Published via STAT News
It was 5 o’clock in the morning, and I entered the room of my eighth admission. A thin man was reclined in bed, a breathing tube in his mouth. His wrinkled face was blanched of all color, and his eyes seemed to stare at the ceiling — the stroke was so severe he didn’t need sedatives to keep him calm on the ventilator. The neurosurgeons had already seen him, and interventions would not help.
As a second-year resident, it was my job to quickly place the orders, do the paperwork, and prepare for another day of work. Rounds would start in two hours, and I’d already been awake for 24. My head throbbed, my back ached, and the tightness in my chest was hard to release, like the lid of a jar twisted on too tight. This was my fifth month of long shifts paired with fractured sleep, and the fatigue seemed to cling to me.
A woman sat hunched over beside the patient, holding his hand. As I neared her, she stifled a sob. “Please, save my father. He’s all I have.”
I stood there — my body near collapse — and a singular thought ran through me. I hope this doesn’t drag on forever.
Shame spiraled through me, and I hated myself for thinking it. If caring was the lifeblood of the doctor, then I was anemic.
Read the full article: https://www.statnews.com/2025/02/24/physicians-exhaustion-sleep-empathy-guilt-stories/