It’s officially 2 months until I don the white coat and after a decade of higher education be called with that lofty title, Doctor.

You’d think I’d be spending my time reading about diseases, figuring out my approach when talking to patients and preparing for the onslaught of new information that plagues intern year.

You would think that.

Instead I am trying not to sink below the rising levels of paperwork that are accumulating in my inbox. Names, years of graduation, degrees earned, and places lived. It seems endless the amount of information needed from me.

But this isn’t a post to complain about the situation, nope. I’m still as grateful as grateful can be.

Perhaps this is just the beginning of the administrative tasks that so many older physicians say wear them down. Or perhaps this is not even close.

Still, I spend my days faxing, filing, and filling out form after form. The black ink from my pen just barely dries before a new, fresh sheet blankets over it. Again and again, hour after hour.

There’s a dark green textbook sitting on the desk next to where I work. Inside of it are flow charts, mind-maps, and differential diagnoses. I recall the days of basic science where I would stare at those pages and sometimes wish I’d be outside or honestly anywhere else. Now I sit here in a monotonous trance under a mountain of papers, and dream of learning about medicine. Just an hour or two to let myself by hypnotized like days gone by.

How things change.

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