I’m not sure when it happened, but driving into the parking lot that cold winter day, I knew it had. Tears welled in red eyes, snot dripped out of my nose. I felt so alone and lost. My whole life I’d wanted this — the drive to the hospital and wondering whether I would change a life. But as I sat in my car, engine off, I didn’t want that dream anymore. I didn’t want to be here, but I also didn’t want to be anywhere else. Did I even want to be a doctor anymore?
Regardless of my inward struggle, I was still an overachiever and my shift about to start. I wiped my eyes, blew my nose and stepped out of my car. A truck pulled up next to me, and the window rolled down. A smile and cheerful hello greeted me.
“It’s good to see you back in town — you aren’t looking your usual cheerful self,” Dr. A quipped. I must have passed him on my way in and not noticed because typically I’d wave. I forced a smile, strangely grateful for the greeting and acknowledgment of my mood. I needed that human connection. I needed to know someone cared.
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