For the past week, I have been operating on a steady stream of adrenaline. It all started last Friday night when we were knee-deep in last minute packing till 4 in the morning. The removalists arrived at 7.30am, sharp. Boxes upon boxes were being stacked into the truck that seemed so huge and so infinite in its storage capacity. My neighbour's 6 and 9 year old girls ran over and gave us a hug before rushing back into the house to change out of their pyjamas. When they stepped out again in their summer frocks, we'd said goodbye to almost all of our neighbours, including jolly old Mr and Mrs P across the street, who gave us a bag of home-grown tomatoes and a bouquet of flowers and told us to come back next year. We will, we promised, provided I passed yet another lot of exams at the end of the year.
We chugged along the freeway to our new house, and I chugged along the week in my sleep-deprived state, fuelling my consciousness with mugs upon mugs of coffee so that I'd be able to concentrate on work. Yesterday was my last day, which meant I had trudged through the week with enough caffeine and adrenaline to keep me awake and alive till I crashed out on the couch-- or bed, whichever came first.
I have worked in this place for 2 years, which is the longest I've been in a vicinity. Now, as history would repeat itself so frequently in my career, I have moved on again. I don't know what to expect in this new place because I don't have much experience in this area of medicine. I sometimes wished I had never put in the application for this job, because although I try to live spontaneously, I am also afraid of change. I am used to where I worked. I have a comfort zone surrounded by a bunch of amazingly supportive co-workers, and I have a cluster of patients whom I enjoy looking after, so life was good. Yet life was also mundane at times, so while I was afraid of change, I was also looking forward to change. Amidst boxes upon boxes of household items and clinical folders, this was how I found myself-- sleepless and restless from all the packing and unpacking.
Sometimes I marvel at my own atrocity. Is it the audacity of youth, or the paucity of wisdom, that keeps me going?