My "Maternity Leave"

About 3 weeks after my son was born I read this post on our blog. At the time I was extremely jealous as I read about the author’s extended leave. As I began to consider my ‘maternity leave’ I realized that I could quite possibly have a truly unique situation on my hands.

I work in private practice and my husband is an amazing SAHD. We had been waiting to adopt a baby for 3 years, then one miraculous day in November we got THE call. Your baby is here… pick him up tomorrow. We were beyond excited. Wait, did you say Tomorrow? As in ‘24 hours of notice’. As in my schedule is booked solid for the next 3 months including a massive number of December surgeries. Yes! That was the big News. As I gave my office manager the wonderful news she hugged me tears streaming down her face but quickly after the congratulations was the question… what are we going to do with your schedule? Hmmm. Let me get back to you on that.

So, of course, I cancelled by patients for the next 3 months so I could bond with my child? Ummm, actually ,no.

After a couple of days I realized something… I was essentially a man here. I am the sole bread winner. I didn’t need to recover or breast feed; and there is a parent home full time with the kids. How would other men handle this? I thought of my own patients whose husbands took a week, maybe two off at the most,* when their babies were born. Being in private practice was great, I make a good living, I set my own schedule, I am my own boss….. but if I don’t work I don’t get paid**. I strongly considered taking an extended leave and taking out a loan, but realistically I wasn’t sure that was wise in this economy. Also, so many of our patient postpone surgery until they have met their deductible, that the surgery schedule in December is full. Asking my patients to see some other provider in our office for their pap smears and minor issues is one thing, but when someone is having surgery they want THEIR doctor. So this was my dilemma.

So, essentially I compromised. I took 3 weeks ‘off’ (I did run in and do a few surgeries), then worked 2 days a week for a few weeks. After a month I went to 3 days a week then returned to working 4 days a week (my usual schedule) after 6 weeks. I’ve also taken lots of other random extra days off here and there. This plus my husband home full time and several weeks with grandparents visiting has actually lead to an amazingly smooth first 6 months.

I feel extremely bonded with my son and feel this “maternity leave” was so much less stressful than my maternity leave with my older son when I was recovering from a c-section and having breastfeeding issues. My partners and nurse practitioner were wonderfully helpful in seeing my patients when I was on a reduced schedule. Luckily my son has been a good sleeper and the transition has gone quite smoothly.

I realize that a lot of women are forced to take a reduced maternity leave because of school/training and don't have the advantage of having control of their schedules. I feel lucky that mine worked out so well and my son has such an amazing dad as a primary caregiver.

*I recently had a patient schedule her c-section for a Friday so her husband could “have the weekend’ to bond with the baby?????

**My overhead is quite high. I still have to pay my employees and malpractice even when I’m not working. Taking 3 months off work would but me at least $50,000 in the hole.

Guest posts, bottling moments, and Facebook

As we wrap up reflections of this past year, I'd be remiss not to mention all the guest posts that have sent in that have become part of the fabric of our blog. I love all of these posts that give voice to this greater community --and encourage you to send yours too whenever inspiration strikes. Each guest post has been wonderful, real, authentic (26 in total just this past year!), but I think my favorite might have been this one, by neurosurgeon GCS15, writing so honestly (and heart-breakingly) about a very difficult day as part of our Topic Week on A Day in the Life. I think all of us reading could instantly understand and wanted to help, to be there to help,to help by the comments we left behind.

I guess my favorite post of my own was writing about a moment in time that I wanted to last forever. Well, I did. And I didn't. Our children grow up way too fast and I find that writing about a moment can serve to bottle that feeling to keep in your pocket and whip out at a later date (like when he's begging for the car keys to go out with friends) *hyperventilate*

Being a mother in medicine (capitalized and uncapitalized) has been so rewarding.

(Non sequitur update: As some of you know, I write humor in my spare time and, incidentally, have an op-ed in today's USA Today on why patients should not friend their doctors on Facebook. Perhaps the topic of a whole other post some other time...as would be a future post on "spare time.")

More Fun Than Playing Polo With the Duke

I hope it is not too late to toot my own horn, and say that of my own posts, I most liked the Laws of Mommodynamics. I really love it that this blog has let me pontificate, ruminate, contemplate, exasperate, adumbrate, and simply prate. I look forward to our third year--we rate!

Little Fizzy

I'm on vacation this week and have gone back "home" (when will my parents' house stop being "home"?) to give the grandparents a crack at their granddaughter and score some free babysitting. While I'm here, my mother has gently suggested that I clear some of the crap out of my old bedroom.

I won't bore you with stories of rediscovering my old sticker collection (stickers!!!) or a large bag of rocks that I've inexplicably been saving for the last two dozen years. However, there were a few (embarrassing) gems worth commenting on, in which stupid naive young Fizzy contemplated the future. The following snippet was written when I was nine years old:



I can't remember ever wanting to be a psychiatrist. Although I think the most amusing thing is that my misspelling of the word made it dangerously close to my actual specialty of physiatrist. (I had no idea what a physiatrist was when I was nine. I'm still not entirely sure.) By the way, this was what I thought a psychiatrist did:



I showed this writing assignment to my father, who commented, "See how dumb you were? Wanting to fast forward through time..." But actually, not so dumb. (And also, I predicted the plot of a future Adam Sandler movie.) In any case, I sure as hell wouldn't want to do any of that schooling over again. I'm pretty glad it's all behind me. Well, except for some parts of college. Ah, college.

Of course, I've saved the best part for last, because I just can't stop until I've completely humiliated myself:



So apparently, at nine years old, I had two goals: to get through med school to become a phy(s)iatrist and to have a daughter. Check and check.

High five, little Fizzy!

Two years and counting...

Two years? Already? I look at this number in the same way that I look at my age on my driver’s license – where did the time go?

But, unlike the grey hairs and fine lines that I see in the mirror, this blog has been a welcome addition to my life. I love knowing that I’m not along in my experiences. I love the varying viewpoints that we share. I love that I have been able to get to know such an array of women.

I would be remiss not to mention KC’s leadership through this time – this is her brainchild and I am grateful for the opportunity to help nurture and grow her idea into the success it has become (and grateful as well as her intermittent reminders about posting!).

My favorite recent post is actually the topic week* where we answered questions posed by women who are considering jumping aboard this road we’ve been traveling. I think these posts distill the essence of what this blog has endeavored to be since we started – a collective forum of opinions and experiences that we can all learn from, no matter where we are in our lives.

It is the blink of an eye – it is two years.
It is my history – it is our experience.
I am a mom who is a physician – we are Mothers in Medicine.

*Please click here

and here

and here

and here

to get a taste of the week!

Happy birthday to us!

Happy 2nd birthday, Mothers in Medicine! I actually didn't find the twos to be so terrible for my kids. I thought the ones were more difficult, since my boys were much better at being mobile and into trouble than comprehending and obeying at 18 months. You can bribe a two year old.

I think my favorite post of mine at Mothers in Medicine is my advice to a mom starting her pre-med. I like that I was pleasantly surprised how much I like being a mother in medical school, most of the time.

I have a lot of favorite posts by other contributors, but if I had to pick one, it would be the alternative career post by fizzy, and its comment thread. I love playing dream backup career, and everyone else's answers, contributors and commenters, were hilarious.

Reading, commenting, contributing, and just being part of the experience of Mothers in Medicine is such a wonderful and rewarding experience. Thanks, KC! Pass the cake!

Combining words and at least half intelligible

That's a TWO YEAR OLD for you! MIM is two now, and my favorite posts are all of yours, especially finding out what each of you do on a typical day-in-the-life. I am thoroughly honored to have been surrounded by such talented, funny, thoughtful, thought-provoking women.

A lot has happened since I saw the gaping cavity (a lot of brushing and flossing and visits for fluoride varnish), and it's May/June/July again where I remind myself to slow down. But when I reflect on "my" accomplishments over the past year, these include successfully taking the training wheels off the bike (Daughter, this weekend!), actually playing tennis again (Me, last weekend), renewed job satisfaction (Husband), memorizing the entire Beatles box set (Son), and learning to read and reading for pleasure (all of us). And there are also the accomplishments and needs of my patients and students that keep me going.

And being with MIM turning two, indeed growing and developing exceptionally well. Beginning to show some defiant behavior and increasing independence. Walking so well that we're running. Some make believe play, following simple instructions, and scribbling on our own. And enthusiastic to be in the company of each other. Alas, KC, though an internist in real life, is no doubt MIM's pediatrician and highly skilled at it. Thanks for guiding and serving as a role model for us all. I hope you see us all through adolescence...

Rh+ Year #2

This has been an amazing year for me. I began the year with several posts about my struggle to find peace in my life as an OB/GYN; daily delivering babies for others, all the while my heart aching for another child of my own. Then in November our lives changed in 24 hours, we we got the call from the agency that now was the time (yes we waited 3 years to adopt, then got our son with only 24 hours notice). I'm still adjusting to life with two and have half a dozen half- written blog posts saved on my computer that I promise to finish 'soon' (a relative term with a new baby).

I have really enjoyed following the blog this year. MomT wrote an excellent post on her maternity leave, though I found myself extremely jealous of her lengthy time off. I seriously will not read any post by Tempeh before work, because I almost always cry and have to touch up my makeup; causing me to run late. Fizzy cracks me up. Gizabeth has a wonderful way with words. Of course, my soul sister and fellow OB/GYN, Dr Whoo is the bomb.

Thanks again for letting me apart of this wonderful group of women!

MiM's a toddler!

When I was looking through my posts over the last year, I started to get a little concerned that I sacrificed quality for quantity. No post really jumped out at me as being fantastic in any way. I guess the truth of the matter is that I haven't been using this blog to write groundbreaking essays on being a mother in medicine. When something in my life happens that I think would be interesting to the MiM reading public, I write about it. I feel like I've shared a slice of my life on here. So I hope you've enjoyed reading, even if you haven't felt a need to tweet my posts. (Did I use "tweet" correctly there?)

However, since our lovely and fearless leader KC has asked us to select our favorite of our own posts, I have to choose PM&R: The Holy Grail? because I can't resist any opportunity to plug my specialty and what a great choice it is for a mother.

As for my favorite post by a fellow MiM-er, that is much harder to choose. I love every entry posted on here and they all speak to me in some way. But Mommydoctor's post Anesthesia residency by the numbers brought little tears to my eyes, so I have to mention that one. Also, I know it's older than a year, but I really adored ZT's post I want to be a homer, because it spoke to me as both a working mom and a daughter of a working mom.

I've loved blogging here and I thank KC for starting such a wonderful community. Two years ago, I was admittedly a little bitter, but find a group of women who are like me posting their stories has made me feel better about myself. Thank you to all my fellow bloggers and thank you to the readers as well!

The Sleepover

I am being all sentimental, here. This is not a MiM post, but it is a post from my own blog that I sent to KC by e-mail last November, at the suggestion of my blogging friend Ramona. KC invited me to join MiM the next day. Being a part of this community of Mothers In Medicine - both mothers and readers - has meant so much to me, over the last few months. It is the perfect example of "give a little, and receive thousandfold."


Last Thursday afternoon Mike called me at work.

"Sicily's been invited to a sleepover."

I was mortified. "What? Who?"

"Her friend Emmarie. The one that came to the Halloween party." I had thrown a little Halloween party for Sicily - well, not me really. Sicily made the invitations and cajoled me into throwing the party for three of her friends. She picked the fabulous lantern art activity. She made the goody bags. I just chaperoned - cannot take a single bit of credit. One of the girls was a new friend from her school. I met the dad for the first time when he picked her up, and I hadn't yet met the mother.

I frantically asked Mike, "When is the sleepover? Does Sicily know about it?" I was thinking maybe we could just make an excuse to the parents and never tell her about the party.

He replied, "Yes, and she's really excited. It's Emmarie's seventh birthday party. There are four other girls going. It's tomorrow night."

My head went into a tailspin. I wasn't ready for Sicily to spend the night at someone's house, other than a family member. Sure, she had been begging for a long time, but I actively avoided the subject. And I thought her first one would be a friend that we had known for a long time, and we knew the parents, like Helen or Phoebe. Or Annika. People I was comfortable with, and trusted that they weren't murderers or child molesters. But at the same time, she is over six and a half. I had to let this happen at some point. But six and a half is still so young, I thought. I didn't remember doing this sleepover thing until I was at least eight or nine.

While I was taking her to her stroke technique class Thursday night, she was complaining about her day. I love telling people that I need to leave early so I can get Sicily to her stroke class. They look so puzzled, and I wonder what they are thinking. Is it a class where one learns how to gracefully survive a brain infarct? Or a lesson in the proper etiquette of soothing one's cat? Sometimes I jump in and just tell them she is learning swim strokes, and sometimes I make them suffer and ask.

I was tired of listening to Sicily complain. So I started whining. "Listen to my day. I had one of the biggest caseloads I've ever had. And I'm tired from traveling. I was working crazy hard and busy this afternoon, and your Dad called and told me you were invited to a sleepover. I was so upset and worried, and wanted to try to hide it from you. I don't know the parents, and I am not sure I want you to sleep in a house with people I don't know. I'm scared, Sicily."

She was clearly shocked. She doesn't hear me complain, often. "Mommy, why are you acting like a child? I'll be fine, I really want to go. I've been wanting to do this for a long time." I said, "OK, but I'm taking you over there. And I'm warning you. I'm going inside to meet the mom. If something seems off to me, or I don't like the look of the place, I'm leaving, and you're coming with me."

"Mom, what would have to happen for you to not let me stay?"

"Well, if there are children hanging from the kitchen ceiling bleeding, or screaming in the back room - not excited, party screams, but 'I'm being tortured' screams, then you definitely cannot spend the night."

I looked in the rear view mirror to gauge her reaction. She was smiling and rolling her eyes. "Mom, you're crazy."

Friday night I raced home to get her - I had to drive her 45 minutes away to a gated community in a suburb. Mike and I had looked at a house there many years ago, so at least I knew the area. It was nice - large lots, giant houses. Not that this fact calmed me down - evil people transcend socioeconomic status. We had a long drive, so we discussed manners. I quickly glossed over the basics - "If you don't like something they are offering to eat, say no thank you. Use the word please if you need help." We did some role playing, and she gleefully mimicked her most horrible screams at foods she did not like as an example of what not to do. She was having fun. "What else, mom?"

"Well, the goal of spending the night out is to behave well so you will be asked back again, if you like it and are having fun."

"So what would I have to do that they wouldn't ask me back?"

"Well, I wouldn't blow your nose on their cat. They might not like a snotty cat."

"Mom! How do you know they even have a cat!"

"I don't, that's just an example. I also wouldn't poop on any one's head."

She cackled. "What if I pooped on their head, and then had diarrhea on it?"

"Then you definitely wouldn't be asked back. In fact, I might be required to take you to the doctor."

"Oh, mom. Would they give me a shot?"

"No, but he or she might make you talk to him or her. About why you pooped on some one's head. It's really not done, in polite society."

I checked the mirror. It was dark and rainy, and her eyes were glowing. She caught me watching her, and looked away and shrugged. She gave me my favorite response, to the information I dole out to her. She looked away, scrunched up her face, and said nonchalantly, "Hmm."

When we arrived there were lots of girls jumping around animatedly, and the mom was busy with make-your-own-pizza fixings and cupcakes, so I didn't keep her long. I just introduced myself and wrote down phone numbers. I could hardly get Sicily to say goodbye to me - she was having so much fun.

After a family dinner, Mike retired early in preparation for a big hunting weekend and I stayed up. I was watching Escape From Alcatraz, and it was so much fun to see a movie set in the place I had visited Monday night. I think Clint Eastwood was thrown into the same solitary cell that I had spent time in, on D Block. At about 11:15 p.m., my cell phone rang. It was Emmarie's mother. "Sorry to wake you - Sicily just wanted to talk to you." She passed the phone before I could reply.

"Mommy, I miss you! I love you! Can I talk to Daddy and John?"

"No Sicily, they are long in bed sleeping. You should try to go to sleep, it's really late. Do you need me to come get you?"

"No, I just wanted to tell you I missed you."

"I'll be there first thing in the morning, I promise."

"No, mom! Not first thing! I'm always the first to leave. Come a little late so I can play, OK?"

I smiled. "OK sweetie. Try to sleep. I love you. Goodnight."

Whew. We survived. I hung out with the mom the next morning, for a half hour or so, and she seemed nice. She was pleased with Sicily, telling me amusing stories from her observations, and I reciprocated by sharing some stories about her daughter when she was at the Halloween party. She assured me that she was the second to last, not the last kid to go to sleep. Oh the trials of motherhood. I don't know what I'm gonna do when Sicily goes off to college.

I love all the posts I have read since I joined this blog. Every. Single. One. Have to say my favorite fun addition to my own blogs that I follow are Fizzy's cartoons. That girl's got some seriously hilarious cartoon talent (and I notice her artistic skills are developing quite nicely)!

Happy Birthday, MiM!

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it has already been another year! Did you know that MiM was born under the sign of "Gemini," with described traditional traits such as being "adaptable, versatile, communicative, witty, intellectual, eloquent, youthful, and lively?" Personally, I could not agree with this description more! Also, based on my long list of face.boo.k friend birthdays this week, this is a great time to be born. Looking over the last year, I see that I've not been the most prolific of bloggers, but I do like the blogs that I have written for the site. I would have to say that my "Tips for Surviving Call During Pregnancy" post was the favorite of my contributions for the year. I also have to mention The Mommy Doctor's post "Why do you have to go to work, Mommy?" because it really touched a chord with me, and I love the discussion generated by the post itself.

I love writing for this blog because I feel as though I am in a great company of not only great writers, but wonderful physicians, mothers, and friends. It is an amazing experience to sit and put my thoughts and experiences as a physician mother to words and to sometimes help another woman who may be struggling with the same thoughts and/or dilemmas. So, thank you, KC for inviting me to write for the blog (two years ago!) and thanks to all of you, dear readers, for making this site such a vibrant and supportive community.

Thank you and happy birthday for your site

I found your site recently, and not only has it already been a godsend for the present, but it shows me a bright future where I can be the OB I want to be WITH a family. So many people downplay any mom doing anything but peds or family medicine or general IM that will have any kind of life for their family, and through the stories and posts I've read on your website - I'm encouraged and inspired to keep pursuing what I know I am meant to be.

I absolutely also love how you can view all the blogs you have linked - I absolutely love laughing with my MS2 friend -  who I am trying to leave alone as she studies for the boards-  over Fizzy's cartoons. I also love the OB blogs and posts listed. I love hearing more about career field I am interested in, and I especially like hearing the positives and negatives of managing it with a family. I am expecting my first child right now - due to give birth in Pulm next year (YAY - not), but I'm thrilled to have two weeks over Christmas off with my very newborn after getting through that horrid Pulm test on no sleep with a days old baby. No one in my world understands what this is like, but I feel like I can read the stories on this website and know that you guys have been here and made it out to the other side of things. Thank you for helping me know that those of us who have kids can still be what we want in medicine. And not fail out! !!!

I'd say my favorite posts are the ones by the OB's on the site - I love the things I say every day at home and at work ones. And I really do love Fizzy's cartoon blog. The latest USMLE cartoon is especially cracking me and my friend up right now as I'm trying to keep her positive as she gets closer to her test. 

You may share my response, but please hide my identity. I have a unique last name that is easily googleable. :)  In fact, it is so scary how traceable I am - that I'm lucky I didn't do anything in my before-medicine days very scandalous, as I don't think I'd ever get a resident position. LOL.

--
MS1
MD school somewhere in the south

Mothers in Medicine turns 2

This holiday weekend marks Mothers in Medicine's 2nd birthday. Two years ago, I was riding in the car with my husband after a night out, turned to him, and said, "You know what we need? A group blog by physician mothers. To share our stories." A few short, frantic-with-inspiration days later (filled with many, many emails to strangers-now-friends), Mothers in Medicine was born.

It has been nothing short of wonderful to see it grow, to write alongside these amazing women, and build an online community of support.

To help celebrate our birthday, like last year, I've asked our MiM contributors to write about their favorite post they wrote over the past year, and/or their favorite post written by another contributor or guest poster. We also invite our readers to share your favorite posts from this past year - the posts that most inspired you, or that you most identified with-- the posts that left an indelible mark on your being. Send your thoughts to mothersinmedicine@gmail.com and we'll feature all of these birthday posts over the next week.

But, mostly, thank you for reading, for writing in, for commenting, for being part of this community that gives Mothers in Medicine a  place to share our stories.

Happy Birthday, MiM!

Forget 50-50

Yesterday I saw a new patient in my clinic, an elderly woman with metastatic breast cancer for several years. In oncology, the only part of the history that interests me more than the HPI is the social history. It is often where I start when I meet the patient, and not only because it's an ice breaker and comforting territory (most patients come to oncologists scared out of their wits). It is there that I learn how educated my patients are and whether they work in science, accounting, or engine repair, which helps me to decide what "level" of explanation of very complicated stuff will best serve them and whether I might be able to draw analogies with things that are familiar to them. It is there that I get some early prediction of compliance and ability to cope with the disease and its treatment: does she have family to bring her to appointments?, does she have someone to go across town to the 24 hour drugstore for her at midnight when she needs more nausea medicine? The social history is my gem.

The patient I saw yesterday had been married for almost 70 years. Wow! You don't see that often. Many people don't even live for 70 years all total. I congratulated them on it and remarked about how wonderful it was, but the conversation quickly turned to their concerns: their kids and grandkids and greatgrandkids (can I still be around them if I am on chemo?) and vacationing in Florida every winter (is is still safe for her to do it?)

At the end of our visit, my last of the day, her husband said, "May I ask you a personal question?" "Sure," I answered. "Are you married?" "Yes, for 8 years, 3 kids 6, 4, and 2." They beamed. Then he said, "So, don't you want to know the secret to staying married for 7 decades?" I thought about that for a moment. Of course I wanted to know. I am in a profession with a high divorce rate. I am married to someone who is active duty military, a group that also has a high divorce rate. I am the child of divorced parents. I hadn't really given it much thought before, but if I had, I might have felt doomed. So suddenly, the social history felt more like a gem than usual. "ABSOLUTELY! PLEASE!" I replied. He said, "Forget 50-50." I must have looked confused because he went on. "Your generation has come closer to equality for women and men than any in the history of our country. And that's a wonderful thing. Only trouble is that now everyone thinks everything, every minute, should be perfectly equal, perfectly divided, 50-50. And the reality is that, in a marriage, it just about never is." His wife had been listening quietly, but then piped up. "It's the truth. When our kids were very young, I was at home with them, and he traveled most weeks Monday through Thursday or Monday through Friday. There were years there where I felt like I was doing 90% of the work of our home and family." He interjected, "You didn't feel like you were doing 90% of the work, honey. You WERE doing 90% of the work." She nodded in agreement. She went on, "Even after he changed jobs and was home more, I still was the one who ran the carpools and worked the bake sales and double-checked the homework. It was 70-30, maybe 60-40 at times, but never 50-50, though we didn't really think or talk in those terms back then." He admitted, "There were times when we thought it wasn't worth going on. Mostly she thought it wasn't worth going on. But we stuck it out." She said, "It's true. There were times when I thought the tables would never turn. But...the last 8 years, Henry has done everything. He cleans our house. He gasses up our cars. He weeds the garden. He shops for the groceries. He makes every single meal. He even buys the cards for all the kids' and grandkids' birthdays and anniversaries and so forth, brings them to me with a pen to sign, and gets them into the mailbox on time. I still remember the day I was told I had metastatic breast cancer almost 9 years ago. I never thought I'd be sitting here having a conversation about it in 2010." Her eyes filled with tears. "We're taking one day at a time," her husband said, clasping her hand in his. "She's long ago beat the odds everyone gave her. And if she keeps it up, we MIGHT actually end up 50-50 after all. And that's the secret."

So, there you have it, folks. Quit counting beans. Forget 50-50, and perhaps you'll find yourself still married 70 years from now. And you might even realize on your 70th anniversary that you are, finally, in fact 50-50.

Why not research?

When you go on an interview for med school or residency, the interviewer will always ask you if you have any questions. (I recently drew a cartoon to that effect.) My advice is to have questions. At the very first med school where I interviewed, I was asked that question and I honestly just didn't have any questions.... I had already spoken to half a dozen med students, gotten a tour of the hospital, and had an interview with another person. So I honestly answered, "No, no questions."

The interviewer looked at me in complete and utter horror. I was later rejected from that school.

So I came up with a few go-to questions. One of them I always asked was, "What are the research opportunities like at this school/residency program?" I had absolutely no interest in research. But interviewers like it when you seem interested in research, because it brings prestige to the hospital.

Years later, I found myself in a research fellowship, finally putting my money where my mouth was. I applied for an award that would have paid my salary for several years and launched me into a career in research. I convinced myself that research was what I wanted to do, that it would be great for my resume and that it would allow me flexibility in my life more than a clinical career. It also seemed like research was a good career for a mother. It actually surprises me that so few women do it.

Unfortunately, my application for the award was promptly rejected. "Too many applicants, blah blah blah." I'm not used to academic rejection and it felt awful. As I read the email in disbelief, I decided that I couldn't live my life this way. I would not apply for future research awards. I would be a clinician, not a researcher.

Because I like to make lists, these are the reasons I ultimately decided research was not for me:

1) I don't like the feeling of being rejected, which I'm told is something you have to get used to in research (and love).

2) Although few jobs are permanent, living from grant to grant is nerve-wracking, I've heard.

3) Due to the economy, I've seen a lot of research departments getting served with major cutbacks. This might be a bad time to start being a researcher.

4) I do think a job in research lends flexibility, but it also results in a workday that never ends. When you're a researcher, you're basically always working or feeling like you ought to be. For the first time in my life, I'd like to be able to get home from work every day and just be able to relax.

5) I miss treating patients for the sake of making them better, rather than eying them as research subjects.

6) I personally don't get excited about research. I don't think research protocols are cool. I mostly think they're agonizing and have lots of frustrating red tape. I could spent hours whining about my 100-page IRB application, but I think I've already gone on for too long.

I do want to continue to publish interesting case reports, but I think my research experiment is officially over.