Calling

I knew I was going to be a doctor from childhood.
I had the cheesy moments of "yes" - being 14 at summer camp and cleaning up another camper's shredded foot while my counsellor dry-heaved behind me. The prickle of excitement when learning the layers of anatomy. The internal laser-focus and external calm when faced with a crisis.

There was a lot of opposition from the universe. I was rejected from Canadian medical schools coast to coast, told to reapply "once I had my Masters", told to consider nursing, midwifery, to go back to Starbucks.

I moved to Australia and struggled through physical homesickness, depression and a boyfriend who told me "Doctors are the worst people - they're just scientists who want to make money..."

I still wanted to do it. Rather, I didn't want to do it, but felt compelled.

Medical school was a constant flood of deferred gratification and unnatural behaviours. I kept saying I wanted to quit, but I knew I had to finish.

I graduated from medical school in 2009. At graduation, I walked across the stage after hearing my name impressively mispronounced. I spotted my family in the audience, waving, and I grinned like an idiot. I had finally done what I needed to do.

I write this as I am about to hurl myself into another year of delayed happiness and self-selected turmoil. I am moving to Kingston to finish the training required of ER physicians. It's already affecting my relationship and my life choices for the worse. I am, once again, choosing my job over family, friends, love and happy life. I feel that I have to.

When I start a shift in ER, everything else goes away. I don't remember the fight with my partner, my Mum in hospital or my empty stomach. For better or worse, my focus is total. I can only think about the job in front of me. At the end of the shift, it all floods back and I become human again, but during the shift, I am the job. A vessel in scrubs.

If I had a choice, I think I would stop this July, be a family doctor and go about the quiet business of a comfortable life. But I can't. I'm so close, but I'm not where I need to be yet, so I keep going.

Maybe my ex was right; my Doctor life choices make me the worst kind of person, putting the job before all else. I can't stop though, so I might as well keep going.

Just keep swimming.