The saddest airport

Today marks our last day visiting the city where I did med school and where we spent our first 3 years of marriage.  

It was a great trip.

I’m sad it is over.

I’m sure I will share more of the awesome stuff I learned and the places we visited.

But for now, I must share that the airport here is one of the most depressing airports I have ever been in.  It isn’t the ugliest, or the sketchiest, or the smallest or biggest or any of those.  I have been stuck here a few times but not as many as in other places.  But, to me it is always sad.  

Maybe it is because I arrived here too many times with nobody there to greet me (actually I did have friends pick me up sometimes, but often it seemed we were on our own).  Maybe it is because I was always dropping off people to leave .  Or sometimes I was leaving people.  

The airport is on two levels.  Arriving, you can see people awaiting those who they love.  It is great when you see your person from either end.  It stinks when you are on your own.

But worse is when you are leaving or having someone leave.  There is an escalator to the secure area.  So, it is like they leave slower.

I’m sad to leave today.  We had fun with great friends.  I nerded it out at a good conference.  But, now it is time to get back to real life.  And likely not see our lovely friends for at least a year or so.

This airport makes me sad.  Okay, it is probably the circumstance.  But, I blame the airport.

How Did That Happen: How I Got Through Med School Orientation

I realized today that it is about time for med school to be starting up again.  It blows my mind that about a 6 years ago, I hopped on a plane with 4 giant suitcases and my drugged mother (she was hopped up on cough syrup) to move to the town where I did med school.  Interestingly, I am leaving today for that same city to visit some friends and attend a conference.

I had been there twice before.  Once for my interview and once on a whirlwind room renting hunt.

To be honest, I was less scared of moving or even starting med school.  The thing that produced the most anxiety in me was orientation.

Yes, you got that right… Orientation.

I mean, yes, of course med school was terrifying and being told some of us WILL fail in orientation did not help.  Each first had its own level of terrifying… First lab, first exam, first standardized patient.  But orientation still wins in my books.

Thus for all of you shy, introverted (I say both because they are different) new to everything about a place people, here is my How Did That Happen? for the week.  How I Got Through Med School Orientation.stethoscopes1

I know some people love that kind of stuff.  Socials, dances, sporting events.  Not so much my scene.  I get that some people consider these sorts of events a highlight.  Or at least they don’t dread them. I dread them.  That’s just how I roll.

My med school took the whole orientation thing seriously.  I’m talking a full week of stuff.  And it was “mandatory.”

Seriously, mandatory “fun”?  Sounds like cadet camp all over again (seriously, they had these evenings where we were obligated to attend a “fun” activity like sports (ew) or the zoo (okay the first time, but it was a pretty lame zoo) or a movie (probably a bad one).  We called it mandatory fun night.  It was funny because it was by far not the most fun night of the week (dances or concert nights or parade nights won every time).

Events for this mandatory fun included whale watching (the best part by far).  An 80s mixer (ummm… I like the 80s, but when you stick them in a mixer, not so much).  Outdoor games complete with a slip n slide.  A pub crawl.  Various talks.  Photo scavenger hunt (epic, but not as fun when you don’t know where you are or who you’re with).  Dinner with some Med2s followed by a dance.

I was not pumped.  Except for the whale watching.

I knew one person I went to high school with.  Not well.

70% of people knew most everyone.  They all did undergrads together, they did their masters together, heck, they did all of their schooling together and they live down the road.

Just shoot me.

So, enough whining… I’m supposed to be talking about getting through it.

First of all, I tried to embrace the fact there were other people as lost as me.  I found them.  Found the first one lost in a hall as ridiculously early as I was.  I stuck with them.  She fell asleep on the bus on the way back from whale watching.  I fought the urge to run away.  As it turns out, we sat togther through most of our classes.   The randoms I stumbled upon ended up becomign some of my best friends through med  school.  So, find someone looking as lost and sad as you and say hi.

Realize that med school is like high school.  There are cool kids and cliques.  It did not take me long to conclude I was not cool, nor would I be part of the key cliques.  They were already formed before I even came in.  That’s okay.  I’ve never been one of the cool ones.

Show up for events.  Seriously.  They said it was mandatory, but not everyone came and this ticked some people off.  When you are as shy as I am this is nausea inducing, but it was also how I actually was forced to meet people.  Nothing says get to know people than getting thrown in a 2 door car with 4 other people you have never met to tear around the city taking pictures (especially when we ended up breaking into a more senior med student’s (who I also didn’t know)  house…).

Have fun.  I mean, if you have to be there and people worked hard to plan it, there probably is some fun in there.  Some of our stuff was really awesome.  Other stuff was awesome for people who weren’t me.   Just try to have fun.  Fake it until you make it.  I was pleasantly surprised.

Find out what is okay to skip and know that it is okay to take a breather.  Yes everyone will question your decision.  At least the people who noticed you exist.  But mental health for the win!

Participate.  If everyone is doing something to make themselves look stupid, you might as well do it too.  It might end up being fun, or at least make for a funny story.  My team in these messed up olympics they held won.  We got gift cards for coffee or booze.  It was thrilling.

There is free stuff at some of the events.  Free reflex hammers (which is like gold when you are just getting started and anything “medical” is the best thing ever), free bags, pens and best of all, free food!  Moving and doing a million more years of school is expensive.  Love the free stuff!

There really is useful information in there.  You won’t remember it all.  But they do tell you some important stuff.

If your school is anything like mine, the dean of something or other will get up and tell you scary stats about failures, people crying and people quitting.  This really does happen, but it will be okay.  It is an important reality check, but it does really sting.  Especially when odds are you were already nervous.

Tell yourself it will be fun and okay and all that good stuff.  It will be.  At least some of the time.

Remind yourself that despite the social anxiety and such, this really is one of the most relaxed times in med school.  Embrace that.  The real work is coming.

Remind yourself it is just a week (or less, if you’re lucky).

If you’re from away, it gives a chance to at least kind of figure out how to get to and from school, where some key stuff is and get settled before the real work starts (although the hours were so crazy, it was still tough to get any real unpacking done).

Things like orientations are just a bit awkward.  They end and eventually you know people well enough, you kind of wish you could have done that with the same people a year later.  Not all of that stuff, but some of it.

As much as I think I could have done without so much mandatory “fun,” I really do think orientations are important.  I still say they are overwhelming.  But once it was over with, I had other stuff to worry about, so no need to dwell.

What was your orientation like?  Do you love or hate them?  Do you have any tricks to get through orientations and mandatory “fun.”

White Carpet

I didn’t post yesterday because I was in the midst of a post-exam/life got busy cleaning fit.

Such is the pattern of my life.

I maintain a clean house.  Then, things happen and I get less productive.  Then, I have an exam and I do even less.

Then, once it is over, I loose my mind at the mess that is my house (Patrick will tell me that it isn’t that bad… I don’t know what he can’t see).  I freak out for a bit and then I hammer out cleaning the whole thing.

That was my last night.

While cleaning I thought of a whole rant that I have been wanting to share.

I will refrain from sharing the whole thing or we will actually be here all night.

What fool invented white (off-white) carpet!?!?!?

Really, why carpet in the first place?  It feels a bit nicer/warmer, but really it is an added hassle.

But, white carpet is something that is just asking for trouble.

It doesn’t stay white.  It doesn’t even stay off-white the way I would like.

I know, you need to be careful around it.  Not eat over it or track your shoes in.

Clearly, you people do not have a husband or a cat or a life.

I have found keeping white carpet clean a near impossibility.  Maybe, if we lived in bubbles or had a carpet cleaner machine-thing we would be okay.  Or if we always wore socks and never spilled things and rarely had people visit.

Having a cat of an identical shade to the carpet, so that the giant tumbleweeds of cat hair that form just hours after vacuuming wouldn’t show up so nastily.  Also, said cat would need to keep all his food in his dish, all his litter in his box and not knock things over or throw up.

Not happening.

I do know of another way to keep white carpet clean… Not put it in every living space of the house minus the kitchen and bathroom!

Our dining room has carpet.  I spill things bringing stuff there.  I drop things in there.  It is just a bad idea.  The bedrooms and hall are one thing, but the dining room really baffles me

The living room is the worst room for me, though.  Even though it is a reasonable room theoretically to carpet, we (don’t judge) eat there a lot, we snack there.  We run in with our shoes to grab things and it is the room that is between both the kitchen and the living room or the door, so all kinds of stuff happens to trail in there.

Don’t get me wrong here people.  It isn’t like we are living in our own filth.  But, I am kind of anal retentive, so the spots from anything hitting the floor make me a little crazy.  And I live with a non-observant boy and a cat who is too curious for his own good.

I go through a bottle of carpet spot cleaner every couple months.

When we were in high school, we had a friend who had a white carpet basement and very particular parents.  They would let us all come over and hang out in her basement.  We would eat food and she would run around with the carpet cleaner stuff to get rid of any potential spots.

I feel like I am channeling that friend sometimes, although I try not to attack people mid drink when a drop falls from their glass.

I try.

My wide-reaching solution to all this would be to get rid of all carpet.  It just harbours allergens and mould anyway.

Jeter is trying to help me in this mission by repeatedly scratching at the same spot under our door to wake us up in the morning.  He hates the carpet too and is slowly trying to destroy it.  Obviously this is the only explaination.

I came to realize the other day when new neighbours moved in that not all apartments in our building have carpet.  Well, that is disappointing.  I wish we got one that had no carpet and new cupboards.  Clearly, other than having one of the bigger ones with a sweet deck, we got a bum deal.

I half want to volunteer to take the carpet out on their behalf.

But no.

Even having colored carpet would be a step up.

Hide the nastiness.  Then, you just get a gross surprise when you finally decide to tear the carpet up (like my parents who recently pulled up the carpet that covered the living room floor for the entire time they lived in the house and discovered all kinds of grossness).  Darker carpet doesn’t show stains as avidly.  Unfortunately, Jeter is a shade of grey that I suspect will show up on almost any carpet.

I know, it ruins the neutral flair of an apartment having colored carpet.

I say screw the neutrality.

I crawl around on the floor with a spray bottle and a damp cloth.  I sure as heck would deal with a change in color palatte.

At least we only have carpet until we move again.

Given our current pattern, we basically have another year or two left of carpet.  I am totally demanding less carpet in our next home.  Or getting shares in the sprayable carpet cleaning stuff.   I am that kind of needy.

One Year City-versary

On Sunday after church at our new (okay, not so new anymore) church and brunch with some newly transplanted (again, not quite so newly) old friends, we went on a field trip to explore a legitimately new-to-us beach.  A wonderful way to spend a post-call Sunday.IMG_0659

On the way there, I pointed out to Patrick that one year ago that day, we were packing up to leave the Rock and all the stress and angst that went with it.

That leads us to today… Our official one year anniversary of moving in to our apartment (if you consider our first night when we lived in it, in the dark (silly apartments lacking most light fixtures) and slept on the floor all the while marveling at how big and nice our new place is compared to where we lived before..

It is pretty crazy to look back and realize that I will soon be finishing up my first year of residency and that we have lived in what I still call our new home for a year.

We were laying in bed talking way past my bedtime last night about some changes and feelings around that kind of stuff and I pointed out how melancholy I was about the whole thing.  For those of you who know psychiatry I am talking near full blown adjustment disorder.  I was happy to be close to home and entering the program I wanted to be in, but terrified all at the same time to be away from our old new friends, the hospital I knew and now in a mysterious, expensive, big city. I was pretty down and distressed about the whole thing.  It passed quickly once I got into the swing of things, but it was one of my lower points thus far.

And now look at us.  We are happy and healthy and have friends and a cat and family nearby and a church and jobs and furniture and we can pay our bills.  That is a lot of “ands”.  I consider them necessary for emphasis.

We had a good laugh last night remembering how we didn’t have cable and how we went outside to do laundry.  We remembered the point in our life when our living room had one chair and an end table and the point in our life where we slept on an air mattress.  We remembered a time where we would try to aim our car to hit bumps in hopes it might knock whatever was loose in our AC so that we could get some good cold air again on our drives down the highway.  We remembered getting lost… Again and again.  How we built our BBQ (that I like to joke nearly ended our marriage… But it didn’t really). How terrified I was to be a “real” doctor (wait… that is still happening).

Things are good.  God has blessed us in many ways over this past year.  And thus, it blows my mind that it has been a year.  What blows my mind even more is what might be to come over the next year.

For now, though, I will enjoy my time hanging out with Jeter on the deck (yes, I have him on a harness, so he doesn’t decide to up and plummet 11 floors to his death).IMG_0673 IMG_0670

 

I am not a gold digger

It is guest post time.  My lovely husband Patrick volunteered to submit a post in a potential series of posts that he entitles “Married to a doctor, but I am not a gold digger.”  I take no responsibility for any sappiness to follow.

The spouse and I.

The spouse and I.

Yes, I am married to the lovely Doctor (Resident) that writes this awesome blog but I am not a gold digger as some well-meaning, but clearly paranoid,  people actually asked  if Trisha if she was worried about that possibility in the past.  For starters, I don’t fit all stereotypical qualities of a gold-digger such as being younger (I’m older) or more beautiful (Trisha’s personality wasn’t the only reason I married her). But, the main reason I’m not a gold-digger is due to the fact that I broke the cardinal rule of gold-digging- I married her way before she was financially ready to fund my globe-trotting, “charge it!” lifestyle!

When we started dating, she was a poor broke student who hadn’t even applied to medical school yet but that didn’t stop me from falling in love with her. After all, I wasn’t looking for a doctor or lawyer but a best friend to have fun, start a family and grow old together with.  I had so much fun with her that I married her just before her 2nd year of Medical school (which many people see as crazy in itself) when her finances were increasing…  In debt, that is.  As you know she was studying in the isolated but beautiful Rock. We spent our first three years of marital bliss (most of the time) living in a basement (but nice) apartment without cable TV (everything is online now anyway) and “Jag”, a car that wasn’t old in years but was known affectionately as the car with all the miles on it at the service department.  Our main source of income was my part-time jobs which sometimes added up to full-time depending on how many hours I got.  I didn’t even substitute teach until the last few months there.  I think we will always look back on that time as a very happy and unique time in our lives. We didn’t live beyond our means but still had a lot of fun with all the friends, many who became like family in a place where we had none.

Anyway, now that I’ve proved that I ‘m not a gold digger I’ll share a few thoughts on what its really like to be married to a doctor in training.

I feel like I could write a blog about it myself and many people have done just that.  Most of the blogs I’ve come across on have been written by a female, however, the highs and lows are still very much the same- except of course my inability to personally birth our future children.

Studying to be a doctor is no cake walk as everyone knows, so it’s not that surprising that most people think it’s crazy to get married in the middle of medical school.  I’m sure that the same people think that I was crazy to marry a medical student because she clearly doesn’t have the time or energy needed to be a good wife after long days of studying and working with patients.  But I don’t think that’s true, at least not for Trisha.   Some people get tunnel vision when faced with challenging things and that is all their life is- eat, sleep and study (or other fill in the blank activity).  To each their own, but I’m very glad that Trisha is not that type. Yes, she is much focused but needs to have a real life that I and friends outside of school/hospital play a big part in.  That is not always easy, but we make it work because it’s more than worth it.   For example, Trisha was stuck in the hospital on call this past New Year’s Eve but I met her in the cafeteria to eat Chinese food and ring in the New Year a little early.  In the end I was actually glad I was home with the cat when midnight struck, so I could be there to comfort him (Jeter who is not a big fan of fireworks to say the least).

One of my main love languages is quality time, which may seem problematic with a wife who has a very demanding profession. I can’t say that I always get as much time as I or we would like.  But really who does?

We are both glad that we don’t work together (as many of her friends and their significant others do) because it makes reconnecting at the end of the day more interesting, not to mention our different working styles would probably drive us both crazy!  When Trisha and I first started dating, a person once told me about their brother, a teacher, who was married to another teacher and how perfect that was for them. Holidays and summer holidays together-what’s not to love.  In theory it does hold some appeal and we have married teacher friends who are doing just fine. However the reality starting out is not so rosy from the way I see it.  In most of Canada new teachers substitute for years before getting a full-time gig or have to move far away to get one (like to the Yukon). I don’t think it would be fun for Trisha and me to be competing for substitute and eventually full-time jobs, all while trying to make ends meet with part-time jobs that hopefully don’t interfere with teaching.  Plus, we would both be so sick of kids by the time we got home that we wouldn’t want anything to do with our own!  I kid (pun intended) about the last part but nevertheless I’m glad Trisha has chosen a profession where her chances of getting a job are a lot better even if we still may have to move farther away from home.

Does that make me a gold digger? I don’t think so but I’ll let you decide. All I know is that Trisha and I are still having fun and I think the best is yet to come. 

Glass Half Full

I am generally a glass half full kind of person.

Today’s prompt from the Daily Post is asking if you are a glass half empty or glass half full person.  And if a gun were put to my head I would totally say half full.

Unless I was really thirsty and it were an actual glass.  Then, I might consider it empty and warranting a refill.

I look at it as a sequence of events thing when it comes to actual glasses.  If I just started to fill it, then it is half full.  If I drank half of it, then it is half empty.  Get the picture?

I don’t look at life the exact same way I look at bevarages.  In life, I am all about my bright sides and purposes behind things.  So, half-full is my tendency.

Patrick often teases that I have a high baseline.  He tends towards worst case scenarios and I see bright sides to just about anything.  It works in our marriage.  If you average us out, we are probably glass neutral.

In high school, I remember prepping for our IB exams and while waiting to go over our most recent practice exams I was chipperly talking about how at least it was just a practice and that at least we know how bad it can be.  Someone pointed out that I am rather optimistic.   I was surprised.

The reason this is surprising is that despite my outward optimism and enthusiasm, I am rather cynical and sarcastic.  So, I guess, I used to think that made me a pessimist.  Just because I tried to point out negatives.  It is just that I have generally tended towards the positive.  Even at my worst.  Sometimes it was a twisted positive, but a positive nonetheless.

The thing that gets me when I say the glass is half full is that most people assume that makes me excessively positive and optimistic.  And to some, I am sure I am.

I have this fear of being too positive, though.

False hope is still hope.  I am the first to admit that.  But, in the oncology world (and in the rest of the world too), I see so many people living on so much false hope, it breaks my heart.  I love to see them content in their hope, but I hate to watch them crash down once the untruths behind the hope reveal themselves.

I have had it happen to me too.

When I was an optimistic little kid, my aunt was dying of cancer.  She had a few good days.  I was convinced she was getting better.  And that God answered my prayers to make her better.  Then she died.  I was crushed. Clearly something failed.  It didn’t matter how sick I was told she was.  How sick I knew she was.  I believed she was getting better.  And that was great until it all went wrong.

As a result of this, my people watching and other life experience, I think I fear having false hope.  And I am very bothered by other people having false hope.

It is really difficult to balance hope with false hope, though.  Optimism and reality.

I like to say I am a realistic optimist.

I say I hope someone gets well.  I look on the bright side of any situation.  But, I don’t avoid the bad.  I often still expect reasonable badness to happen.  I just know that we will get through the badness.

For instance…

When moving, I expected lots of little complications and problems.  I anticipated something getting lost or breaking.  I expected to get lost a million times.  I got annoyed when those things happened.  But, I also knew that despite the fact we had no furniture for weeks that we could make light of the fact that we could sit on the floor and that, in reality, it was nowhere near the end of the world.  I was pleasantly surprised that nothing was broken, which, to me turned out to be a huge bonus.

Realistic optimism.  Things often turn out better than you expect.

Moral of the story: The glass is half full.  It may get less full before it is over with.  That isn’t the end of the world.  You still have something to drink.

Stereotypically city

I have been joking that I am becoming a true member of our new city we live in.  It is kind of funny because up until a few years ago when I started the whole medicine thing, this city was a place Patrick swore he didn’t want to live in.  However, it was one of the smallest places I can do my residency in.  And one of the closest to home.  That helps things feel better.

This week I did a few things that I consider stereotypical based on what I see.

I took the bus.  A greener mode of transportation.

We went on a field trip to one of the biggest tourist spots locally.  A veritable must-see if we are in the area.

We walk everywhere we can.  To a pub for supper, to a coffee shop to study, to the gym to work out, to church and to explore.

I walked home from work after getting off strangely early.  On the way, I stopped at Pete’s Frootique, a local grocery store that is rather popular.  It sells delicious fresh produce, but also hosts some organic baked goods and lots of fresh meat.  I bought steak, organic bread sticks and organic eggplant (organic is key… very trendy in these parts).  I then got a smoothie and walked the rest of the way home to make a BBQ for myself and the spouse.  It seems like something people around here tend to do.  It is a very “hipster” thing to do.  The only criminal thing I did was that I did not have a reusable bag and had to get plastic for my items.

The Child and I went to a Crafter’s Fair this weekend where I bought a locally made tray (conveniently from a member of my small group).  Stuff like markets and fairs featuring local, organic or unique things are very trendy here (I know, they are probably cool everywhere, but it is particularly noticeable here).

Crafter's Fair

Patrick went on a field trip to free comic book day at a comic book store just down the road.

We walked to what was called one of the “best” ice cream places in town for a frozen treat and then ate it in the park (okay, that is more a Springish thing to do in any city).IMG_0597

I feel like the only big things left are to ride a bike around town (not likely, I feel my biking skills are not compatible with riding safely on streets) and ride the harbour hopper (I know there is much more).

While trying to be all “local,” I have spotted some interesting things.

Last week, I saw two guys carrying a couch over their heads down a busy street.  They greeted me as they walked by.  Probably because I was staring and considering whipping out my phone to get a picture.

Today, while on our Saturday morning adventures, the Child and I saw a storm trooper walking down the street.  He was somewhat terrifying as he crossed the street in front of us.  She managed to snap a picture.

Yes, Child I stole your photo from Facebook.

Yes, Child I stole your photo from Facebook.

Almost a year in and still settling, but I am glad I can get some good entertainment from the experiences.  I may make fun of it by times, but I am liking the new lifestyle and the locale.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Change

This week’s Weekly Photo Challenge with the Daily Post is entitled “change.”

I have been through a ton of change over the last year or so.  At some points I felt like I was drowning in change.  I graduated from med school, we moved to a new city, we started new jobs, we left some old friends and made some new friends, we left an old  church and started going to a new church, etcetera.  So much change.

The photos I chose to portray are from my graduation last May.  It shows Patrick and I, some friends and family just after I officially became an MD, which was one of the biggest changes of the year, mainly because it led to all of the other change.

Feels Like Home To Me

Patrick and I had our first small group session with our new small group from our new church in our new city tonight.

I was a bit nervous going in because we were so attached to our old small group and I still miss them terribly, so it was strange thinking about going to a new group.  Plus, new people scare me a little.

It was actually a good time.  We ate butter chicken.  Any small group that feeds me with food-food before feeding me spiritually is always a win in my books.  They are good people.  I think we will fit in well.  I am glad.  I like having a community.

It is another step in calling this place home and really feeling like it actually is.

That and my parents finally visited us.  And it was a surprise last-minute visit.  And I drove here with them from home-home.  And the house was in a STATE.  That was embarrassing.  It is good they love me.  And apparently, love Jeter too (they even bought him a new feather on a stick and treats in my on-call absence).  The Child and I took them out for a lunch/coffee excursion when I was post-call before they left.  It was so nice to have them here.

Another step in calling this place home was the weekend before last.  We had visitors from home-home, a visitor from a few towns over (and a buddy from university) and our newly local friends all at our home at the same time.  I love hosting people and this was a perfect way to finally feel settled and enjoy a ton of good company.

We started the day off with a giant brunch.  I took a picture just like Patrick’s grandmother would before we all ate.  Jeter took my spot while I played photographer.IMG_0554

IMG_0555

We explored downtown over the afternoon, went out to supper and then had an evening of Wii.  Particularly, Mario Kart.IMG_0556 IMG_0557

The next day, we taught my lovely friend, L to skate… Or at least we tried.IMG_0565 IMG_0566

All of these visitors and new friends and such… They make it homey.  I am glad.  Although, I still enjoy a good visit home-home.  And I still want to go visit the Rock and those people again.

The Spouse is a Teacher Again!

Patrick and I have had an exciting few days!

As it turns out, flu season is probably the best time of years of budding teachers.  Or teachers that are trying to re-bud after moving to yet another city lacking in teaching jobs (which leads to the question why are we still putting out so many teachers if almost none of them get jobs until years later and people aren’t retiring?).  People get sick more often, or their kids get sick and as a result, more people need substitutes.  It is kind of cruel, but I have been looking forward to this season for Patrick’s sake all year.  And this year’s flu season is particularly bad, which in a twisted way may turn out to be a good thing.

Patrick has moved twice now since getting his teaching degree.  Things were just getting good on the teaching front where we lived before when I, his lovely charming medical student wife becaume his lovely charming medical resident wife in yet another city and province.

The spouses of med students/residents/doctors make huge sacrifices in their own lives for the craziness that is the career of their spouse.  I am sure people in other professions do too, but I still can’t believe that he has moved not once, but twice for me, both times giving up connections and familiarity and some of his own career potential, so that I can continue my studies.  And then on top of all that, he deals with the awfulness that is my schedule (and then apologizes for taking a job that means he can’t drive me to half day or tuck me in for my post call nap… Honestly that is nothing compared to what he misses out on when I am at work).

We packed up and moved and he started the heaps of paperwork that are required to start teaching, including letters of good standing from both places he previously lived.  Ugh.  It wasn’t until December that he was officially on the list to substitute teach.  And, after not teaching for 6 months, this was feeling like an eternity.  It is tough to explain to people who don’t get medicine how I am in school forever and work ridiculous hours.  It is also tough to explain why someone who has been a teacher for going on 4 years has yet to have a full-time teaching position and since moving has had almost no opportunity to teach at all.

Nonetheless, jobs have been appearing and now that we have the go-ahead from his after-school program boss, and his co-workers and he got his nerves up and took his first job yesterday.  And then took a full-day job today.

It is scary going back to a job like that after so much time.  And in a new place.  He is under a lot of pressure to do well, in hopes the schools will put him on their preferred list, so he gets more opportunities to work there.

I was pumped because I had just arrived home post-call when he took the job, so I got to be all traditional wife and make him a lunch and kiss him on his way out the door.  Sometimes, I feel like I usually miss out on this opportunity.  Or it is him doing it for me.  Plus, it is nice to see him doing what he really loves again.

And who knows, maybe one of these days, we will both get to work full time at the jobs we love.  And maybe, just maybe this will happen before we have a baby and need pat/mat leave (that may be overly optimistic).

It is just plain nice to see our real lives here materializing.  That we have friends and jobs (and now, more relevant jobs) and that we finally see ourselves here for the long term (or at least our 5 required years).

When I was in choir at my old school, we sang this song called “Waiting For My Real Life To Begin.”  We picked it because it was featured on the TV show Scrubs, but also because as med students, that is sometimes how you feel.  That is kind of how we were marching along our first few months here at our new home.  Like we were waiting for our real lives to begin.  Having Patrick teach again is a reminder that they have, we just need to remember these things take time.