The Martyr Complex

... mine specifically.


Oh, I know lots of moms and dads had to work on Mother's Day and so many families have it worse and I'm lucky (not an ounce of sarcasm there - swear) to stay at home with the kids. I know I am. This is a stupid little blog - not a count-my-blessings, look-at-me-not-struggle, ode-to-smiles bestseller and I've been feeling really cuticle chewy/cautious when I've posted lately thanks to some super sweet (do you hear that sarcasm siren? it's loud) comments on some recent posts but blog reading is always optional - no forced reading here. Click out at will.

I think two people have asked that I write a post about residency -- maybe one person -- maybe none persons. To be perfectly candid - I think a picture of both of my middle fingers or maybe just one big caps locked expletive would accurately portray my exact sentiment toward residency but ... things are sort of family friendly around here so ... I'll refrain. Also, to be fair, I am writing this in the midst of a bad rotation. They're not always bad rotations but there are always call weekends no matter how great the rotation. And you know the kind of cold where you have to sleep sitting up because you're so congested and every sneeze warrants everyone to duck and cover under an umber-ella Rihanna style?

He's got it and he's got it bad. So we're not sleeping a lot and an extra set of parent hands would be great right now but .... schmesidency.

Simon walked out at 6:40 Sunday morning and the exact second the door shut all three formerly slumbering kids started crying. He would be back home in 11 hours which was 14 hours sooner than the Friday morning - > Saturday morning shift but that cheery fact didn't stop me from laying in bed fighting back my own tears while the wails quickly crescendoed to screams. Eventually, I hopped out of bed, prioritized who got my divided attention first, and hello new day.

I remember one of the veteran wives telling us at the kick-off picnic intern year that, "residency wasn't as bad as she'd expected." In retrospect I should've asked what she was smoking and where I could get some because Mother's Day 2013 was not fun. Christmas of 2011 was terrible. Thanksgiving of 2012 was depressing. Valentine's Day of 2012 was disappointing. Memorial day weekend of 2012 was miserable. Labor day of 2011 was ... you get it! Stop with the gratitude and uplifting, Grace!! I know, but I promise it does my heart good to read about that vommy Christmas because I know all Christmases from here on out can't be worse. Chin up.

Simon always leaves before the kids wake up and this morning I found Julia under the covers of our bed crying because she couldn't find her Simon. The odds of him being back before they go to bed tonight are skinny just like they were last night and I'm scared to ask about the rest of the week's surgery schedule because we're facing yet another call weekend in four long days. The kids are still really little and Julia forgets when I lie that he'll be home for dinner but I'd imagine that trick will stop working soon.

I'm not trying to paint a sympathy-inducing picture but I think it's important to give myself permission to admit that it's really hard on me. It's hard on Simon. It's hard on our marriage. It's hard on us as a family. I fall into the woe is ONLY me trap more often than I should but then Simon comes home and the kids are ecstatic and all is mostly forgotten for the moment.

Until he crashes and Julia doesn't like when people sleep because, like her mother, she's a raging sweetheart.

I know some residencies might be worse than Simon's. More call weekends? More night float months? Fewer emergency c-sections on the nights I'd made a "nicer" meal but more/different types of emergencies that take longer than 90 minutes? Yes, yes, and yes, I'm sure. Just let me think that we've got it the worst of all the residencies for one post. We don't - but I like to pretend.

When Sebastian was born I waited for several hours for Simon to take me home after I'd been discharged because he was working up a patient one floor above me. Don't think that kind of irony is lost on me and yes, I should probably get over that one of these days.

I love taking the kids to visit Simon but I think we've been stung so many times with stat pages, unforeseen emergencies, and just the nature of the medicine beast that after getting the kids dressed and in the car and almost to the hospital or not even out of the driveway only to hear that it won't work out but maybe later -- the visits are becoming fewer and far between because I guess I'm less of a risk taker than I used to be.

We're seven weeks away from the halfway point - two years down and two years to go. I wish that fact was far more encouraging than it is depressing but we'll get there. We will. And not that I'll ever need reminding but I'll look back on posts like these and say, "well, that was really bleeping awful but now it's finally bleeping over."

Forever and ever. Amen.


You don't need to tell me that Simon is the one working the long hours as one kind reader already pointed that out to me. Also, I'm the queen and commander of the badittudes and I am well aware of that fact as well.