March 28th, 2004

Medieval

O, the mighty fall...

Angel left this afternoon. I'm back here in Indy for the next few months, back in the hospitals, back to coming home to a one-room world where the only touches of home are the multicoloured chest of drawers and an old sepia-toned picture of Angel and myself playing at being medieval (the one in the icon). I wish some of the weekend's glow had clung a bit longer. I wish I hadn't cried when he left; I feel so empty without him beside me.

And it was a good weekend, O Best Beloved, a wonderful, magical weekend and I loved every second of it, but now my stomach aches and my heart twinges and I feel tears pricking at my eyes again. I'm such a baby. I don't want to start Neurology, don't want to go back to trying to sort out those four precious days off a month, to early-morning rounds and looking everything up not because I want to but because I'm forced to. I don't want to. You can't make me.

Thursday some poor kid - he couldn't've been older than about seventeen - pulled out of the drive-through line and nosed his corner into Shinkun's door. My brand-new car now has a lovely scrape in it, and I'm going to try and settle it with the kid's insurance, because I'm getting it fixed. It's ugly, and every time I open my door I see it there, scraped and dented, and it makes me growl inside with frustration.

Friday's exam was exhausting. Friday's evaluations were heartrending - but I want to make a correction to that entry:
I want to be a good doctor. I am going to be a good doctor. I am going to do this and I am going to change lives and I am going to make a difference. Like my preceptor who looked at me and said "I took my Boards and passed them the first time because I was not going to take them again," I am not going to go through this for nothing.
I think, in reflection, that Friday afternoon and that evaluation was a low point the likes of which I have not seen in a very long time. A low point like the day I learned I'd failed Vertebrate Anatomy, my first year of medical school. I have written a letter to the head of the OB-GYN program, asking if he can get me any clarification. We'll see where it goes. What can I do, though, but suck it up and move on?

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It lasted until this afternoon, when we packed up and came back to S's, to an empty house with nobody but the stranger I am in it. The sheriff's department stopped by to make sure I was the person they'd told her would be staying there, a fact which only emphasized that I am not at home. And I cried when my Angel left to go back to our home, and I didn't want to make it harder for him to leave, I didn't. But I'm staring at a hopeless vista of loneliness once more. I don't want to go to neurology. I don't want to do neurology. I don't, I don't, I don't. But I have to, and so help me I am not going to see another evaluation like Friday's.
I'm going to put my best foot forward tomorrow. I'm going to enjoy myself if it kills me. And if it means I have to give in and see my doctor and ask her about medicating the ADD I'm certain I have, if that's the only way I can focus enough to get through lectures and long days and look good, then that's what I have to do. But I'm going to try it on my own, first. One more time.
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