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Glasses on open book.

A Sign of Unsatisfaction

Twice a day, I walk past a hospital. It’s large, blue and pretty hard to miss. And as I walk toward it in my dress clothes and with my backpack, I wonder what people driving by are thinking. Do they think I’m a Med student? Do they think I’m going to walk in, slip into my white coat and start saving lives? Or are they thinking, “Oh crap! I almost hit that girl!”

But for those first 15 minutes of my walk, I get to pretend. Pretend that I am someone of importance and intelligence. Someone who has patients and responsibilities and who knows how to open a chest cavity with a scalpel. And then I pass the last block containing hospital buildings and the illusion breaks. My pretend bubble of having multiple medical degrees bursts and I am back to being a BA loser. (Bachelor of Arts not bad ass. just so we are all clear.)

Here is where the mind thinking kicks in. “How come I’m not a doctor? Have I wasted my life watching TV, writing nonsense and reading biographies? I’ve got potential. I could be so much more…” And while I work for this hospital, I don’t work at it. I’m not a doctor. I’m not a nurse. I’m not saving lives or curing cancers or sewing in stitches. I’m sitting at a desk trying to think of a way to make bariatric surgery seem exciting.

But then the second round of thinking kicks in. “You don’t want to be responsible for someone else’s life. You don’t want to have to scrub blood out of your clothes on a daily basis and have nightmares about what the inside of the human body really looks like.” So while being a doctor will never not sound cool. It’s not for me. And that’s okay. But neither is medical copywriting. And that’s okay too. I’ll just keep walking down the sidewalk looking for my next career opportunity.

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