End of the Year

And suddenly, like dawn, we have arrived and the world is bursting with light. There's only a week left of internship, the purported "hardest year of residency," and emotions are mixed. I'm tired, exhausted. But not unhappy. I don't think I'm bitter or jaded yet. I feel a little calloused, like I don't have enough energy to expend on emotion. But slowly color seeps back into life. The day is warm and light when I leave the hospital. And work isn't bad; I like thinking and seeing people and occasionally doing procedures with my hands. I love talking to my cointerns and sharing the incredulous or noteworthy or satisfying. The end rumbles near and there are a few celebrations marking it - an intern barbecue with awards for each intern ("Most likely to turn a note into a novel," "Most likely to get called by medical records for delinquent charts," "Most likely to be mistaken for an attending," "Most likely to think they are an attending") and an end-of-year banquet with baby pictures of all the graduating seniors. But these events are strange, almost curtailed since not everyone shows up (we have to, after all, continue staffing the hospital).

Perhaps I expected more. Shouldn't this moment be accompanied by fanfare and balloons and brash music? Shouldn't it be full of pomp and circumstance? Or does it go quietly, this transition from one year to the next, an induction rite into the hallowed traditions of medicine? Do we, like a band of travelers for a year, shake hands and depart in all directions now that we've arrived at our destination? I've gotten to know my co-interns in critical situations under stress and sleep-deprivation. I've come to trust their intuition and judgment (and I quietly protect my patients from those I don't trust). What happens next year when we disperse into further crannies of specialization?

It is an odd feeling, reaching the end. It feels good, like I've accomplished something. The world is opening up. I don't think I need any artificial celebration, just a quiet moment of reflection, a rare breath of relief in this monotony of exhaustion.