As I hang up my white coat and clock out, the clock reads nearly 8 p.m. I finally pull into the driveway, where my two children are nestled in their pajamas, eagerly anticipating my return.
“How was your day?” my partner asks, looking at my weary expression as if it says it all.
While tucking my kids in, I have a moment of reflection. My hands, now smoothing down the superhero-themed blankets over their small bodies, just minutes ago were engaged in a life-saving procedure, bringing blood back to a patient’s heart as they fought for breath.
As I flip through a bedtime story, vivid scenes from earlier flash before me—families in distress, the soft sounds of their grief lingering in my mind. I try to concentrate on the text: “Goodnight stars, goodnight air,” and attempt to momentarily set aside the weight of the day.
“Goodnight, I love you,” I whisper, kissing their foreheads, cherishing the simplicity of this routine and how precious it is.
Over the years, my family has adapted to my unique rhythm. Sometimes I hold them a little tighter; other times, my gaze drifts, lost in thought. I find joy in small moments that others might overlook, and occasionally, I let conversations delve deeper than intended.
They witness me prepare for work, donning my stethoscope and badge emblazoned with MD. I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. In my profession, I am both a student and a teacher, learning about resilience in a way that many may never understand.
Life reveals to us our inherent strength. We are a resilient bunch. Some of us wear our strength openly, while others carry it quietly. We share laughter in silence and bravely face uncertainty. We gather in prayer, share stories, and embrace our vulnerabilities. We create connections, exhale deeply, and draw on our inner fortitude.
Even as my badge clocks me out for the night, I carry those experiences with me. I am profoundly grateful for the moments that shape my understanding of humanity. Each day, I am reminded of life’s fragility, especially through the love of my children, who teach me about resilience simply by being themselves. They don’t need to grasp the complexities of my day; they only need to feel the depth of my love for them.
This love is amplified by my work as a doctor, which enriches my perspective on life. I gladly embrace the memories of my profession, for they remind me of the beauty in our existence.
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