It's a wierd feeling to ponder the trepidation with which I approached call before Medicine month. Now I feel like I could handle any problem on the floors. In the beginning I called my seniors to check everything; now my seniors call me to see if I'm still alive because they haven't heard from me in hours. It's been intense. I've cried many times. Sometimes from frustration, but more often tears were shed with patients, knowing that I had helped them or that I could, even if it was only making their death comfortable and with dignity. Medicine isn't just a lot of hours, it's a lot of heart, for to be a good doctor you must emotionally invest in your patients at least enough to care about their lives, for they are in your hands. I'm glad though for the repreve of going home and forgetting about work. I try, and am mostly successful I think, to leave work behind when I leave. I've never cried about work at home. I mostly just try not to think about it too much. Fortunately there are plenty of distractions, with Anna and her hyper-active dog, Montana, always ready for a run or a hug or a dog pile.