I Hate Adulting.

So I just spent the weekend recovering from a hell of a week. Remember when I was all optimistic about third year being a great time to gain clinical knowledge and learn what it's really like to be a doctor? Yeah, well, that is still true, but little did I know, it sucks.

I recently listened to a podcast about people glorifying their lives on social media, glossing over hard times with instagram "candids" on the beach and curating updates to only include the #blessed moments. Well fuck that. I'm all about finding the instagrammable/Facebook post-worthy moments in the shit-pile that is life, but I also want the dirt. I want to acknowledge the truly terrible times so that one day I can look back and remind myself that I've made it through some shit, but life turned out alright.

Remember that time I failed my driving test 3 times? Now I love driving (in safe, non-metropolitan areas with wide lanes. And no parallel parking. Parallel parking is the devil.) But thanks to the limitless memory of the internet, I can revisit the nausea-inducing, hand-shaking terror that came with preparing for each test, followed by the self-hating rage that followed each failure. Yeah that was a rough time. But I made it.

Remember that time I didn't know a soul at Hopkins or the state of Maryland and I hated it and I deeply regretted ever making the decision to move to the East Coast? Guess what, now I think it was the best decision ever. I now have friends in every state (that matters...as well as New Jersey, I guess. heh) and a much broader worldview than I had when I left.

And here I am now. I just received the disappointing results from Step 1. Though I was/am devastated, I am also reminded that I still have a chance to stay in the Bay Area...though probably on a divergent path from the ROAD to happiness. The only person I've disappointed is myself, and I should be used to that by now.

Med school has been hard. Most times, I feel average or less than average. I know, cry me a river, just another person feeling entitled to success and achievement because of my educational background. Perhaps this too is strengthening, this constant feeling of inadequacy and impotence. But most times I feel apathetic. Other times I feel anger, like a toddler who is told that he can't play so he breaks all the toys. Whatever, I didn't want to play anyways. Funny how trying to adult drives me to regress.

Every time I can make it home, it's like a breath of fresh air. It's grounding, it keeps me sane. But at the same time, being at home reminds me that my priority will never be my education or my career. My family will always come first. Compared to my peers, maybe I just don't want it as badly. I've never yearned to be published. I've never wanted to meet famous scientists -- in fact, I can't really name many beyond the venerated Bill Nye. The word "networking" evokes the same set of emotions elicited by the phrase "deep dental cleaning". Some may call this willful ignorance. Am I proud of it? Hell no. I wish I enjoyed or even wanted those things. But as Ali Wong would say, "I don't want to lean in...I want to lie down." Maybe academia isn't for me. I just want to work 9 to 5, doing the same thing, help people, and make a steady paycheck that I can bring home to my family. Having coworkers I tolerate would be a bonus! Is this too much to ask?

Anyways, back to rotations. There are good times and there are bad times. Yes, it's shitty to get up early and commute for an hour in my monkey suit (business cas shoes are the bane of my existence). I'm hungry all the time and the hunger soon evolves into hanger. It's hard to remain positive when the people around you start to look like a rack of ribs. I also know that there are many others who wake up far earlier and get home far later than I do....but people who say that means I can't/shouldn't complain? FUCK YOU. That's bullshit. I can complain if I want. If I lose a finger in a tragic accident and someone else loses a hand, does that mean I'm not allowed to complain about my limited nine-fingered existence? Heck no. You can bet I'll be throwing them middle fingers up to the world (Unless the finger I lost was a middle finger, in which case I will be throwing one solo middle finger and one stump.) I'll be throwing them up for that poor chap that lost a hand too, because solidarity.

I hate independent learning about things I don't care about. I miss the days when they just gave me a list of topics that I needed to know. Now I need to figure out myself what I need to learn about? UGH. THE WORST. Bring me a cheeseburger. (Read above RE: me, not cut out for academia.) Also, I hate all the pomp and circumstance that comes with working in the hospital. Yo, cut it out with the "ecchymoses" and "conjunctivitis" shit. The kid's got a bruise and pinkeye. This one kills me -- "erythematous". IT'S RED. SAY IT'S RED. Why do I have to wrack my brain to come up with fancy mumbo-jumbo technical terms when you're going to have to spend the same amount of time deciphering the jargon in your head. Just say what you mean. Christ.

But I need to remind myself that there are things that I enjoyed this week too. I enjoyed being able to translate for a Mandarin-speaking patient. I enjoyed working in the Peds acute care clinic with the wee little (and blessedly silent) kiddies. (Maybe because I didn't have to do most physical exams on account of a common childhood fear of stethoscopes and otoscopes.)  In the ED, I got to see a peer stitch up a wrist laceration, through which you could see exposed tendon/nerve. That was badass, even though my legs were getting jello-y with the patient's every grimace and wince.

I also noticed that all of the clinics I enjoyed gave me free food.... I got cake/cookies from ALS clinic, the most terrible tasting (but deliciously free) naan and Indian food from the acute care clinic, and a piece of donut from the ED.

Hopefully things will get better with time...though I doubt it because I'm starting inpatient Surgery next week. That's going to be fun. Kill me.