Day Zero

Today was a very strange day.

I've been planning my sabbatical for a few months now, knowing it was coming, making plans for its activities,... Even sometimes viciously thinking, "Well I won't have to put up with THIS again for another couple months!" during particularly trying work crises.

In fact, I'd go so far as to say this morning, my last workday before the start of my sabbatical, I found myself nearly giddy at its imminent arrival, merely twelve hours from where I was standing. It was really here! I'm really going to work today, then not again until October. In between, I'm going to Austria, and Turkey, and Iceland (ICELAND! I always forget to mention Iceland!). I'm going to read and cook and drink and exercise and learn a new language and relax and meditate.... (OK, I probably won't actually meditate, but I'll think a lot about how good that would be for me, sort of meditating about meditating. That counts, right?)

 

Then I got to work, and Work took over. Sick sick sick dogs and cats in the hospital this morning. In particular, a tragic case of a strapping young Labrador who suffered heat stroke nearly to the point of death, and there she has hovered for days. All of our crystal balls broken, none of us didn't beat ourselves bloody struggling to keep her out of the clutches of the Reaper, who sat quietly outside her cage, reading a magazine, biding his time.

We watched her struggle and fight, as well. Never did she not wag her tail.

We lost, and the Reaper took his prize and went on his way while we all wept in his wake.

... Then the Reaper revisited twice more today. -- No, I thought, I won't miss this at all.

Of course, there's always comic relief, like the woman who insisted on being seen for her "emergency" (I had a no-show appointment, so why not?) then refused to give me any information about her pet's symptoms, condition, history, she just sat and glared at me. The Brits have that one down: Nutter.

And then people started saying the nicest things to me. Clients. Staff. Other docs. I know this is more than a little self-serving and pathetic, and I do feel a little like Sally Field:

("You really like me!!")

It seems everyone wanted a promise I would be coming back and not run away forever. Face it, it's good to be wanted. Maybe everyone should go on sabbatical once in a while just so we all have a good excuse to say nice things to each other without sounding sappy.

Next thing you know, it's quittin' time: 6:30pm. Here comes the night doctor, so I can go home.

And it hits me, all at once. I'm going home now... until October. Before I come back, I will have gone to the state fair, Labor Day will have come and gone, the leaves will have fallen off the trees, it will be nearly Halloween, it may have snowed!

And I'm surprised to find myself a little dizzy, even a little nauseous. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to find myself staring a sign:

I can't believe it. I didn't know. I really didn't know until just this minute. I'm gonna miss being at work! -- When did that fucking happen?? For months (years?) now, I've been struggling with the "Am I happy?" question, and it turns out the answer, at least on some level, appears to be Yes.

I felt strangely nostalgic and sad as I watched the flow of the clinic go on around me: In one corner, the techs are wrangling a very large and tweaking Shepherd, while the phones ring off the hook, and prescriptions are filled. Emergencies are triaged, doctors and techs shout orders (and the occasional bawdy joke) across the room at one another. All with love, all in good fun (... I think...) There's even a new tech who just started, and she seems so great that, on her first day, I'm already sad I won't be working with her again until October.

There's a sense of rhythm and understanding and compassion and frustration and excitement and humor and ... (nope, I'm not gonna say, cuz that's not who I am) ... that make up our dysfunctional little family.

Somewhat lost, I gaze around at the hubbub and do the only thing I can do: I walk out the door, get in my car and drive home.

And at my home, I am greeted by these wet and stinky beasts:

And then I forget that I was sad, but I remember that I was happy. And so I am already on my quest to rediscover myself.