Sometimes I hate being right

Sometimes I hate being right. 

You work in medicine long enough you get a little pessimistic about outcomes. It just comes with the territory.  You start to see signs and patterns. You begin to know the probabilities. 

The more pieces of the puzzle you get the more you can predict the outcomes.

Professionally it's needed. It's an asset. You can be a couple steps ahead. You can anticipate what supplies and resources you need. You can run scenarios and skills through your head.

The team comes together. And you do your job. 

It's part of the detachment that carries you through, day to day. Regardless of outcome. 

It works great. 

Until.

Someone you care about get's sick.

Then you hate what you know. You hate the way you see the patterns. You hate where your mind races off too.

You do the opposite. You try to sit. Stop time. Until you know enough to have hope again. 

You race through the stages of grief in hours.

You can't burden the person in the bed with what you know. You don't know how to answer the questions over the phone and bedside. You know more than them. But you don't know enough to have the answers yet.

But your mind will race whether you want it to or not. You know where the resources are. Do you look or not this time? It's harder now than it was when you yourself got sick. 

So you wait. You try to unlearn everything you know. You try to find quiet. You cry in the shower. You wait. 

And you get answers. They aren't as bad as they could be. But sometimes you hate being right. I know I do. 

But I smile, I stand up, I call, I hold hands. And I breathe. It's the best I can do.