As it happens, I got my first work text of the morning while I was still brushing my teeth. My resident for the week had a dying patient who was new to both of us. I rushed in, but the patient passed before I got to meet him. All I knew about him was handed over to me from the attending who had cared for him the previous day.

The previous day.

The previous day started out okay enough. Andy went to see his ailing mother, my girls’ Nana, in the hospital and I dropped the girls off at a friend’s house. It was above freezing and the bright sun reflecting off the snow foreshadowed summer. I went for a run, a long slog on uneven, slippery terrain with no black pavement showing through. Nana was sick, not just sick, but sick-sick, that sense we spend years cultivating in medical school and residency.   My quads burning, I pushed myself to keep running past that thought. I felt revived by the cold brightness, the dense white slush on the ground. I was thankful to be alive, to have strength and balance and health.

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