For some strange reason this blog has beckoned to me to write today, and I discovered that tomorrow would mark the one year that I have not written anything. Gone were the days when I would get all fidgety when I would fail to write something new. Back in college I would require myself to write 4 short stories during Christmas/semestral breaks. Those stories I would then give to Mrs. Therese come return of classes, which she would give back to me with side notes/comments which are more hilarious than the actual stories. But then real life kicked in: training, poverty, sickness, death. Since starting a Friendster (FRIENDSTER!) blog and then moving here I have resolved never to write anything about being a doctor– none of that dramatic/pandering stuff about saving patients’ lives and all that and for the most part I think I have been successful. This was because writing was a way to detach myself from the harsh realities of real life. The closest thing about medical training/residency/hellowship training I would write about would be my interactions with the crazy cast of characters (ie, friends, batchmates, weird superiors) that I was blessed with. But for the past year and half, since leaving hellowship training, that crazy cast of characters has all but disappeared.
I sometimes get a whiplash when I see how things have radically changed. The past years have rushed past so quickly, like that giant wheel-like thing with spikes in the Justice League season 1 finale, rolling over everything in its direction. A high school friend has visited me in my clinic a few days ago to sell me insurance. She has apparently been paying also for an insurance for 14 years now. “FOURTEEN YEARS…” I muttered dramatically as I tried to recall what I have been doing for 14 years. “In the past fourteen years I have been… I have wasted fourteen fucking years studying to become a doctor… and for what, so I could save up enough money for… DEATH?! “