This question was asked of me yesterday night. It was the most loaded question I've been asked. Add in the fact that a complete stranger posed the query and you've got a Kirsten ruminating on it every free moment.
First, a quick catch-up. Surgery went well in that I survived, got along well with everybody, and did what they needed me to do. Surgery did not go well in that I didn't get to spend nearly as much time in the OR as I wanted to. I was only able to assist on two cases. Both in the middle of the night during a call shift. As you may know, I love surgery, specifically being in the OR. It's a great way to shut off the personality part of my brain, and turn on the "mechanic" in me. In med school, I was told by surgeons and internists that I'd make a great surgeon because I can be cool-headed, calculated, and succinct. Of course, I was also told by family physicians and patients that I'd make a great family doc because I'm charming, disarming, and articulate. From all that, I figured that meant I'm adaptable to what individuals need and respond to best. Regardless, surgery was my second in line to family medicine. So my lack of OR time pissed me off, and I tactfully expressed my disappointment in my official evaluation of the service. The day after I submitted my eval, I received an email from my program coordinator asking if she could share my eval with faculty as it was definitive proof that the surgery service wasn't meeting the requirements of our residency. This was then followed up with a class meeting with our entire faculty to hash out what the future of the surgery rotation would be in our program. Who knew I could be such a shit stirrer?
After surgery, we had a week-long conference where I was able to see old preceptors, learn new guidelines, and catch up on sleep. I had at least one night when I slept 12 hours solid. After the conference, I started an elective at a community health clinic that serves marginalized populations. Twice a week, I would work in the transgender clinic and the other days were a mix of general practice and addiction medicine. I chose this elective specifically to learn about transgender and addiction medicine and I was not disappointed. The doctors there are amazing, proficient, professional, and personable in a way that gains the trust of the patient which is so important given that you're serving someone who has been disregarded and stigmatized by the large majority (regardless of how liberal or progressive the Lower Mainland is).
Maybe it was due to being in the elective that when I was surprisingly asked to return to my old home church in North Delta to lead music at an event, that I felt inspired to recruit a team consisting of those disconnected from the church as well, the somewhat forgotten. It was also an opportunity to catch up with women whom I dearly love but haven't been able to see with any regularity. All were women that I'd played/sang with before, but never all of them together at the same time. Gathering for practice and the event was a wonderful experience that reminded me of how awesome they are as individuals, added with the joy of witnessing them discover the awesomeness in each other. I love my friends, but there are few things that make my heart warm as much as seeing a friend discover the greatness in my other friend. It reminds me of the time my Island family got to know Genny and how happy I was to see them appreciate the same things I love about her, and vice versa. These women have such full tender hearts that have embraced me in my vulnerable moments and their candor in return has always been unprovoked and therefore truly cherished. I cannot think of a time when I've had a conversation with any of them and been left in wanting or feeling like they were guarded. When we sat down after playing our last song at the end of an evening filled with belly, eye-watering laughs around our table, I shared a moment with one of my dear friends that consisted of a look of bittersweet recognition that our souls had been filled by this adventure but longed for it to last beyond that night. It's those moments when I wish I could throw off all my responsibilities and simply be with them, to rest and soak in the goodness and not worry about the rest of the world. But life is hard and full of "stuff" and we leave with the best intentions of carrying on some of the magic we had the privilege to create.
The event officially ended and as I tore down the sound equipment, I took notice of an older woman with a labored gait winding her way through the emptying tables toward the stage where I was wrapping cords. She signaled toward me, and I made my way down the stairs to meet her on the floor.
"Are you as peaceful as you appear to be?"
"Wow, that is a great question!"
"I ask because as I was watching you on stage tonight, you seemed so peaceful and it moved me." tears forming in her eyes "I appreciated what you said tonight and wanted to at least talk to you" (despite being recruited to just provide musical entertainment - I made some comments pertaining to God seeing our inherent worth and being redeemable as we are despite being so broken)
"Well thank you for the kind words. My name is Kirsten"
We exchanged names, she introduced me to her daughter, and then we hugged.
Am I as peaceful as I appear to be? The short answer is no. The long answer is yes. In the narrow mind existence, I carry anxiety. Heck, the band spent 10 minutes in a private room deep breathing and praying away our nerves before the event started. Nerves not about our ability to sing or play well, but nerves about the people we'd see and the probing personal questions we'd face during the interactive times. I was nervous for myself and for my band mates. I was far from peaceful in preparing for this event. In the day to day of practicing medicine, when I'm faced with a problem I haven't got the slightest clue as to what's going on and the patients ask, I have to overcome an intense anxiety in order to muster the words "I don't know". I'm told it'll get easier, and patients will appreciate the honesty, but it feels like I have to summit a surprisingly high ego mountain every time.
In the big picture existence, I am at peace and can confidently say I've been that way for years. I've always known I can hold my future with open hands while still tenaciously pursuing goals. I've said for a while that I know wherever I end up, it will be where God can use me the most and thus where I will be the most joyful. I do struggle with uncertain waiting periods and so admittedly, this year was incredibly reassuring that medicine is where I will most likely be. But should my career end tomorrow, I can move on knowing I didn't waste my time. I know I have dedicated a substantial amount of energy into people and being something good in their lives. People who I've mentored in church and now people through medicine. While the transition of focus is taking some time to get used to, given the necessity of sterility in medicine (can't evangelize due to ethical reasons), the conviction still remains. And yes, it has been a frustrating confusing process of trying to figure out how to maintain my integrity as a Christian in my residency, I'm happy that it's still something I've deemed worthy to work on. I know I've been stagnant in my faith and the motivation to dig into the Word is hard to come by, but I'm at peace knowing my foundation is solid and subsequently, so is my future.
