2009 was apparently a big year of change, if the internets tell the truth. It certainly was for me. It was the year I became a wife, a doctor, and a (cough) New Englander, in chronological order. In 2 months we had the most amazing wedding with so much love from friends and family, quickly drove back to Cleveland for graduation, flew to Milan, honeymooned in Tuscany where we practically drank the olive oil straight (and maybe some wine too), flew back to a Cleveland now empty of our med school compatriots, finished packing, and drove the Penske truck to Rhode Island with the help of my father-in-law. 2 weeks later, I was introducing myself as Dr. G, checking cervixes, cutting into abdomens, and trying to project confidence.
While here in Providence, I have changed. I'm learning to act fast and trust that I actually do know how to manage sick people. I've learned what it's like to bond with oncology patients over time, only to hear that she died over the weekend or two days after you discharged her to home hospice or on Christmas morning. I'm learning about marriage. About relying on your partner enough but not too much. About trying to feel like a human partner after working and worrying about your patients all day. And I've developed my relationship with my sister. We're both on the east coast now, within a short driving distance. More things are possible. Work has provided new friends, including Cat, my "Work Wife," my partner in foodie crime. We go to Boston for Ethiopian food, New Haven for restaurant week, and La Laiterie all too often for cheese. We discuss the changes that our jobs demand of us.
Transition: it's the part of labor where things truly get going, where the pain becomes truly intense. It looks awful, overwhelming, impossible. But it is necessary for birth.
