It feels so strange to sign out with the third year residents. Last year they were my juniors, I tried to do everything the way they wanted it, and looked up to them so much. Now, we’re almost equals, the way this hierarchy works. Of course the attendings have a higher regard for them than for the new 2nd years, but we’re nearly equal when it comes to the authority structure and case distribution. And they generously treat us as true colleagues, as well. Still strange.

I’ve lost my sense of time. For the last year, I was waiting for the end of internship. Every week or so, I’d count up again how many months were left. Lately, I was counting the days. I would have been counting hours, but by the end of trauma, I didn’t have enough brain cells left to be able to multiply by 24. And now here I am. Simply by virtue of having survived, it seems, I’ve moved on to the next level. I’ve hoped for this for so long, right now I have no ambition left. This was the height of my dreams, to be really a surgery resident, not just an intern on probation.

Rounding now is a breeze. By the end of June, I was rounding on nearly twenty ICU patients in less than two hours. Now, two ICU patients and a handful of floor patients seems like nothing. A note here, a note there, no rush. June was a baptism by fire, but it worked.

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