusing on my breath in time with my steps- it was GLORIOUS. I need, rather desperately, to get back into it soon.
So, along with simply identifying these things, I've taken some steps to reclaim what I feel like I've lost. I've got a library card now. I've also joined NetFlix, and my queue is filled with comedies (and, of course, some True Blood :-)). I made myself Shepard's Pie the other day (not nearly as good as yours, Bek, but I'm trying!). The rest, I hope, will come. But just thinking about them brings me some measure of satisfaction, some sense of self.
On that note, the sun is slanting just so in the trees outside my window- it's an awful beautiful evening for some photos. I think I'll go take advantage.
Have a good weekend, kids. :-)
