How many days did your week have? Mine had 12. Yup that's right. I worked 12 days in a row. 4 of those I wasn't home in time to put Little Miss to bed. 8 of those I was. One of which I returned to work to complete a task I'd managed to miss.
By today (day 12) I was exhausted. I was worn down by the hours put in and by my seniors 'attempts' at support. My usual happy-go-lucky self disappeared. I cried.
My relationship with work is a complex one. Ever since I can remember I've wanted to be a doctor. I'd also never considered not having a family. I'm a doctor because I want to 'help', because I care for people, but also because we have bills to pay, just like the next person. I work because I want my daughter to have the best. But part of the best is being at home with her.
Tonight I finished work at 8pm. 3 hours late. I was lucky that Little Miss managed to stay up late. I was lucky that her daddy was there to pick her up from nursery, when that should have been my job. Part of crying was that I just wanted to get home to see Little Miss, and there was too many jobs to do, that couldn't be put off until Monday, to know that I would never get home on time. Every day this week Little Miss has stood at the door and cried as I've left for work. She's never done that before.
I am lucky that the nurses on the ward I work on, are fantastic. They are the ones who supported me today. They are the ones who asked if I was ok, as they saw 'me' disappear; as they saw me crumple they gave me hugs, they brought me the most appreciated glass of juice possible.
Today it is the nurses who need thanking. Always supporting the doctors, always there for the patients, always underappreciated.
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