I'm in the middle of an unexpected 12 day work-a-athon pre-Great North Swim, and although I can't complain, the last seven days have definitely been ones where I think - gosh! My job is full on! In the last 7 days:
Number of significant breaking-bad-news encounters - 2
Number of prescribing errors - 1
Number of times crying - 1 (see above. Everything was fine. Realisation one is fallible is just quite distressing)
Number of antibiotics prescribed - lots
Number of steroids prescribed - as above plus lots more
Number of other specialties who have been grumpy with me - 2 (once justifiably, the other probably not)
Number of ePortfolios that are definitely ready for end of year sign off - 0
Number of hours of sleep - definitely not enough. And progressively less as the week went on. Not on purpose, you understand. Self-perpetuating cycle of not-being-able-to-switch-off-ness.
Number of hours in the library on my academic day - 10
Number of evenings requiring bolstering by friends - every. single. one.
What a strange existence it is to be a junior doctor... On realising this, I did what any lucky daughter would do and called my MUM.
Now, my mother is very wise. Nonetheless, I think it takes a particularly wise mother to know what to say when one's daughter comes across as slightly unhinged. Because I do sometimes feel quite messed up about this job and my life and how much I love it and yet how bonkers it all is. I haven't really worked out how me and my life and my friends and my job all sort of stick together. The last of these sort of has to be the most important right now.
And of course, my my mum is right. The first year of a new job is always a bit crazy. Probably the first two or three years, even. All one can do is muddle through, eat food, sleep and keep yourself sane.
And have fun along the way, bien sur!
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