The Intern Blues(39)
My med student is turning out to be great. She told me I was great, too. She said I really cared about people. That’s nice; I’m glad she said that. We pat each other on the back, and that’s important because nobody else verbally applauds us. At first I didn’t want her to do any of my scut, that’s not what med students are for, but she was always willing to help and eventually I just got used to her being there when I needed her. I always tried to teach her things while we were scutting out, kind of on a one-to-one basis: I taught her how to do a gram stain [a test to identify bacteria in a sample of body fluid] and then when I needed one done, she’d run to the lab and do it for me. I taught her how to read an EKG [electrocardiogram], how to put in a Foley [a catheter passed through the urethra into the bladder, to monitor the output of urine], how to put in IVs. She liked that. She’s going to be a great doctor.
Sunday, September 15, 1985, 1:00 A.M.
I just got back from Philadelphia. I went down there with Karen and some friend. We went to a big party at Brad’s house, but I couldn’t stay for the bash; I had to come back home so I could be on call tomorrow . . . later this morning . . . Sunday.
Last night—Friday, actually—I got home postcall and everybody came in after they’d gotten the car. They said they couldn’t wake me up for ten or fifteen minutes; I wouldn’t talk at all. I don’t remember much, but I finally got out of bed and slept the whole way there. Soon’s I got there, I went to sleep. I had a good time in Philadelphia; it was fun.
I talked to Ann while I was in Philly. She’s a friend of mine from medical school. She’s an intern doing pediatrics at St. Christopher’s. Right now she says she just entered this phase of intense resentment and anger and depression and hatefulness. She hates her work, she hates her patients, and she especially hates anybody who’s enjoying what they’re doing. She says she doesn’t think it’s so bad because in three days she’s going on vacation and she knows she can kind of get this way now. She says she didn’t know what she’d do if she were in my shoes and had to wait another three months for vacation.
I’m starting to feel kind of apathetic, in a funny way. Does apathy follow depression? I don’t have much more to talk about because I’m tired; tired and pissed. I’m also kind of sick of doing this diary, to be honest. I’m starting to feel kind of annoyed, I don’t know why. I don’t think I want to remember this fucking year.
Friday, September 20, 1985
I finally had a dream I remembered. I guess it’s a good sign, but I think I’m better off when I forget them. The dream went like this: I was at work and the resident wanted me to check the potassium level on this patient who was taking a drug that depletes potassium. I kept making excuses, I don’t know why, I kept putting off drawing the blood. Finally I was sitting in the library and a cardiac arrest was called. I went running in to find my patient dead and unresuscitatable. The rest of the house staff showed up and started yelling in unison that I had killed the patient. I woke up at that point in a cold sweat. I was terrified!
I can’t exactly put my finger on what’s wrong with me. I only have six patients now. Two of them are GORKs who don’t make any extra work, and one is just a suicide attempt. But it doesn’t matter. I still seem to get killed almost every night I’m on call. And then I come home postcall and fall asleep and Karen glares at me. I spend three hours with her every third night. Last Monday night, a friend from home came to visit. We went out for dinner. I fell asleep three times during the meal. When is it going to start getting a little better?
Amy
SEPTEMBER 1985
Monday, September 2, 1985, 11:00 P.M.
I just got Sarah to sleep and I finally have some time to myself. Today’s Labor Day and I had the day off. We had a great time: We went to a zoo, we went swimming, and we just generally relaxed. It was something we all really needed! It was freezing last night; I had to put Sarah to sleep in a sweater. Summer’s ending; I usually get depressed at this time of year, but this year is different. I’m actually happy summer’s ending. It means I’ll never have to be an intern in the summer again!
I started on 8 West on Wednesday and so far it’s been a mixed experience. It’s not nearly as calm as University Hospital. There are some interesting things going on but it’s not so taxing that I can’t get out early. So those things are good. But our resident this month is an idiot! He’s completely useless. He can’t teach, and when he tries, he gets it all wrong! On Thursday he told us that the peak age for SIDS [sudden infant death syndrome: the unexplainable death of an infant] was six months to one and a half years. That’s completely wrong! I know a lot about the subject, I’ve made myself crazy about it since Sarah was born, and I know the peak age is two to six months. I told Barry [the senior resident] what it really was and he stammered and argued for a while and finally said, “Let’s just drop it, okay?” I looked it up in Rudolph [a textbook of pediatrics] after rounds and showed him I was right. He still hasn’t admitted he was wrong.