It's been a long, long first year of residency (Okay, okay, 6 months). It feels like I spent half the time lamenting my life choices, wondering if I would have been happier as a librarian, a personal assistant, or a professional food blogger. On my darkest days in the hospital, I sometimes wonder if I care about my patients at all -- or if I'm just telling myself that the apathy is an emotional defense mechanism to distance myself from bleak outcomes and poor prognoses.
At the midpoint of PGY-1, which marks 1/6th of my journey to attending-hood and becoming a "real" doctor, I was blessed with the opportunity to break free from the soul-crushing confines of the hospital and re-adjust my perspective with some much-needed nature therapy.
We were ambitious. 4 straight days of hiking. 33 cumulative miles. What are we, athletic or something?
As I huffed and puffed my way up the first of many sets of brutal switchbacks, the stillness of Nature interrupted only by the sound of my heart protesting fiercely in my chest, I could feel myself metaphorically climbing my way out of my funk. After six months of constantly questioning whether I'd chosen the right career path or whether I would ever measure up -- countless nights waking up from vague nightmares about wrong clinical decisions and missed deadlines with half-formed nonsensical differential diagnoses on the tip of my tongue -- it was so refreshing to feel physical anguish rather than mental despair for once. Call me a masochist if you will, but I would take feeling like I am dying over feeling like I want to die any day.
Surrounded by (literally) breathtaking scenery, I was reminded why I fell in love with hiking in the first place.
Even as my lungs burn and legs scream, as I take a look around, I can lose myself in the beauty and vastness of Nature. Every step takes me toward another vista, every turn offers a different view. I am reminded that my suffering is temporary. I am reminded that I am small. Doubts and insecurities that poison my self-worth seem insignificant in the shadows of the canyons and valleys that lie before me.
I never feel the presence of God so tangibly as when I'm awestruck by the works of His hands and these stunning rock formations took me straight to church, y'all.
Stone spires artfully crafted by centuries of wind, rain, and snow -- and for what purpose?
I can't speak to His divine plan, but as I plunked myself down in a snow embankment for a brief respite, I felt a sense of being in the right place at the right time. For the first time in a long time, the inner turmoil was quelled. It was as if I'd stumbled into a quantum leap. The weight of the worries that had been plaguing me incessantly and the stifling specter of upcoming inpatient months, not vanished, but suddenly manageable. I guess it's what the wise Dr. Rai Sr. would call a Valley to Everest shift in perspective.
I realized that no matter what comes to pass in the hospital -- those days when I feel harassed by the constant demands of the wards, belittled by consultants, emotionally drained after the fourth or fifth family meeting in a week in order to appeal for a patient's right to dignity in dying -- these canyons remain unchanged. Each time I wake up and I think to myself, "I can't do this for another day" -- the mountains are unfazed. A hundred years from now, when I'm dust and scattered into the wind -- the valleys keep doing as they do.
I'm not saying this is Nature's equivalent of honey badger don't care.
I guess there's just something comforting to know that even if I crash and burn -- if I drop out of residency today and become a comedian -- in the grand scheme of things, nothing will change. Everything will continue. Everything will be OK. Eventually.
Who knows how or why God sets the rivers' course? But He made me who I am and, and even though I may doubt myself, my faith remains in the Alpha and the Omega, the One who is, and who was, and who is to come.
I was reminded too of the blessings that He has placed in my life.
I can hardly believe it's been one year since I met Uram (On Tinder, of all places. God works in mysterious ways despite my best efforts to walk the wayward path). I used to think that my heart was made for my family, God, and myself -- that to place any newcomer on even the same level would be a betrayal to those that had already laid claim to my love. But then again, the idiot I was then (I'm a whole new kind of idiot now, thanks) also subscribed to romance novel logic and allure. He is nothing like I ever imagined but everything I've always needed. He has taught me that love is not linear nor additive, but infinite. When I am having trouble loving myself, he lends me his eyes to see myself in a way I do not yet believe I am, but hope that one day I can be. (Who knows, I'm incredibly short-sighted and his vision is 20/20.) From him, I've learned that love is more than just lip service but actions and time invested -- not just doing what is obligatory, but losing hours daydreaming up ways to make someone smile. I am so, so blessed to have him and though I used to curse the days of being #foreveralone, I can honestly say he is well worth the wait.
So yes, it's been more than a year since I last posted and it's sure been a wild ride. In many ways, I'm the same person I've ever been. In others, I'm slightly better or worse off than I was before. But I'll keep trying to bump myself out of tired old orbits, dig myself out of ruts, wander off the beaten path. And if that requires an annual pilgrimage to the wild to make it happen? I've heard Banff has some good views.
No comments:
Post a Comment