I quit medicine. I was five months out of residency, and I was leaving medicine. I had dedicated my heart, soul, several years of my life along with weekends, holidays, special events, and my children’s first words to this honorable profession. Medicine was never suppose to “just be” my job. It was suppose to be my calling, and it had betrayed me.
I was finally a full fledged physician, and I had the paycheck, the student loans and essentially no fulfillment. Not only did I leave the office night after night completely frustrated, hopeless and exhausted, I showed up each morning in the same state, if not slightly worse. The personal accomplishment of healing was gone. The enthusiasm of service, gone. The love of human kind, gone.
I was drained, sucked dry and running on empty. I had developed physical symptoms: myalgias, headaches, IBS, palpitations, anxiety. But, honestly, the scariest part, I quit caring. It just became about ending the day, finishing one more chart, seeing one more now so at least it was one less tomorrow. No amount of incentives were going to bring me back or cure me.
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