It’s been a while, and yes, life has happened: loudly, unexpectedly, and all at once. I’ve finished residency training and now serve as chief of our department. If you’re into Grey’s Anatomy, think Miranda Bailey, but quieter, less dramatic, and with fewer monologues. I’m also wrapping up the final exams for my specialty.
This morning, a holiday no less, I woke up on my office couch. Last night was a Halloween party, but the workaholic in me dragged myself back to finish admin tasks; hence, the office sleepover. What truly kept me there, though, was a psychological exam I took four years ago before residency. While rummaging for old files, I stumbled upon it. And just like that, I was up until 3 a.m., bothered and deep in a Google rabbit hole.
Diagnosis: schizoid personality disorder. Traits? Avoidant, introverted, emotionally detached—but creative. Apparently, what keeps me functional is an unusually high coping ability score. Comforting, I guess.
I woke at 8 a.m. with a stomach on fire: stress-induced reflux, my old friend. Starving and slightly existential, I decided to treat myself to breakfast somewhere quiet before heading to the gym. The introvert in me craved solitude, so I chose a French café, imagining cozy corners and soft accordion music. It was a holiday, after all, most city dwellers were away, and I hoped the people I knew were too.
The café was perfect. Nearly empty. Just two strangers sipping coffee. The scent of espresso welcomed me as I claimed a corner table, ready to bask in silence. I ordered, exhaled, and began to settle in.
Then the door chimed.
A junior surgeon walked in, one of ours, trailing another. I shrank deeper into my corner, avoiding eye contact like a ninja in scrubs. Crisis averted.
Then the door chimed again.
More surgeons. They extended their table. Took the extra chair from mine. Their table now faced mine directly. Minutes later, the chief resident of surgery entered, spotted me, and invited me to join. My perfect me-time was officially dead.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, two of my junior residents in anesthesia walked in and sat beside me. Internally, I was screaming: Why is everyone here? It’s a holiday! Shouldn’t you be in the cemetery or something?!
All I wanted was coffee, a crepe, and a quiet moment to appreciate the rainy morning. Instead, I got a full-blown hospital reunion. The chatter, the socializing—it drained me. Thoroughly.
So I skipped the gym and went home. Another day gone. Tsk. The introvert’s eternal struggle.
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