Physician, Sail Thyself
On the way to work, I cannot listen to Alanis Morissette’s “Not the Doctor” anymore without feeling a little hypocritical. And that’s a weird feeling. But after 5 PM (unless I’m on call), I am not a doctor, anymore. I wear my hair in pigtails and I put on my cut-up jean shorts. I probably resemble my patients more than any of their physicians, at that point.
On Friday, I saw one of the neurologists outside of the hospital. He was in a big, black trenchcoat, and had his hair slicked back like Nicholas Cage. I did not recognize him at all. He looked like a psychiatry patient I’d had once. Or one of the losers who sits on the sidewalks in Berkeley asking for spare change for pot.
Sometimes I get a little uncomfortable shopping, because I really just don’t want to run into my patients. When I’m not working, I am not working. But, I guess, people expect us to give advice 24 hours a day. It gets just a little boring to come home after a long day of asking people about bowel movements, to have a friend ask you about hers.
I just don’t wanna know. Okay?
But it does make me appreciate my father’s choice in friends. I used to think he was kind of elitist, only hanging out with other physicians. But now I understand his avoidance of non-medical people. A fellow physician understands that ya really just don’t talk shop when you’re off duty. Banana bread recipes or new puppies, yes. Deep vein thromboses or West Nile, no.
I really admire these two women in Turkey, who are building their own sailboat.
. . . . We are working on the final works just before covering the bottom of the hull. Those take a bit more time than we expected and time flies away when we begin working on the boat. . . . We are working on the thin wood sticks forming the cage of the hull, gluing is complete and we are sanding them to give a better form and ability to match the final covering plywoods.”
