xxxiv
prev.cont.It’s winter, just like it was when the year started. Everything is white. My steps leave footprints, making all of my movements feel consequential.
I talked to my classmate about my increasing aversion to the above ground. She understood me without having to hear much. She said that it’s hard to keep drinking the Kool-Aid when it tastes like piss instead of fruit punch, when you can feel it poisoning you, can sense that your death is imminent if you go on drinking. I agreed.
I think I’ve stopped drinking the Kool-Aid. I’ve given up on convincing myself that being a doctor is my calling. I’m staying on the path because of some combination of sunk cost and fear of rocking the boat, but it’s hard to keep going without any Kool-Aid. Between the thirst and the hypoglycemia, I’m always trembling and on the verge of passing out. I didn’t realize that the Kool-Aid is somewhat necessary for survival on this path.
I keep telling myself that the year is “basically over,” but when I look at the calendar, I see that there’s still an entire month left. I roll my eyes at the present moment reminding me of its presence:
“Hey! I’m still here! It’s still only November, by the way.”
There it is again. The moment stays with me whether I acknowledge it or not, and it has a habit of springing back into my awareness like the annoying but ultimately lovable recurring character in a sitcom. In one moment I greet it with appreciation—thank God you’re still here—and in the next I resent its loitering.
The mind is fickle, never fully satisfied. I blame my species. We’re all eternally unhappy, always looking for more food and water and sunlight and relationships and entertainment. Why was I given this mind that is so impossible to coexist with? They should’ve given it to someone else.
My footprints in the snow announce my path to the world. They create a perfect record of my movement, just for a while, before being covered up by more snow. I go underground where there is no snow and no footprints.
I was in the endocrinology clinic today. Using hormones to make people feel better… it feeels sort of magical and practical.
I talked to a man with diabetes and a portable oxygen tank. He was a little awkward and talked funny. His breath rattled and sputtered like an old radiator. The doctor told him that his blood sugar wasn’t looking too good and gave him more insulin. He just nodded.
And then there was a lady with floral leggings and a broken back. She had to brace herself against the exam table while we talked to her, letting shallow breaths leak through gritted teeth. She told us that her pain was excruciating and constant, that she had to sleep in her recliner and wake up once an hour to adjust her position, and that her insurance was taking forever to approve the surgery that would make her pain go away.
She told us that she wants to "get taken out back like an old dog." I told her that I don’t blame her. I think anyone in her position would’ve thought about killing themselves, and a lot of people would’ve actually done it by now. We’re supposed to take “suicidal ideation” seriously, but I’m not sure what we could’ve done for her. Involuntary admission to the psych ward? That would’ve been just plain evil.
Medicine has methods of reducing misery, like back surgery and opioids, but it’s ultimately our material conditions that determine what’s going to happen to us. The lady with floral leggings can’t afford the expensive spine surgery she needs, so her only option is to wait for the insurance company to approve it. Money is the sole determinant as to whether medicine will try to help her.
There wasn’t much we could do for her besides giving her a medication to prevent more of her brittle bones from breaking. We said goodbye, hang in there, fingers crossed the surgery gets approved. I felt my blood prickle my skin at the thought of the underground she was returning to. She would find no comfort there, because she was imprisoned by her own body.
I walked home, looking behind me every few seconds to see the line of footprints getting longer and longer in my wake.
exit