Traveling back to the city where I did residency is a surreal pilgrimage that sets my teeth on edge.
Is there anyone who really enjoyed residency, I wonder? There were things about it that I did not detest but mainly it was a thing to be endured.
Three years of hell to survive.
Just passing through…
Yesterday I drove past the house I lived in back then. I have vague recollections of it, like I do of the house I lived in until I was in fifth grade, but that vagueness is disconcerting. It was not that long ago was it? Seems those memories should be much more vivid. After all, I remember things at the hospital in great technicolor detail.
I’ll just drive around a bit, call it therapy.
They changed the color of the house and put up a new fence. I got lost in the neighborhood, the stores and buildings are not the same. The hospital is brand new, all shiny and sparkly. The old call rooms and ICUs no longer exist. It is disorienting. A feeling like those memories are no longer grounded.
Perhaps that is a mercy.
I don’t want to run into any of those old attendings, my fellow residents, any hospital staff. I don’t want to travel back to that nightmare. When I am back in that place, it opens old wounds, brings back old terrors. I have left some of it here in this blog. Some of it I cannot let go of quite yet.
Are there places like this for you? Where? Why?