Sunday Morning
It's a lazy morning admixed with calm and dread. 9 AM. I try not to think of how many (few) hours remain in the day and the horror show of the week to come - more Trauma Surgery: Attending surgeons yelling at each other and residents, residents yelling at junior residents, and everybody constantly on edge. There is hierarchical abuse in this particular system. Don't get me wrong: I have appropriate respect for the orderly nature of hierarchies; it's the abuse and incessant displacement of blame I don't care for. Everybody is told to take responsibility, but nobody does. I could go on ruminating over the absurdly dysfunctional nature of Trauma Surgery, in a specialty that one would think requires a practiced coolheadedness, but then I would succumb to the same nerve-fraying, time-sinking vortex of worry as I and my co-residents experience when actually at work. In an unusual turn of events, I have had the bright fortune of having two consecutive weekends completely ...