Again, so annoyed and frustrated I can’t talk. What’s especially bad is that the rest of the trauma ICU knows it: the nurses are commiserating with me (which I shouldn’t let it get to that point), the rest of the residents are teasing me, and so far the attending thinks it’s funny that I’m nearly biting my nails off, and literally pacing the halls in frustration as he spends half an hour rounding on each patient. I simply cannot stand still and think about one thing for that long.

It’s a different attending these couple of days. He’s a nice enough person, but he’s so slooowww. . . It feels like nails grating on a chalkboard. And I feel guilty, because he’s being thorough, and an extremely good doctor – but I wish he would delegate some of this to me (place this feeding tube; change that line; check on this, check on that) rather than doing everything himself, while we all watch him, forever.

I went into surgery in order to avoid having to do the same thing for more than ten minutes in a row. I can’t even study for more than fifteen minutes, without taking a break – at least into a different textbook, if not into a different subject, or even a novel for five minutes. I can think about the same patient in my own head for maybe ten minutes, max, if they’re really sick or complicated. After that, I go on to another patient, and come back later if there’s still something to be dealt with. Definitely a failure of concentration or commitment or responsibility on my part, but I get bored too easily, and then just staring at the same thing doesn’t do anybody any good.

So this month is just torture for me. Even on other services, rounding for two hours, at least we were covering thirty patients, and kept moving. This infinitesimal progress – eight hours for sixteen or twenty patients – is unbelievable.

I got in the OR today, I did a Swan, I placed a couple feeding tubes, and did other hands-on things, but they were so interspersed in the interminal rounding that I got almost no satisfaction from them.

Three weeks left in July. You would think I could survive an ICU for three weeks, maybe. If I stop blogging, you’ll know it’s because I started climbing the walls and they admitted me to the psych ward. Maybe coloring the walls red and purple; that might be more fun.

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