Flipping through my favorite blogs, I came across this entry by Fiznat.

It struck a chord with me, because over the past few days I’ve been echoing the mirror sentiment to his. Not jaded and trampled upon (hope you feel better, buddy!) but frustrated, confused, and above all, exhausted.

To follow up on the sentiments in my previous post - I’m just damn tired. I’m tired of waking up at 4:30 every morning and never leaving work earlier than 5… and being “on” the whole time. I’m tired of falling asleep for hours the instant I hit the comfy chair at home. I’m tired of trying to pry my eyes open during lectures that otherwise would be interesting. I’m really, really tired of feeling like medicine consumes everything in my life. And you know what makes me even more tired? The sobering realization that I could be this tired for the rest of my life.

I was in a pretty foul mood this morning because I just didn’t want to get out of bed… and it’s only been a week since I started obstetrics. I perked up a lot after seeing a few patients - I got to tell a woman her baby doesn’t have Down’s syndrome (bonus!) - but now that I’m home again I’m fighting the urge to pass out on the couch. Just like every other day.

So Fiznat, here’s the rub. You hate your job because it’s just a job. I hate my job because it’s consumed and infiltrated everything I do. I never realized I was signing my life away when I got accepted to medical school, but it’s pretty clear that I have. Right now, honestly all I want is “just” a job.

So my last post was a whopping 18 days ago. I’ve been having trouble keeping up because my likes and dislikes change by the minute… and if I wrote them all down you’d think I was 4 different people. Readers, meet Zac, Larry, Curly, and Moe. I do, however, have a huge backlog of stories to tell when things calm down a bit around here.

Let me back up.

I am really enjoying OB/GYN. The sheer breadth of things I see in clinic on a daily basis is fantastic, the people I work with are hysterical, and the patients are young, healthy, and usually very happy to see me†. This in stark contrast to ophthalmology, for example, where your patients are almost all old, decrepit, and present with one complaint - “I can’t see”.

OB/GYNs also perform surgery, but don’t have to deal with the surgery culture. Every office visit is procedural (pelvic exams are substantially more invasive than just listening to your heart & lungs with a stethoscope). They have incredible continuity of care and an amazing rapport with their patients. Plus, every day I find that I’m truly having fun, which isn’t something I can say for previous rotations. In short, OB/GYN is almost the perfect specialty.

Almost.

I don’t do well without sleep. I never pulled a single all-nighter in college, and the very few times I got only 2-3 hours of sleep I distinctly remember feeling physically ill. I remember 2 times in specific where I actually had to leave class and vomit - not from booze & greasy food, mind you, just from lack of sleep.

This all being said, OB/GYN is the king†† of all specialties when it comes to sleep deprivation. I was at the hospital for 28 straight hours yesterday, during which time I slept for a grand total of 43 minutes. I know it was 43 because I set an alarm for 4:55 AM at 4:12, and fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow. I slept until it was dark out when I got home.

So here’s my dilemma. One of my favorite classmates told me the other day that if I loved it enough, I’d suck it up and deal. Honestly though, I’m not sure if I’m physically capable of it - or if I want to doom myself to a lifetime of sleepless nights and premature aging. Can’t I find something else I love?

†I’m the one who tells them their baby is doing great!
††Queen?

While working at the VA a while back, I went to go check on Mr. Gomez, a patient of ours who was an amputee. I wanted to clear up several inconsistencies in his chart.

As I walked over to his room, I noticed the nurses’ board listed him in a different room number than listed on the computer. He wasn’t in the first room I checked, so I peeked next door and saw him napping in his bed.

I walked over and expertly surveyed the scene. 67 year old crabby-looking Hispanic male, right leg amputated, multiple tattoos. Check.

Asking him my questions (Mr. Gomez, your chart says you lost 20 pounds in 2 weeks? Nope, I told the other doctor 20 pounds in 2 months… don’t you guys ever listen?) I thought about how nice it was that medical students were around. When busy doctors don’t have the time, we step in and fix the small stuff.

I started getting a little wierded out about how many things were wrong in his chart. 20 pounds in 2 months not 2 weeks, cholecystectomy in 2003 not 1995, Hepatitis B not C. Who the hell took down this information? A little cautious at this point, I phrased my next question delicately.

“Mr. Gomez, I see on your chart that they removed your leg at some point prior to this visit… can you be more specific about the date?”

His eyes went wide as he flung the sheet off his right leg, which had inexplicably been folded back underneath his butt and covered with the sheet. It laid there in all its non-amputated glory.

“I’m a damn DIABETIC! We’re terrified about losing our limbs! Don’t you ever do that again! Didn’t you even ask who I was first? Don’t you guys ever LISTEN? Damn doctors…”

As I backed slowly out of the room, apologizing profusely, I saw the real Mr. Gomez return to his bed (on crutches) from the restroom - back in the original room. I could still hear Fake Gomez complaining loudly to his roommate about us damn doctors†. I ran back to the lounge, tail between my legs.

The next day on rounds, he didn’t recognize me and proceeded to retell the story to my attendings & residents, who all thought it was pretty hysterical. They promised Fake Gomez that they would track down the culprit and reprimand him severely. I got made fun of for days.

†I’d like to point out that he kept saying “uh-huh” every time I called him Mr. Gomez