Every May, J receives a “Vacation Request Form” to fill out. It lays out the 13 four-week blocks of the year, separated into segments of two weeks each. J and I discuss at length which of the two-week segments we’d prefer for his two vacations, taking into consideration such factors as holidays, our anniversary, my school calendar, and how best to time the vacations to avoid burnout. Some months are off-limits, like June, July, and the beginning of August because of the needs of the program as residents graduate and new interns arrive. Others we know will be hard to get, like the end of December when we celebrate our anniversary but many of his coworkers want to celebrate Christmas with families. The deliberations continue until we finally identify and rank four options, crossing our fingers and hoping for our top two. In addition to the obvious benefits of vacation, like having time to schedule appointments, go to a movie, or travel, J’s vacation is a special time in our home where our reality shifts ever so slightly. For a couple weeks, I’m the one kissing him goodbye in the morning, the Netflix queue fills up with shows I’m not likely to watch, Clara is a little more playful, and jeans and t-shirts replace the scrubs in the laundry. For a couple weeks I don’t have to send “Are you alive?” text messages when I haven’t heard from him for 12 hours straight, I don’t worry about how tired he is as he’s driving home at night, and I know that he’s at least eating regularly, if not well. (It is vacation after all).
Vacation also reveals a suppressed side of J that makes those two weeks that much sweeter: his House Spouse side. When he doesn’t have work hanging over his head, exhausting his resources both mental and physical, J’s attention to the needs in our home rises. He’ll do the chores that normally make him groan, often recognizing my own needs before I’ve voiced them. He’ll make dinner, especially the steak that he makes so perfectly and which I won’t even deign to attempt. We fantasize about how wonderful he would be as a stay-at-home-husband or future stay-at-home-dad, with Mommy going to work and making the big bucks — you know, as an elementary school music teacher. Ha! If only. My mom always jokes when J has vacation that I’ll have to find out if I still like him when I’m suddenly forced to spend so much time with him. In truth, it’s hard not to love him more and wish either that vacation happened more frequently, or that his work didn’t drain him quite so much. But of course, there’s nothing particularly unique about someone being more relaxed or attentive when on vacation from work. I think the biggest thing about vacation as a surgical resident is just how different life is, or perhaps more accurately, how much more life there is to enjoy in that brief period of time. “Vacation J,” as we like to call him, is truly my favorite version of my husband. J is currently on vacation, and we were lucky that our vacation request to celebrate Passover was granted. Since my school’s spring break covers the entirety of the holiday, that means a vacation for us both. For only the second time since moving to New York we are able to spend this entire holiday with our families, splitting the time equally between mine and his. We will spend copious hours playing with our niece and nephews, catching up with our sisters, enduring our parents’ questions, and eating the traditional holiday foods and family favorites that maintain our links both to childhood and distant relatives. We will meet up with old friends, nap a lot, and wonder anew what on earth we’re doing living so far away.
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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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