…while you are making plans for what you wanted to do. And somehow, the plans don’t match what actually rolls down the pike.
Today is the day I say farewell to the best job I’ve ever had, the one that I thought I’d have until my working days were done. Today is the day I close the door on the career that I worked 14 years to get to the point of starting, and then only spent 10 years actually doing. Today is the day I walk away from working with some of the best friends I’ve ever had the chance to work with, some of the best physicians and nurses I’ve had the honor to work alongside.
Today is the day I start rewriting my life. With tears in my eyes and rolling down my cheeks.
For the past 18 months, I’ve been battling some wicked crazy symptoms, including losing most of my hearing, a rash that resulted in my hands and feet peeling so deep I lost my fingerprints and all of my calluses, worsening arthritis, and vertigo that randomly comes and goes almost daily. I’ve been on high-dose steroids for most of a year. I’ve been on chemo. I’ll probably remain on immunosuppressants for the rest of my life. And because of all of this, I can no longer safely treat the patients I spent so many years learning to take care of.
I have plans. I’ve been working out where my feet will lead me in the next few months and years. I’m excited about the possibilities. But today is for mourning what I’ve lost.