First of all, congratulations to the many young medical students, soon-to-be residents, and their families who recently found out the results of the 2019 Match! A couple weeks ago was Match Day, a phenomenon that I had thought I might write about but which Lara McElderry of the Married to Doctors podcast and blog did so much more thoroughly than I would have! I highly encourage you to go over to her website and check out her post on the entire NRMP Match process. And while you're there, you can listen to her podcast, including a couple episodes where she interviewed me! Narcissism aside, Married to Doctors is an extremely valuable resource for all people in a medical marriage or partnership, and for the friends and family of doctors who want to better understand the experience.
Reflecting on J's Match reminds me of the moments in its wake when extremely well-meaning people wanted to share their wisdom and advice for this new stage in our lives. The problem was, many of these people were either not familiar with surgical specialties or were not involved in the medical field at all, so not all of the suggestions were equally useful. But what did I know? I was only just learning about what it meant to be a doctor's partner, and I had no clue! So I smiled and nodded and tried desperately to take their advice, only to realize months or even years later that their well-intentioned words may have done more harm than good. If only there had been a resource for them to learn what to say to this new almost-surgical-spouse in their midst...
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Have you ever opened up a journal or diary from when you were an adolescent and just cringed? You probably wrote about how the world was ending because your crush didn't smile at you one day, or how your parents were "the worst," or maybe how you were so in love with your boyfriend/girlfriend and you were certain it would never end. . .
And then you put it away and think "Thank God I've grown up!" Those written mementos, melodramatic as they may be, are valuable reminders of how things change with time, perspective, and maturity. When we write them we have no concept of how to contextualize the problems into a larger picture, into a timeline of personal development that will inevitably reshape and resize the roles of those problems in our lives. And although reading them can be painful ("OMG I can't believe I thought that!"), they are a great means of measurement for how far we've come in life. Well, apparently our capacity for melodrama doesn't always mellow with age. My doctor wasn't entirely sure what the scan meant, but she had a plan and reassured us that this would not define our future even if it was overwhelmingly terrifying in our present. I tried to remain calm as I shared all of this with J the moment my doctor left the exam room, and he responded with questions and statements of clarification. What are the numbers? What does it look like? So this is what we do next? Yes, that sounds accurate. Yes, I would agree with that plan. . .
"You're using your doctor voice," I said. "I know," he said stolidly. Then, more quietly, "I need to right now." I love Queer Eye.
When it popped up on Netflix I vaguely remembered the show from the early 2000s that I never watched because I have no taste for reality TV, so I scrolled right past it without a second thought. But when a few of my fellow teachers began singing its praises last Tuesday at an end-of-the-year celebration, I decided to check it out if for no other reason than to balance out the extremely dark, intense shows that have occupied watchlist over the last few months (Handmaid's Tale and Westworld, in case you're wondering). It's summer vacation, after all! I could use a little light. I started watching that night and was immediately hooked. My friend hadn't been exaggerating when she said she cried at least once every episode. I think I made it through all of fifteen minutes before something in that first episode rendered me sobbing happy tears. Unlike many reality shows, this show seemed to make a concerted effort to represent thoughtful dialogue and affect meaningful change in the lives of both the subjects and the hosts. Each episode culminates in both an outward and a deeply internal change within the subject. Although I have to question the longevity of these transformations, the premise is simple: people can always strive to be a better version of themselves through introspection, a supportive team, and a fresh haircut. I broke one of my rules.
Rule #5 explicitly states: "If your insurance is kind enough to cover mental health, TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT! It is not because you are sick or damaged or need to "get better," but because the closest person in your life will not always be available to support you and listen to you, and a lot of the emotional work may fall on your shoulders. A good therapist can go a long way in making the residency experience easier to bear." Apparently your therapist's maternity leave is not a valid excuse to stop going to therapy, even temporarily, at a time when your world feels like it's falling apart. First, a few announcements:
When I tell people my husband is a surgical resident, some like to comment on how little we must see of each other. Having little to compare it to, his 80-hour weeks are the norm and set the baseline for how I live my life and how we manage our relationship. But some weeks are harder than others and last week was particularly brutal due to a confluence of events including two call days, an interview out of state, and a minor programmatic crisis at work. Here, I share a glimpse into the life of a surgeon's spouse:
Sunday: Call J and I both wake up early - me to get a head start on the large To Do list of home- and work-related tasks for the weekend, J to go to work. He has to be in the hospital by 8 am for a call shift that will keep him busy until at least 10 am tomorrow. I have the day to myself, but I also have the laundry, the groceries, the errands, the dishes, the cleaning. . . At the day's end, when everything except the laundry is checked off the list, I call J for just a few moments to see how call is going and to say goodnight. Then I sprawl out on the bed and relish having its entirety to myself for the evening. Our cat, Clara, claims the extra pillow. I remember the Sunday paper.
I got it from the porch, rolled into a heavy log with a story inscribed in each ring, although I was far too young to be interested in them. Rather, I dug out the comics and we passed it around the family, chuckling to ourselves and waiting anxiously for each other to get to the punchlines we knew were coming so we could laugh together. It was a special little highlight of each week. For a time, our Sunday newspaper also featured a Magic Eye stereogram, and I marveled at how my dad seemed to possess the super-human ability to see the hidden 3D figure instantaneously every time. When all I saw were chaotic squiggles like static on a television screen, he saw animals, flowers, trees, hearts, faces floating in a sea of color. I was desperate to develop the skill, certain these Magic Eye prints in the paper held untold secrets to life. He taught me by holding the paper above me as I focused on the wall across the table, then lowering the paper in front of my face with gentle reminders not to let my focus shift. If we did it just right, something amazing reached out to me from the cluttered mess of meaningless shapes and lines. Maybe not the meaning of life, but something just as valuable to my 8-year-old self. About a month after we moved when I was still refusing to be anything but sullen and pessimistic about our new home, J forced me to listen to the hard truth I needed to hear: "You need to find a way to make this work otherwise it's going to be a very long residency." He was right, of course, and that was a turning point in my approach toward this new journey of ours.
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AuthorNashira is a music teacher and proud Small-Town Jew who, after surthriving six years in Brooklyn for her husband's surgical residency, is finally back in Wisconsin where she belongs! At least until the end of the two-year surgical fellowship, that is. It's a wild ride, and she's ready to tell you all about it! Archives
September 2019
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