I spend most of my time around corpses. I wear a long sleeve shirt during dissection, the only one in my class, hoping that no one will figure out that I’m hiding scars. Whenever I scrub into surgery, I can feel eyes on my exposed wrist, see the nurses, senior docs and anybody else, looking at them, wondering, and I think, judging. I wonder whether a patient will trust me if they saw me in scrubs, whether somewhere down the line, a department chair would second guess me, if/when they knew/know that I tried to kill myself.
I can live with all that. I tried to […]