I am surrounded by people all day, but I often feel alone.
I’ve had years of training and experience, but I don’t have all the answers.
My mission is to help, but I can feel completely helpless.
There is noise all around me: IV lines beeping, nurses chatter, TV’s playing, but my pager makes me jump.
I have courage to face endless challenges, but I sometimes feel afraid.
I am physically and mentally exhausted, but lack sleep and emotional support.
I work for a week straight without a day off, then start the next week like nothing happened.
I have to integrate a myriad of information and form cohesive and thoughtful plans, but am constantly interrupted.
I take a complex human being’s experience and form a concise history and physical exam.
It may be Sunday and I just broke bad news and have ten more patients to see and will likely miss my daughter’s softball game, but I am paged because you ran out of your routine meds.
Within minutes I can shift from joy in one room to despair in the next room only ten feet away.
I provide comfort and hope when I am in need of both myself.
I don’t see my family and loved ones so I can take care of yours.
I work hard for you. I lose sleep for you. I fight for you. I pray for you. I cry for you. I rejoice with you.
I am the doctor on call.
