Staple for a struggling Cardiology fellow on a Hemody weekend: Braunwald, piles of journals to read, mountains of ECGs, a reliable computer with internet access, an endless supply of coffee, and lots and lots of patience.
It's a glorious Saturday evening. The air outside is crisp and refreshing. The moon is bright. A perfect evening to enjoy a cold glass of beer or a warm bottle of red wine, alone watching a favorite classic, or spiked with interesting conversations with a dear and trusted kindred. I gaze out the window and I see the world moving about. Tires screeching, people giggling, horns blowing, a barely audible curse from somewhere, a boisterous laugh nearby, traces of bar music from far away Malate. The world is alive. For heavens' sake, it's a Saturday night. Everybody has a reason to celebrate.
But the world is outside my window. And while the world celebrates beautiful Saturday evenings such as this, I'm locked in this tower, not by necessity but by an indirect choice, a choice made out of my own free will, an adult and sound decision that I am still firmly standing by even now. I chose this world and this world knows no Saturdays or weekends or holidays.
I'm not complaining. Who am I kidding? I love this. Work can be mighty therapeutic. Thinking, poring over difficult ECGs, anticipating the bosses' questions, solving difficult cases, learning something interesting every day - they all make this life exactly like beer. Beer is bitter, you complain and whine about it all the time, but you love it anyway, and gulp it all down, basking in immense satisfaction afterwards, missing it when it's all gone.
But during moments like these, alone in an empty conference room, I'd rather have real beer. And beer is always best drank with someone you can complain and whine to all the time and see through you anyway.
But I'm alone and there's no beer and there's no one.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But there are miles to go before I sleep, miles to go before I sleep...