Just a moment

That first day in July

With what I can only accurately describe as an absolutely miraculous white coat, I entered blazing, sunny court besides the garage. Patients, physicians, and nurses seemed to slowly vibrate and swirl around me as my walk to the building seemed imperceptibly slow; like mountains or childhood. The wind flickered the heavy fabric that would be my shield (the shield is a reference to our white coat ceremony speech given by an amazing pedi surgeon).

...as for the ides?

My shield, it wears the scent of veterans, evening travails, 2am tears, and my favorite and very carefully chosen indefatigable micro ballpoint pens. It protects my path as I glide through the Commons, down the halls, and through daily allegory. Its tightly woven cotton paradoxically shines to the deepest corners of my new sense of profession and warms my clumsily honed practice of empathy.

Though at the end of the day, when I exit the building and take the same path through the court, my miraculous white coat scrubs away any (for now, gossamer or forgotten) frustration and makes indelible those reasons I deftly and delicately placed in the interior of my heart. It oddly, but perhaps appropriately, reminds me of those ubiquitous intensely sweet and glowing countenances emblazoned on new mothers that betrayed even the most pain-replete and exhausting births. Though these two weeks are but a moment, a few grains of sand in the glass, I certainly hope I can always revisit this place in time. Its bliss, its mine to share, and we're just getting started.