And Light There Was...

How about a trip to the past? Let's go back to the beginning... Doubtful that anyone but my dear La Colleague will remember this: And Let There Be Light

It's been 5 years. 5 completed years of ups, downs, and all kinds of craziness...
4 years of med school, 1 hell of an intern year, at first and in prospect seemed like ages, but now, in retrospect, nothing more than a few years in memory.

Faithful readers will know the meaning of the word "Checkpoints" in my posts. Well this is a checkpoint if there ever was one. The end of the intern year. The end of one hell of a year that's been the one and only time I have ever questioned my choice of career. Gone. And not a minute too soon. But with the pleasure and euphoria found in a savagely hard fought victory over it, came the sadness of another turning point in life. A turning point where all - yes, all - of my class friends (so much more than just classmates) have packed up and left for residencies in the states, leaving me with another round of fighting with my sense that I might want to do the same. And this is where my mind wanders off into a land of what ifs, buts, and alsos, driving me further into this wicked cycle of thought that I will not bore you with.
What it boils down to, though, is the impossible difficulty of accessing a surgical residency program in the US. Sure enough, none of my friends who are leaving have chosen surgery, and happily all of them were lucky to get the match for an out of this world opportunity for life and career. Kudos to them all.

For Gracie, for Mayssam
So here we are, gone each in his/her direction. In the 'hecticity' of it all, there seemed to be so little time for us to get to do any real talking, the only thing you and I are any good at. So I had little or no opportunity to say what a great 5 years these have been. And I know that I will, sometime, or as we say so untruthfully here in Lebanon... Tomorrow, or where 99.9% of human productivity, motivation, and achievement is stored.


Love, always.

What Happens to Time?

When Monday morning kicking off another day's work seamlessly morphs into a Monday morning kicking off another week. And while you're trying to think about it, why not? another month flies out the window and next thing you know you're left sitting on a metaphorical curb, head cradled in your hands, wondering what you've accomplished, if anything, during that hectic October you've just leaked ever so unsuspectingly.

Or when you meet your new pediatrics resident for the night's duty and realize that his father was actually the pediatrician who followed, treated, and probably terrorized you through the better part of your childhood, 0-18 years of age. In a puff of smoke.
Such a shame how far that apple falls from the tree... but I digress...

People are always afraid of losing time. Time, time, time.
"We're late, we need to hurry!" Of course. Time is gold.
"I'm growing old, look at these wrinkles" says she, in her mid-late 20's, dripping of youth and beauty as she speeds down a wrong way road to her plastic surgeon's office, stone-coldly ignoring all pleas for a healthy and graceful maturity that's still far far away.

But why? Why should I be so preoccupied with time, when the harder I try to save it, the more acutely aware I am of my helplessness toward it? Why can't I be less attached to that Monday? or to that October, or to that year that October has ruthlessly dragged down with it for the 28th time? And why can't I look back at my great 28 years in this world and smile, instead of looking just ahead, terrified of turning 30 in 2 years?
2 years. More like 2 Mondays, 2 more weeks, 2 more Octobers; it's all the same. Maybe that's why...

Meet me back at that curb...