Count down

T-3 days and counting.  I can't wait to get out.

I've reached the point where, when I'm at the clinic, I'm watching the clock.  At 9.30 I'm thinking that it's only an hour until 10.30 at which point it'll be halfway to lunchtime, at which point the day will be half over, and when it's over I can go home.  And when I go home I get to talk to my Smaller Half, light the fire, roast chestnuts, make potato soup, go the gym, read a good book, and do all those things that I'd prefer to do pretty much anytime rather than think about medicine.  Sadly, I've reached the point where I'm feeling demoralized and disinterested.

The strange thing is that I'm still enjoying my sessions with specialists.  Even though sometimes they are quite rude to me, the thing that's different about the specialists is that they seem to have some appreciation that it's unrealistic to expect to know how to do their job so they bother to explain things to me and are generous with their time.  The GPs that I spend most of my days with, however, seem to be constantly astonished at my ignorance.  The other day I asked one of them a question and his answer was, "How long have you been here?" - his point being, presumably, that I must be a dumb lazy piece of shit or else I wouldn't have to ask that question.

The three weeks of holiday that I have coming up will be a godsend.  With a bit of luck, by the time they are over I'll be so panicked about the exams in November that I won't have time to feel all precious and fragile about jerks being rude to me.  Fingers crossed!