I pride myself on living a relatively drama-free life (despite my occasional tirades indicating otherwise), and I try to take things day-by-day and to remember to breathe and to not sweat the small stuff, and all those other things that inspirational posters tell us to do while lulling us into a sense of peace with scenes of wooded streams with dappled lights and adorable kittens tousling with balls of yarn. Yes, I try to live the adorable-kitten-calm-stream-dappled-light sort of life. Without actually hanging up those posters. Because I think those posters are tacky.
But. Into every dappled-light life, a little panic and chaos must fall. In my case, it comes in the form of the Pediatric ICU. Since the beginning of residency - nay since interview season prior to residency, I have been dreading the PICU. Granted, I have had some ICU exposure - the CT surgery ICU as a fourth year (during which my most lofty goal was to be invisible) and the NICU, which, though it ended well, started off as the worst day of my residency ever. Hands down.
So this little spark of terror that has been living in my chest over the last two years started flaring up last week - disturbing what otherwise would have been an idyllic weekend of good food, good company, wine tasting and overall general laziness. Because, horror of horrors, terror of terrors - the PICU was coming. (that piercing scream you hear just now is a several-days-old echo of my cry)
Yes, dear friends, I started the PICU on Sunday. Night. Sunday night. For some ungodly reason, the scheduling gremlins that live inside our cheif residents brains decided that I should start on nights in the PICU. From 5 pm to 6 am I am 'in charge' of keeping these critically ill children alive. I use quotes around the in charge, because I really have no clue what I am doing.
Thankfully (this is fall to your knees, raise your hands to the heavens thankful) there is an attending PICU doctor on with me every night - which can be hit or miss. So far, I've had one night on with the Attending Who Thinks Everyone Else Is An Idiot, but who was willing to sort of let me do what I wanted to do (which was mostly nothing), two nights with the Attending Who Thinks Everyone Else Is An Idiot, and makes me think really hard about things that I just can't remember most of the time, and end up saying ridiculously stupid things that I know are wrong, but I can't stop the words from coming out of my mouth anyway as she paralyzes me with her gaze, and tonight I'm on with the Attending Who Always Looks Like She Is Crying, who basically dictates the orders for me to transcribe. When I can hear her.
So far, it has been going okay. There have even been a few moments where I felt a glimmer of excitement and appreciation for the acuity of the patients and our ability to fix things that go wrong. And I've made some medically sound decisions all on my own (not tonight - tonight my brain is on vacation, see: dictating attendings orders). It has definitely been better than the NICU debacle of last year, and I've come to realize in some ways how much I have grown as a resident. It has also helped me realize that I'm freaking stupid a lot of the time - or, rather, that my 'medical fund of knowledge' appears to be on Welfare.
My life as a whole pretty much sucks on this schedule. I work, go home, sleep and come back to work. At work, I sit and obsessively track lab values while I try to fatten up my medical knowledge by reading numerous articles. I realized today that I haven't seen anyone outside of the hospital since Sunday, apart from a fleeting hi-bye with my roommate on Monday evening. I have developed this massive heartburn tonight that is making me quite literally writhe around in pain (which is hard to do subtlely and look professional and competent) But I think, despite the suckage of my personal life, I will be able to manage the PICU one day at a time, while breathing and not sweating the small stuff, etc. In short, I will maintain the dappled-light life. Still without the posters.
And, though I don't intend to offend, if you have those cute kitten/wooded stream/hot air balloon inspirational posters hanging up in your home? Take them down. Please. Unless you actually live in a small business or a motivational speaker's office. In which case, you really should think about getting your own place. I mean, c'mon!
