It is what people do.
There’s a question I ask of myself daily, so an affirmation, if you will. How much do I miss my old work in the orthopaedic department? Not in the slightest is my first thought but of course it’s never as plain sailing as our first thoughts try and trick us into believeing.
I miss a few things.
I do actually miss the silly rules imposed by self important operating theatre staff but only because they made me laugh.
I miss the banter in the kitchen when I would go to make my third or fourth cafetière of coffee of the day. Someone would always tell me that they loved the smell, but no, they couldn’t possibly have a sneaky cup as it wasn’t their coffee break time. It wasn’t mine either but fuck it.
I miss the frivolous daily struggles of the tea room, the biscuit calorie counting and the gossip and the laughter, sometimes only moments after serious life changing operations or events, because that’s what medical people do. I miss the people.
I even miss some of the other doctors. Writing is solitary and self indulgent. It is not immediately rewarded in the bank balance, though that’s coming. It’s not easy to explain, even to myself but it carries with it an enormous amount of hope and optimism and a big dose of guilt in equal measure. Coffee anyone?