Sometimes Amazing Things Happen by Elizabeth Ford

Author:Elizabeth Ford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Regan Arts.

16

OUT OF THE DEPTHS

The decision to quit is easier than I think. After almost two years of trying to be a good mother and a good doctor, sometimes failing at both, I choose my children over my patients. One month before my daughter’s due date, her estimated size is creeping up to the level of my son’s, who weighed in at more than ten pounds at birth and broke his collarbone squishing his shoulders into this world. My OB strongly recommends that I “take it easy” in this final stretch. It is a natural transition to start my maternity leave early. I avoid any uncomfortable discussions with the director, convincing myself that I may change my mind about quitting once I get a real break from the service.

I should really take an extra week to say goodbye to my patients, provide some closure for them, and gradually introduce them to their new doctor. But I just want out. I can’t wait. Another week on this service and maybe another patient will throw a chair at me.

I prepare a written sign-out for Luke with all of the important details and to-dos for my eleven patients. In spite of my burnout, I still have a soft spot for Eaton. I am sure he is schizophrenic, which makes him, in my eyes, more vulnerable and less responsible than someone like Ray. But at times, his normal mid-twenties self regresses to teenage behavior in this strict yet unpredictable environment, and he breaks out with foul language when he is angry or foot-stomping when he doesn’t get what he wants. This doesn’t match everyone’s notion of what a schizophrenic should be. So most afternoons, I get a request to please discharge Eaton. I ask Luke to pay special attention to him, so he doesn’t get sent to Rikers Island the day after I leave.

Saying goodbye to the staff is quick and efficient; they expect to see me in a few months, cooing about my next newborn and closing my office door to pump breast milk at lunchtime.

I pack up my office the following evening with the assistance of my eighteen-month-old son watching from his stroller and my husband lugging heavy boxes of books to the service elevator. I am mostly relieved at no longer being responsible for patients’ lives. But mixed in with that relief, just under the surface of consciousness, is massive grief.

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