It always takes my breath away for a moment, stepping out of the walkway and into the bright sun, when the expanse of perfect green opens its arms and welcomes me home. The team, well, it's bad to the point of depressing the eternally optimistic/drunk, but the building, even with its uncomfortable seats, creaky scaffolds, and troughs for washrooms, is still charmed.

I've been spending this week doing exactly nothing and it has been lovely. No plans, no schedule, not giving the alarm clock even a cursory look - it's been good, just what I needed.

My sister is off to Italy for her one-year anniversary and it reminded me how hectic things were around this time last year. This year, I'm relaxing, slowly getting ready for the start of research, and visiting the loved ones to whom I never did get to say goodbye. The grass was just as lush, and the arms were just as open.

Many of the nurses at Weiss are young and nice and attractive, but my favorite was Cynthia, who was not particularly young nor spectacularly attractive. Cynthia was the first ICU nurse at Weiss that I got to know last year. She was quick with a laugh and a hearty, "Hello, young man!" and made me feel comfortable even when taking care of sick post-op CABG patients. She was the first one to welcome me back this year, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary for the first month or so. I hadn't seen her around for the last few weeks, even though we had had a couple of heart patients during that time, but I'd just assumed that she was on vacation or something.

After I came out of the last case today, Aisha told me that there was some pizza in the resident room. I asked her where she got it, and she told me that, Pat, one of the nurse practitioners, brought it to try to cheer everyone up after the news of Cynthia's passing.

"What?"

A few weeks ago, Cynthia was diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer. It progressed quickly and word came that she died today.

The patient population at Weiss is heavy with older nursing home types, so chronic illness, hospice, and death are fairly common issues, but this...

Cynthia, now who is going to take care of all the broken hearts you left?

Weiss is a strange place. It's a private hospital with private attendings and their quirks. Dr. T and Dr. D have dueling shirts down to their navels, gold chains, and a pheromonal cologne/pelvic walk. Dr. Z has a perpetual tan and no filter between his brain and mouth, and everyone loves him for it. Dr. C fixes hearts and lungs, but could probably sell ice to Eskimos. It's a different world. It's been interesting, but I won't mind finishing up the rotation this week and starting to get ready for research.

This rotation has been exhausting recently, and it's mostly due to being the senior resident on the service and having to deal with a rather emotionally volatile group of med students and junior residents. Managing the personalities has been much more difficult than managing, oh, I don't know, the patients. Anyway, things seem to have settled down a bit as the rotation draws to a close. Or perhaps I don't care as much anymore. Either one works for me.

Last week, after the night of debauchery that was our residency graduation dinner, I decided that I needed to get myself back together. And I am starting to slowly, and sometimes fitfully, reconstruct my character and my being. I think I've been here before, but better to risk falling again than never rising up.

Aisha, the second-year resident, is the same one who was on this rotation with me last year and nearly shamed me into becoming a better doctor. She is also doing research this coming year and she said that she is looking forward to having time off so that she can travel, relax, and work on different aspects of her life: intellectual, physical, spiritual, etc. So yet again, I'm almost inspired to do the same, but not quite.

Things of mine currently gathering dust: any and all books, guitar, soul.

Things of mine getting semi/regular use: computer, various exercise equipment, liver, id.

I've spent the last month working, going out with coworkers, meeting up with random people, and generally living without any focus. It bothers me, but only in a vaguely subconscious sort of way. I seem to remember something about a message in a bottle, and for some reason it makes me want to cry.