A new leaf

“ I am exhausted” is what my roommate said across from me at the dinner table a few hours ago, and I am happy someone else said what I was thinking. I have lately been so consumed with my own thoughts that I cannot even have an accurate “tone check” with myself.

Lately, I have not been feeling restful until I have had 10-11 hours sleep nightly. I first tried to blame it on daylight savings, then on my strenuous hospital shifts, then, I finally just admitted it to myself after multiple spontaneous episodes of silently crying at home over this holiday weekend.

I am on my second 4-week internal medicine rotation at a hospital that could not be more opposite to the one I was at in November. A hospital plagued by gun violence and a leading mortality rate, all the while serving patients who are drastically impacted by environment, medical, and institutional racism. This trauma 1 hospital is equipped to prepare for the carnage it receives because it is unfortunately used to seeing and treating the most morbid of cases. At my last week of the rotation there was a shooting on the same street as the hospital and one of the shooting victims was treated in the ER— and survived. In this same month I performed compressions on the youngest patient I have ever seen not come back from CPR. In the ICU I saw the youngest person I have ever seen succumb to a stroke, and I watched his brain herniate in front of me. I attended lectures amongst the hospital’s leading experts on critical care medicine focused on ethics, how to honor family wishes when conditions are rapidly deteriorating, how to honor patients and restore their humanity as their lives meet mortality, and what it means to have a meaningful recovery after successful life-saving measures. Between daily lectures, tragedies, practice questions, and attempts at being a useful team member among residents and attendings whose expertise in the art of medicine is profoundly intimidating and admiring, there was no time that felt right to give myself grace or find reprieve.

The hospital I am at now is in the upper east side, where the patients are given chef-inspired and curated daily menus of foods like shrimp scampi and three-bean chili. I was standing by a patient’s bedside when I first noticed the menu — I was in shock I couldn’t help myself but ask him what among the 20+ foods listed had been his favorite so far during his stay, and he told me the scampi. I can look out of his room, out of all the other patients’ rooms, and see the skyscrapers and skylines that Madison Avenue has to offer. Many of my patients this week are too meeting their mortality; and, what felt worse was watching patients’ families figure out hospice plans and visiting hours over a holiday weekend.

When I speak about my problems it really feels like I do need to just bite my tongue and count my blessings. A fleeting fling ended, my ex reached out, I forget to check in on my friends, I want my friends to check in on me, I am looking for a man to fill a void, Instagram is making me question my ozempic-naive body, my hands and legs and feet are constantly cold and I feel more weak and frail and I look more pale.

I used to not weigh and compare my struggles to others as much as I am doing now, and maybe it’s because I feel like the world, since I’ve been alive, has never felt more gruesome and cruel, and to not feel empathetic is to turn your back on the sliver of humanity I feel is left. I began volunteering at a mutual aid event and to see the rapid speed at which food, household items, and donated clothes were grabbed by humans worthy of the same privileges I have, felt so defeating. I handed out flyers to spanish-speaking individuals that counseled them on knowing their rights in the face of ICE, before they left the event. I think about how the thought of eating turkey now nauseates me, but if you have nothing you will eat whatever food comes your way because choosing your cuisine and food preferences is a privilege.

The day before Thanksgiving before my train home I took myself to a play as a treat, starring Tom Hanks, and could not stay awake during it. I like to think I would have enjoyed it if I weren’t so tired, stressed about school, preoccupied with seeing my ex who is also currently rotating at the same hospital, and worried about my patients.

Once I got home to virginia, I found myself back in a hospital a mere 3 hours later because a family member did not feel well. All was well (thankfully) and we left the hospital after 2 hours— I have never endured a shorter ER visit, I was so impressed. Later that day while our family gave our annual Thanksgiving grace, my sister, brother-in law, and parents all expressed gratitude that I was able to help and provide immediate medical care when my family needed it.

But, throughout this weekend, I couldn’t stop myself from crying. At any chance I was alone, my eyes involuntarily would fill with tears and I would sob and sob. It felt like crying was as vital to me at the moment as was my heartbeat, my breathing rate, my blood pressure, and my body temperature. I only ate mac and cheese after we said grace, I couldn’t really stomach anything else. I slept for 11 hours that night, and after studying for 4 hours the next day I took a two hour nap before my family questioned if I was sleeping too much.

I don’t know what to say, I am just sad. I feel like I “keep going through it.” Kaitlyn has told me more than once I don’t validate my sadness but instead tire myself from comparison fatigue, and I know that it’s true. Right now it just feels too hard to be sad for myself.

But, last night, after a 5/10 date, I felt some peace. I told myself that this guy did not have to be the one just because he sees the world the way I do. I told myself that, just like fancy clothes and shoes and makeup, the things I want will be there when I am ready for them (and when I actually have a job again). I no longer want to look to someone else to fill a void that is within me. I say I’ve come home to myself finally since the break-up, but I want to really feel like I’ve come home. I woke up this morning and saw an opportunity to get flash tattoos and I took it. I slept for 9 hours and let my coffee caffeinate me properly. I decided to write this post to validate my feelings, but also to mark that this is a turning point for me. I want to choose myself better, I want to feel better. I no longer want to make finding a man a primary, secondary, or tertiary goal right now. I want to keep finding myself.