There is an FY1 at my job who I’ve worked with only once, when we happened to share a week of night shifts that were mostly characterised by me getting to know the person carrying the ICU on call bleep better than either she or I would have liked. My whole week was picking up notes / answering bleeps / walking into rooms and discovering that I had happened upon a disaster. And because we have only worked together that one time, I feel like the overwhelming impression I left upon this FY1 was of a scrub-wearing Malcolm Tucker on an exceptionally bad day.
This past year has been a little bit like that, some days.
It had — as was written truthfully in a birthday card today — its moments.
But I think when I remember the year that marked this new decade, the bits that I am going to remember most of all won’t be those bits. This year has also been about starting CMT and finally deciding which bit of medicine I love above all the other bits that I also not-so-secretly love, and about learning more than I thought I would and (mostly) coping with things that scared me. It has been about wonderful colleagues, and, in an every cloud having a silver lining kind of a way, about seeing the mighty dragon that is the NHS stand up and roar. I’ll remember a gorgeous day in Brighton when I learned just how far I can stubborn in pursuit of a medal and a plate of chips. I’ll remember the parts of the world became a fairer and more just place, and I’ll remember a bright afternoon in June when my church said that it wanted to be part of that.
It has been about all of those things and more, and in many ways it has been about the work that has yet to be done.
It has been about friendship, and joy, and adventures, and laughing until it hurts.
Today, I did nothing particularly special. I spent my day with myself and then with people who I love. I woke up early, with no alarm clock. I went for a run in the afternoon sunshine. I read books and listened to radio comedy and played with yarn.
I’ve been thinking about a sixteen year old Beth, and about how I couldn’t even begin to explain what her life is going to look like this side of the next half of it. That it doesn’t get better, it gets fantastic. I turned 31 today, and my life is a little bit wonderful.