Parachuting

And just like that, my foundation clinical training was complete. Well to be fair it wasn't really "just like that". Even through a slightly stiffer upper lip that the Brits have taught me, my inner drama queen knows for real it was two years of debilitating anxiety, fear, tears, anger, hysteria and paranoia. Night shifts, weekend shifts, long day shifts, thankless shifts, thematic cardiac arrest shifts, and heart wrenching soul destroying 'i can't do this anymore' shifts.  But thank God for the innate fortitude of humans , plus the psychological therapy, strategically placed vacations, pills, Google (for all the times i searched "how to love yourself"), and of course the most amazing colleagues, friends and family who supported me to survive these years that could have otherwise rendered my gene pool extinct. It feels good to be done! I am now taking a year away from the hospital to pursue a desk job where I've got 99 problems but a pager ain't one! A job that doesn't enforce being bare below the elbows, nor prohibits hand jewelry or nail polish, and allows me to wear my hair down. I'm about to be fabulous and spring back 100000X extra for years of repression by painting my nails every which way and wearing all the jewels I own at the same time. 

At one point last January I did try to intercalate some fabulosity by getting eyelash extensions. I worked a night shift that same day and remember how ashamed I felt with my peacock feathers batting away like a stripper in scrubs as I told a family that their relative was dying. (by the way I LOVED those extensions, 5 stars would come again). When you are a doctor, you are never off the clock. I first learned this just weeks after I graduated from medical school and was in a liquor shop in the Hamptons and one of my friends told the shop owner I was a fresh MD. The shop owner then told the next random customer who entered that I was a new doctor, inciting this patron (without a margin of hesitation) to confide in me that she hadn't opened her bowels for 3 weeks and could I please give her some advice? I certainly wouldn't call up my plumber to ask for some free advice, but hey ho, it's an honor to be entrusted! 

I have skated off to Hungary for a few days to spend some time with family. I have been sleeping loads especially during the day which I attribute to finally being at peace but also to my tiny mother's monstrous snoring the last two nights. I can't even believe that a noise like that could come out of such a tiny head/body and even overpower my earplugs, melatonin and benzodiazepines. Meanwhile my poor competency in Hungarian limits my communication with my grandmother and all I can manage to get out is how much I love her baked goods. Bless, she's trying desperately to thicken me up and prepare me for uxorial life before it's too late. The first of which manifested by her dressing me up like the Real Housewives of Eastern Europe:

Then she tried to give me these:

I started laughing hysterically and she rebutted by telling me these panties were very beautiful, of silk and lace! I told her there was no way she would ever have grandchildren were I to accept them (and my mother chimed in that they were too small for me anyway), but that I would take them back to London in the event I ever conquered my fear of sky diving and could avoid having to pay for the parachute. 

If anyone knows a good boyfriend, please let her know.