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I have heard through the grapevine that certain people are not so interested in reading what I write here because it is, and I quote, "too sad."

It's never occurred to me that my job is especially sad. Yes, I'm surrounded by sick people, and yes, most cheese danish to be found in our hospital is abysmal. But by this point, most of my colleagues and I have created so much distance between ourselves and our patients that it takes a lot to really make us feel sad about our work. Plus, we can always bring in danish from outside the hospital.

With the exception of the occasional paperwork nightmares and especially sleep-deprived days, I often have a lot of fun at work. There are just enough smart, snarky types to have a good verbal tussle with here and there, and it's really fun to solve problems, both logistic and medical. If I stay focused on my own tiny little world, it's possible to actually feel effective on a near-daily basis, which is really the foundation of job satisfaction.

If you want real human tragedy, consider that at 5:45 a.m. today, I was tugging at a grey hair I'd spotted in a hospital bathroom mirror, thinking, "How did I get this old?" then, "When was the last time I went on a date?" then, "Who wants to date people who have to be in the hospital at 5:45 a.m.?"

When I get sad about my work, it's usually because I grieve my independence, my free time, my mobility, my old hobbies and dreams, and what's left of my youth. I can separate myself from someone else's illness enough to maintain an even emotional keel, but I have trouble avoiding the occasional sense that my patients aren't the only ones wasting away.