So, not to get all psychologically insightful and heavy today, but I have this habit of falling for people in the medical profession. More specifically, my heart does back flips for those doctor-in-training types — interns, residents, fellows, etc — who are poised to be the future of modern medicine. It’s getting quite bad, this tendency of mine. I hesitate to call it an obsession, but really, maybe I should just come right out and be honest about it all. Because, if I am being honest, this habit is nothing new, like a new rash you discover one morning when you wake up and can’t remember just how you got it. On the contrary, I know EXACTLY how I got this “disease” and it’s been years in the making.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved the hospital — you probably already know that, right? Anyway, those white, hallowed halls were my happy place, the place where I felt at once safe and protected; it’s ironic, I suppose, seeing as how my hospital stays were typically some of my most unhealthy times, but apparently, I never felt better.
And, something tells me that my comfort in an otherwise scary place can only be attributed to those would-be doctors in their doctorly lab coats. Picture it: I’m lying in bed (and no, this is not the start of a dime-store romance novel…), usually asleep or watching some mindless daytime TV, when I hear the familiar pitter-patter of feet and overhear the hushed conversations. Then, like angels rising from the mist, there they were. They were like Greek gods coming down from Mount Olympus — make no mistake here, for I am most certainly NOT exaggerating about this.
There was the group that followed my orthopedic surgeon on his rounds, some of them furiously taking notes while others simply looked on and tried to soak it all in. There was the medical resident who assuaged all my fears when I had to be rushed to Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago in 2002 after I had an allergic reaction to medicine. When my heart began pounding, I didn’t know if it was because of the allergic reaction or because of his intoxicating charms. And then there was also the resident who I met when I was 13 and in the hospital for my brain surgery. I needed an MRI and remember being scared and anxious. He stayed with me during the entire procedure, and, well, needless to say, my fears quickly fell away.
Now, like I said, the psychological reason behind my love is pretty obvious. This is all a typical case of transference. After all, it doesn’t take Freud to figure out what all these medical residents have symbolized to me over the years. They were the big, bad superheros with the medical know-how and gadgets to fix everything and make it all better; sometimes, I even imagined their lab coats were their capes that blew in the wind behind them as they hurriedly marched down those hospital corridors with the utmost sense of purpose. I saw them in this soothing, caretaker role and couldn’t help but marvel at their gentleness and genuineness — people bright-eyed and yet to be jaded from the stress that comes with years of practicing medicine.
Plus, let’s not discount their sexy brains, which is what really got me in the end. They attracted me faster than an ant to a Snickers bar on a hot summer day, and I wanted to bottle up all that hot, sexy brain essence and save it for a rainy day.
Looking back, I suppose I have a lot to thank those medical residents for. They swooped in right when I needed them, superhero capes and all, and helped me get through some of the toughest times in my life. And here’s to the doctors of tomorrow — stay smart for me and never forget the importance of a calming bedside manner! xoxo
P.S. Oh, and don’t even get me started on my deep, deep love for the men on Grey’s Anatomy. Combine my love of fictional characters with the fact that these fictional characters are doctors, and, well, just watch my heart explode like a stick of dynamite! Owen! Sloan! Karev! Avery! BE STILL MY HEART!!! 🙂
[Photos via We Heart It]