I haven’t written much of anything for over a year. I think the pandemic has been challenging for many people, including me. Normal routines, or even efforts to have them, have been a struggle. For much of the last year the days have been a blur, with seemingly sporadic episodes of activity. Last spring I got into gardening. It was a lot of physical work transforming rock gardens and patches of weeds and empty pots into something beautiful. I loved the creativity involved, and the reward of growing things I could eat! Before lockdown I even took some yoga classes which I loved. And on hot summer days I went swimming in the lake, which was heavenly. The water was sweet and delicious and warm and there was such freedom and calm simply floating and looking at the sky. All of these things were wonderful, but I feel I could’ve done more somehow.
The kids were off from school from March until September and I quickly determined that I suck at homeschooling. I take my hat off to teachers and to those parents who are able to embrace homeschooling without going completely mental. Fortunately, my older kids were self directed enough to navigate their learning needs, but my younger kids apparently have the attention span of fleas, bless them, and I struggled. Which meant they struggled. And then I felt guilty until I decided that they were young and had years of school ahead of them, rationalizing that a few months off wouldn’t likely hurt them too much.
Now the kids are back at school and I am SO grateful. Their days have routine, which gives me routine. Some days I flounder, because I have a chronic illness. There, I said it. It’s not something that’s easy to talk about, but let me tell you: when, after seeing several doctors one finally said YOU ARE SUFFERING FROM DEPRESSION AND ANXIETY, I was relieved. Why? Because I had assumed I was just someone who was burned out, who coped poorly, who lacked resilience, and who was a failure. But no, I have a mental illness. I’m getting treated for it, I’m doing better, and I have come to understand that all of my chaos is not just in my head (so to speak). Before my diagnosis I’d never met another physician who had a mental illness, not because physicians don’t suffer from mental illness, but because there is a huge stigma about it in medicine. Ironic, isn’t it?
Even though I’m doing better I still have some days when I’m really tired. On those days I try to be kind to myself and rest if I need to. On other days I’m learning to do what I can do to manage my mental illness: take my meds on time, sleep well, exercise, walk the dog, read, meditate, eat well etc. I’ve been involved in a few great small groups facilitated by my amazing psychiatrist, learning about trauma, emotional neglect and PTSD. It’s all about taking tentative babysteps back to “normal”, whatever that is.
But with the pandemic I find I miss human connection, meeting friends for tea, hugs, and adult conversation. I look forward to getting my vaccination in the hopes that some of the lockdown measures will be lifted and we can expand our “bubbles” again. The pandemic has given me plenty of time to think and ruminate about life and the state of the world. I have much to be grateful for. I have a better understanding of my path to wellness. When I stopped working over five years ago it was because I was told I was “unwell”. Unfortunately, the first two and a half years were confusing to navigate; I had been told I could come back to work when I was “well”, but I had felt the same way for so such a long time it was my “normal”, and I wasn’t sure what wellness looked like. I did what I was told, exercising daily, trying mindfulness and meditation, finally suggesting medicaiton to my physician at the time. But I felt lost. Now, two and a half years later, the fog is finally dissipating, and I can see that my former state of existance was not normal at all.
I miss being in the operating room though, working with a team, and being able to make a difference in people’s lives during difficult times. I miss the challenge of complex or unusual diagnoses, and of being stretched technically too. Weirdly, I dream about surgery often, at least several times a week. I don’t usually remember my dreams, but these ones tend to be about fascinating and convoluted cases in big hospitals, with teams of residents and medical students involved. I miss many of my patients too. About a year after I stopped working I heard that one of my longtime patients was admitted with a pallliative diagnosis. I was extremely stressed about going back to the hospital where I had worked, but I knew I needed to see this patient to say goodbye. I’m so glad I did. Seeing this patient was both special and affirming.
So in the spirit of moving forward, of actually contemplating a future of sorts, I have decided to dig deep and initiate the process of returning to work—not as a full time surgeon, but as a surgical assist. This will give me the flexibility I need around parenting responsibilities, while getting back in the OR again. I used to be good in there, and I think I can still be. Yes, I will need to navigate around old wounds but I think that is part of the process of seeking wellness.
I’ve also made the decision to start a two year program on training to be a teacher in mindfulness and meditation. It’s a daunting prospect, and I feel a lot of trepidation, but in my heart I know that this will only be good for me and help me grow, and heal. Mindfulness and meditation have been a critical part of my journey since I was diagnosed with depression. This seems like the next logical step.
Babysteps. Remembering, of course, that babies teeter and wobble all over when they are taking those first tentative steps, and that they often lose their balance and fall down in a seemingly drunken fashion. But I’m ready to try and see what happens. I don’t think I could have said or even thought that when I was first diagnosed with depression; I don’t think I felt I had permission to even do so. But with my treatment combined with time to effectively become deprogrammed from my time in medicine, I’m starting to see light at the end of the long, dark tunnel.
The Sad Surgeon 