Today is my husband’s last day of work, and I am sitting in a nearby cafe I love - surrounded by both the green and the changing leaves. I’m thinking of some words I found on Instagram - about how we perceive trees to be the weakest during this time of year - leaves falling and branches withered. But contrary to what our eyes can see, these trees are at their strongest right now. The post reads, “Because they aren’t bearing fruit, or producing leaves, all of their energy is pushed down into the roots. What externally appears as death, is actually the catalyst for new life.”
My husband is a Podiatrist, and for some reason - it is not “normal” for doctors to take a break, even if they are financially able to. There is one “acceptable” time during which doctors are allowed to breathe: after residency. That’s it. But Amish never got that chance. He graduated in the midst of the pandemic, with zero fanfare due to social distancing. He used his few weeks “off” to plan both our engagement, and a move to Atlanta, where he would start a year-long fellowship. During that year, we planned a wedding. And when he finally finished his fellowship on a Friday, he started working full-time on a Monday.
If reading this makes your chest tighten - compound that by 1000, and (I imagine) this is how he has felt. For the past 8 years I have known him, I have watched this man I love so deeply live under this depravity we deem “normal.” Because in the medical field, it is “normal.” Until today.
Today - my husband has said no, to say yes to something different.
Today - after 4 years of medical school, 3 years of residency, 1 year of fellowship, and 2 years as a working doctor - he is taking an (unheard of) break.
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