“I need you to do me a favor,” my nurse asked me at the end of our day on Friday.
“Sure,” I answered, “what do you want?”
“Please have a better week next week,” she said with a pained expression. “I don’t think I can handle another one like this week.”
It was a bad week. There was cancer, there was anxiety, there were family fights, there were very sick children. It’s not that it’s unusual to we see tough things (I am a doctor), but the grouping of them had all of us trudging home drained of energy. Spent.
I think that this is one of the toughest thing about being a doctor (and nurse, by my nurse’s question): the spending of emotional reserves. I am not physically active at work, yet I come home tired. I don’t have to be busy to feel drained. It’s not the patients’ fault that I feel tired. They are coming to me to get the service I offer to them, and I think I do that job well. The real problem is in me. The real problem is that I care.
I was wrong. In a recent Health Affairs