the uglies

everyone seems to like listening to my life stories. the little gimpy kid with the disease no one has ever heard of growing up and becoming a doctor has a nice ring to it.  the stuff on my resume makes me look smart, sane, mature.

but in reality most of it is a facade. none of it is untrue but putting it all in bullet points on a sheet of paper cuts out all the details.  no body likes the details.

the details are ugly. everyone wants to know how my surgery went. but everyone wants me to say it went great. everyone wants to know what being a disable medical student is like but everyone wants me to say its been swell.

I just had a surgery that was basically palliative care. it didn’t cure my disease it kept me from pulling my hair out because I can’t sit still because of the the pain. but the truth is yeah the actual four hours of the surgery went well but physical therapy is a bit of a disaster.  i have what appears to be a three to five year old flexion contracture that is not only tough as nails but if it doesn’t get better is going to wear the prosthesis down much faster than usual (which basically knocks off years of walking).  No one diagnosed this crucial fact…one has to wonder what role it played in the hip pain the first place. no one wants to hear from the little medical student that her transition from pediatric to adult medicine has been fraught with peril, that the adult orthopods are not only ignorant about her pediatric disease but too arrogant to admit it.  I suffer for it not them.

I am getting up at 5 AM, rounding on patients I do not know half the time, writing notes either observing (as in not touching) in the OR or occasionally interacting in clinic till 5PM when I go to PT and get pushed on till I finally get to go home by 6:30 and then repeat. today i repeated plus SWINE FLU.

then I try to prepare for things like my interview on Friday, fall asleep on my computer and then wake up in the middle of the night and worry about the flexion contracture that gives me muscle spasm cramps randomly and frequently that leave me begging for tramdol and has not moved a single degree in the last three weeks.

no one wants to hear that some times I come home and I cry with frustration and pain. no one wants to hear about how some days I absolutely hate my chosen profession not just because it has so few answers for me but because  no one have the balls to admit they have no answers.  Good gosh people just tell it like it is. do you think I somehow don’t know that it sucks?

no see that doesn’t sound all that inspirational now does it…