The only car left in the parking lot. Again. A shiny, blue vessel adrift in a sea of black asphalt and bright halogen lights. I sigh, knowing this means that I still have not mastered how to get my notes done efficiently. That I have missed dinner and bath time and bedtime with my kids, that although I really would like to find the time and energy to reconnect with my wife, I will likely have neither. I know what I need to do, but I can't. I just...can't. I can't do what I want to do. I can't even do what I need to do. Even worse, I am mean. I am curt with my wife when she tries to help. I yell at my kids. Even with my patients, the last bastion where I've been able to mete out compassion and concern, I find myself adrift. I am failing. As a husband. As a father. As a doctor.
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Sengupta S. Rebuilding More of Me. JAMA. 2019;321(12):1159–1160. doi:10.1001/jama.2019.2137
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