it’s outta my hands

This is sort of how I imagine the computer that does the match. Image via Flickr user Lori and the Bell Jar.

At some point in toddlerhood, it eventually hits all of us, the “I can do it by myself!”  And from that point on, to be human is to want to be in charge of ourselves.  You’re not the boss of me! I choose my choice! I’m in charge!

Lately, though, I find myself feeling like a toddler, trying to DO IT BY MYSELF, and this thing called life keeps reminding me that I’m not always the boss of me, I don’t always get to choose my choice.  Boy oh boy does the medical education system that owns our lives right now make that clear.  You see, in three weeks, Jon will get an email that will suddenly reveal what we’ll be doing with our lives for the next three years. And it’s more than driving me nuts.

i lub my scrub

I’m married to a medical resident, which explains most of the circumstances of the following conversation, had with Jon who is a bit of a zombie after working a 30 hour shift.

Scrubs. By wenzday01 @ Flickr.

Jon: “I hate the PICU.”

Me: “I thought you liked it? Just the other day you were telling me how much you like it!”

Jon: “That was before this week.  Can you think of anything you’d still like to do if you had to do it 80 hours a week?”

Me: thinks for a moment. “Um, nope.  Probably not even sex.”

Jon: “Exactly.”