Letter 39: Time Will Tell
Letter 39: Time Will Tell
When we seek answers
Happy Wednesday, readers!
It may be a byproduct of this phase of life, but my friends and I often find ourselves returning to discussions centered around our identities as women and how our careers, roles as mothers, and intended future plans (among other things) play into those identities. How we are defined by these aspects of our lives and how they shape our sense of value and purpose can be gray-area zones for us.
And as she typically does so well, Emily Fleming dips her toe into this pool of ambiguity in today’s letter. Finding some semblance of balance when between two worlds, as a Chief Resident and soon-to-be mother, Emily was confronted with big questions about her own identity with her first pregnancy. And now, as an ER doctor on the front lines for two years during covid, Emily returns to these same questions, teetering between self-preservation and a fulfilling, sustainable career as a doctor. —Molly
“Keep taking time for yourself until you’re you again.”
Lalah Delia
Early in my final year of residency in Emergency Medicine, I got pregnant with our first baby. A week after I assumed my responsibilities as Chief Resident, I went into my OB’s office for a routine appointment. When asked, I mentioned to her that I had been experiencing some pelvic pressure, figuring I’d be told there was nothing to worry about. Long hours on my feet, running around an ER; surely it was to be expected. She did an ultrasound, took some measurements, and told me to take it easy and come back in 24 hours for a repeat exam.
I went back to her office the next day and didn’t walk out of the hospital again for nearly a month.
The pressure I had been experiencing was apparently preterm labor and I was placed on inpatient bed rest. The expectation was that I would remain on bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy. My 24-week baby girl was still safe in utero, and every precaution was taken to make sure she stayed there.
To this day, it is still bewildering to me how quickly my entire personhood was reduced to being a human incubator. Everyone I knew—my doctor, my friends, my family, my program leadership—said the same thing: you have to do this, and she is worth it. I knew they were right, but inside I was screaming. My work mattered deeply to me, and now I was expected to set it aside…and sit.
I ended up spending four weeks in the hospital before they let me go home and finish out the remainder of my 12 weeks of bed rest in my own bed.
It was a deeply philosophical season of life for me. I remember feeling so lost. I had worked so hard to become a doctor, and I knew I also wanted children. I felt betrayed by my own body for failing to allow me to do both. I loved practicing medicine, and it shaped so much of my identity. I didn’t really know who I was when I wasn’t filling that role. I remember secretly wondering if motherhood would be as fulfilling for me as everyone told me it would be. What if I didn’t feel like it was worth it? It felt like an incredibly selfish and unpopular question to ask; I only voiced it to the friends I knew I could trust not to hate me for daring to do so.
I remember being furious with my husband for letting Mother’s Day go by unacknowledged that year. He argued that I was not yet a mother, since our baby had not yet been born. He quickly recognized his critical error after I spat back irately, “Then what the hell have I been doing all these weeks, if not mothering?!” It was a strange time of limbo, trying to embrace my role as a mother, without having a baby to embrace.
My body was changing in ways that were both magical and incredibly weird. I didn’t recognize myself: not when I looked in the mirror, and not when I looked inward. I had to uncouple my sense of self from my accomplishments while sharing my body with a very active baby. It was a remarkably uncomfortable time of transformation.
Laughably, after all that bedrest, our baby girl was born healthy at 39 weeks. Motherhood was a lot harder than I’d anticipated, but I found it more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. I finally finished residency, passed my board exams, and settled into a new role as an attending physician. With time, I began to feel like myself again. A new version of myself, but still me.
Lately, I’ve been feeling untethered again.
Of all the challenges I have faced as an emergency physician weathering this pandemic, the loss of my sense of self has been the most difficult to swallow. Connecting with my patients is the most rewarding piece of my job, but lately that degree of empathy has come with a price. I have carried the weight of my patients’ suffering and felt things far too deeply for my own good. As a result, I often walk away from the hospital feeling like an empty shell of a human being. It can take days before I begin to see the light come back into my eyes.
I’ve spent an inordinate amount of energy (and hours in therapy) trying to figure out how to continue practicing medicine without it taking such a toll on my mental health. Distilling down the facets of my work that give me purpose and fulfillment has helped direct me toward a more sustainable approach. Time will tell whether or not I’ve figured out a workable solution.
And that’s just it: I need time.
When I look back on my first pregnancy, I am struck by how many of the answers to the questions I wrestled with were revealed in time. Sure, I did plenty of soul-searching (especially considering how much time I spent just sitting around), but in looking back, maybe all the introspection just laid the groundwork for what time alone could do.
Finding peace in the journey runs counter to my nature, especially when the journey is uncomfortable. I am much more inclined to torment myself with unanswerable questions, all in the name of leading an examined life. I still believe in asking existential questions, but I’m trying to sit peacefully in the silence before the answers reveal themselves.
Five Things Emily’s Looking Forward To
As important as taking time can be, taking time off can be even more essential. Months ago, I negotiated a sabbatical with my group of work partners. I have the entire month of March off work. The list of things I’m hoping to do during this time is growing exponentially by the day. And I’m the type of person that puts “take nap” and “sit and look out the window” on a list. Without setting my expectations too high, I truly think it will be glorious.
A month ago, it was pitch dark at 5:00 p.m. Now the sun doesn’t set until after 6:00! By the time summer solstice rolls around, it’ll be staying light until nearly 11:00 p.m. up here on our latitude. The lengthening of days and rotation of seasons gives a rhythm to life that feels predictably comforting, even as it is ever-changing.
Even as I’m looking forward to spring and longer days, there is still a lot of winter left, and I am here for it. Our mountain has so many ski runs I still haven’t conquered, and there are tons of nordic skiing trails that are calling my name. Hiking in the snow also has a magical feel to it. Spring can take its time. I’m soaking up winter for as long as I can.
Santa brought me a new fly fishing rod for Christmas, and I’ve been waiting all winter to use it. Once the weather does finally warm up, I am pumped to hit the rivers and dust off my casting skills. There is something deeply spiritual about standing in a river, listening to the breeze blowing through the trees, watching a dry fly float along in a riffle, hoping for a bite.
Aside from getting to reconnect with myself during this time off, the thing I am most looking forward to is time with my family. I try hard to spend as much time as I can with my kids and my husband when I’m not at work, but it is going to feel so good to be pulled in fewer directions. We’re taking a family trip for spring break, which should be wonderful. But honestly, it’ll just be nice to have a more normal schedule and be home evenings and weekends, without having to sleep off a night shift during the day.
With gratitude,
Emily Fleming
P.S. Have you had to let something rest in order to come to terms with it? Share your thoughts with us in the comments.
Emily’s Past Letters
