I dreamt that K-S- died. In the dream, he had gotten sick quite unexpectedly last week and passed away yesterday, at an age you consider old if you are a kid and young if you are a doctor. Mid-forties, fifties. A very unspecific death for a very unspecific person in my life, but waking up I felt it perfidiously set the tone for my weeks to come.
Tomorrow I will start my work at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world. Stroke unit. Two hours ago I dug out my stethoscope and my reflex hammer out of the silver dresser’s bottom drawer, where they hid between long expired aspirins and emergency-bought condoms. I have not touched them since my state examination seven months ago, but now their sight made me feel utterly inadequate – as if the patients would not see through those accessories! As if my little tools would help me remember the dosage of urapidil or the aspects of a Millard-Gubler syndrome!
Will keep track of patients calling me “nurse”.
I hope for better dreams tonight. Or any sleep at all, for that matter.
are we winning? 