This chapter is very very late, but here we go.
A few weeks ago, I closed one chapter to begin the next. I put on my "Medical Scribe" tag for the last time. Typing charts that day felt like an art, as though I was playing the melody of each patient's story with the keys of my keyboard, like playing a song on a piano.
During my final shifts, I was alternating between feelings of exhaustion and wanting to be done and small moments that I knew I'd be nostalgic for; teaching moments that signified that art of medicine and my passion for it. My last shift in particular was special and it wasn't at the same time. The shift went by smoothly, very differently from the high stress shifts I had the days before. The pace of patients was steady, I completed my charts in no rush, and I had time to let it all sink in: in a few months time, I would be taking the steps to becoming the person I had spent so long working with and aiming to be.
That night, the physician dismissed me early, and as I walked out of the ER, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. As I said goodbye, my coworkers waving hands moved in slow motion and the patients walking past me unsure of why I was smiling so widely moved at a slow pace. I took a moment at the entrance, where a large sign said "EMERGENCY" hung. I had imagined this moment since my first acceptance in medical school back in November, which is when I knew I'd be leaving this position in late Spring.
Yet, the moment felt very anti-climactic. It was 2 AM when I arrived at home following my shift. I always spent some time in my car in my driveway after a long shift to decompress. The loud buzzing and rush of the ER made it a challenge to quiet my brain enough to go to sleep. That night especially I felt wide awake and relaxed at the same time. I thought I'd feel sad that one chapter was closing. I have always been someone who is sentimental, sometimes too much. Yes, I am that person who notices the "last" things, like the last time driving down this street, or the last time leaving this building, or the last picture together.
However, I didn't feel sad as much as I felt content, a feeling very similar to what I felt at graduation last year, like my job was done. I did what I needed to do. I would miss learning from my superiors, the people I aspired to be. I would miss learning the true meaning of compassion and patience, how the simple action of pulling a chair next to the patient and shaking their hand meant to each person. There was something beautiful about acting like a visiting friend. I learned the skill of small talk, how sometimes that could make or break the conversation with a patient.
Mostly, I realized I would miss the experiences I gained, the perspective I was privileged to have. I was about to move "up" if you want to say it that way, and as excited as I was for that, I would also miss the simplicity of the past. The more I move up, the harder things become, the more responsibilities I have, and the more I will long for simpler and easier times .While this felt difficult at the moment, I know one day this will seem like a much easier time in my life.
That's the beauty in life though, isn't it? We are always aiming for the stars, but sometimes the ground looks much more comfortable.
Time for what's next...
A few weeks ago, I closed one chapter to begin the next. I put on my "Medical Scribe" tag for the last time. Typing charts that day felt like an art, as though I was playing the melody of each patient's story with the keys of my keyboard, like playing a song on a piano.
During my final shifts, I was alternating between feelings of exhaustion and wanting to be done and small moments that I knew I'd be nostalgic for; teaching moments that signified that art of medicine and my passion for it. My last shift in particular was special and it wasn't at the same time. The shift went by smoothly, very differently from the high stress shifts I had the days before. The pace of patients was steady, I completed my charts in no rush, and I had time to let it all sink in: in a few months time, I would be taking the steps to becoming the person I had spent so long working with and aiming to be.
That night, the physician dismissed me early, and as I walked out of the ER, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. As I said goodbye, my coworkers waving hands moved in slow motion and the patients walking past me unsure of why I was smiling so widely moved at a slow pace. I took a moment at the entrance, where a large sign said "EMERGENCY" hung. I had imagined this moment since my first acceptance in medical school back in November, which is when I knew I'd be leaving this position in late Spring.
Yet, the moment felt very anti-climactic. It was 2 AM when I arrived at home following my shift. I always spent some time in my car in my driveway after a long shift to decompress. The loud buzzing and rush of the ER made it a challenge to quiet my brain enough to go to sleep. That night especially I felt wide awake and relaxed at the same time. I thought I'd feel sad that one chapter was closing. I have always been someone who is sentimental, sometimes too much. Yes, I am that person who notices the "last" things, like the last time driving down this street, or the last time leaving this building, or the last picture together.
However, I didn't feel sad as much as I felt content, a feeling very similar to what I felt at graduation last year, like my job was done. I did what I needed to do. I would miss learning from my superiors, the people I aspired to be. I would miss learning the true meaning of compassion and patience, how the simple action of pulling a chair next to the patient and shaking their hand meant to each person. There was something beautiful about acting like a visiting friend. I learned the skill of small talk, how sometimes that could make or break the conversation with a patient.
Mostly, I realized I would miss the experiences I gained, the perspective I was privileged to have. I was about to move "up" if you want to say it that way, and as excited as I was for that, I would also miss the simplicity of the past. The more I move up, the harder things become, the more responsibilities I have, and the more I will long for simpler and easier times .While this felt difficult at the moment, I know one day this will seem like a much easier time in my life.
That's the beauty in life though, isn't it? We are always aiming for the stars, but sometimes the ground looks much more comfortable.
Time for what's next...
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