Fatigue

When I was in residency, I lived the so-called “80-hour work week.” Which, to be clear, was after the 80-hour rule came in—before that, residents basically lived at the hospital full-time. So technically, I was in the “lighter” era, but trust me, it still felt like I never left.

Every fourth night was a 30-hour shift. Yep, thirty. You’d roll in at 5 or 6 a.m., work all day, all night, all the way into the next morning, and finally leave around noon. Then you’d stumble home, collapse, and—boom—you were right back in the hospital at sunrise. Weekends rotated between “half-free,” “not free at all,” and the magical unicorn called the “golden weekend,” when you actually had two days off in a row.

On a “normal” day, I’d be there from 5:30 or 6 a.m. until somewhere between 5 and 7 p.m. My life boiled down to two things: medicine and sleep. And often not enough of either.

The fatigue was real. Once, I drifted my car over a median into the opposite lane before snapping awake (thankfully nobody was hurt). Another time, after a 30-hour shift, I parked at Albertsons to grab some groceries. I told myself, just one minute to close my eyes. Next thing I knew, it was midnight, the parking lot was empty, and I’d just had the weirdest 12-hour nap of my life.

And here’s where my mom swooped in like a superhero. She worried about me driving home after those marathon shifts, so she made up her own system: as soon as I got in the car, I’d call her, put her on speakerphone, and she’d keep me awake. We’d chat for a bit—though honestly, my updates were always something like, “Worked. Ate crackers. Still alive.” So she took over. She basically became my personal live radio host, reading me funny stories from the newspaper, quirky human-interest bits, even random local news. It was part comedy hour, part talk show, all powered by mom. Looking back, there’s nothing like a mother’s love… and there are definitely not enough thank-yous for the way she kept me laughing (and awake) on those drives.

Of course, my co-residents were my lifeline, too. For three long years, we were basically a family. We worked together, played together, even crashed in the same call rooms together. Some of the smartest, funniest people I’ve ever known were right there in the trenches with me. We might not all stay close now, but back then, those bonds were solid. It was the kind of connection forged at 3 a.m. over stale coffee and shared exhaustion—and honestly, there’s nothing quite like it.

Residency toughened me up, no question. It showed me I could take care of patients even when my own tank was completely empty. At the time, I thought I was just fine. Now I know how much fatigue can really mess with you. I also put a lot of life on hold—marriage, kids, hobbies, all delayed. But the flip side? I came out of it strong, resilient, and well-trained.

And you know what? I’ll say it: I came out of residency a damn good doctor.