I am done being an intern. Done, I tells ya. This morning at 6am was my last non-crash primary Cesearan section for a very long time. (Second year residents do repeat sections and crashes; interns do primary sections). As I left the OR, the circulating nurse said, "See ya next time...second year."
Apparently, I am still alive. I made it through. Not sure when I'm going to catch up on my sleep debt (retirement potentially), but I'm breathing.
I've done some really amazing things this year. It's been a privilege. There have been deliveries and urgent cesareans and end-of-life conversations and heroic measures and prevention of unwanted pregnancies and counseling about pregnancies that were desperately wanted but are now over too soon. The learning curve is vertical.
I'm starting to feel a real home in obstetrics, particularly dramatic, high risk obstetrics. Still not sure how that will play out with regards to my career, but it's a thrill to experience.
My marriage is strong. When I woke up at 9pm (got home at 3pm from being awake 23hrs), Brandon was there. "I brought home leftovers from dinner. Salmon and potato latkes. And I bought beer. Oh, and this week's Glee is on the DVR." This is a good man.
I have new friends. It's the whole boot camp mentality: we've been beaten down together, and that makes us inseparable. Who else can truly understand the glory and the shame of being an intern?
And I'm alive. The new interns don't start until 6/24, but for the next 2.5 weeks we're in flux mode: some of us "advance" and some of us stay the same year. Sunday night I go back to work as the second year night float resident.