Residency tries my patience. In so many ways. Fortunately, I think over the last few years my patience levels have risen. I used to have a fairly short circuit and between you and me probably demanded more than I should have. But over the years I learned that having that mentality was going to get more nowhere. My patience levels rose and I started finding some peace with things that I wouldn’t normally have been able to be at ease with. This was primarily due to sanity maintenance. I was often left with no choice but to just take some deep breaths instead of completely and utterly losing my mind.
I mean how did the word patience even originate? Do you think it’s coincidence that it is pronounced exactly like patients? Um I don’t. I look at it like this: patients can make doctors go crazy and get frustrated one day and then the next make them feel complete reward and happiness. Well doctors in residency can make their wives go crazy and get frustrated one day and then the next make them feel complete reward and happiness. I think its obvious that a doctor’s wife coined the term patience. Now if only we had enough of it.
The crazy part about being married to a resident is that just when you think you are in a good place and have developed just the right level of patience needed to get you through the tough times, it hits you like a pile of bricks that you actually…don’t. And I find myself wondering if I will ever, ever develop what it takes to get through these years without having my liver totally fail on me from excessive alcohol consumption. Or my mind fail on me for being in a constant fragile state. Or my heart fail on me for getting broken every time I see Mr. Dr. barely able to stand up from his long days of work. Or my emotions fail on me because some days all I want is to get in the car and drive over to my parents’ house for a hug but then I remember I am 3 hours away. Mr. Dr. has to have patience everyday to deal with his whirlwind of days and his crazy patients and well everything having to do with this hospital. So why can’t I? Why can’t I just have a pouch of patience sitting in my left rib cage, and whenever I needed a dose I could just have Mr. Dr. go in, pull some out, then close me back up and we could be on our merry way. That would be too easy.
I guess for now I will keep searching for that extra bit I need to help keep me somewhat sane. After all patience is a virtue. But this is an open invitation…if you have any extra you want to throw my way I’d be more than happy to accept your generosity.