I spent the last two days literally locked up in the prison of the ER.
It started at 5pm on Friday night and didn’t end until Saturday at 530pm.
I’m not a resident anymore, so I fully realize the ridiculousness of the last day, but once in a while I still have to endure these hours that make my skin crawl.
As I review the day, I can assure you that I sewed up more kids than I can count, took care of more fractures than I can remember, checked ears and throats and lungs and toes, and talked to more moms than I can recall.
Worst of all, I treated 4 adolescent overdoses. I hate adolescent overdoses.
So, in other words – I’m tired.
Add to that the stresses of my day to day life and relationship road bumps that inevitably cloud my way. I think I need to pull over and fill up.
You know that guy with a dwindling tank of gas who keeps thinking to himself: “Oh, I’ll just stop at the next exit. I’ll just try to milk it for another couple of miles.”? I don’t wanna be that guy!
At first, you think you’ve got yourself a pretty good gig. You’re impressed by how far the car can go on fumes. You pat yourself on the back and chuckle as you consider how the manufacturer tried to trick you with the red light coming on when in fact the car could go on for at least another 10 miles.
Ten miles! All that macho talk for a meager 10 miles!
When you stop and consider the fact that you’re willing to risk getting stuck on a highway for a measly 10 miles, it’s almost laughable.
If it wasn’t so pathetic.
I’m not going to be too stubborn to pull over and refuel. I’m going to stop at the very next exit and stretch out my legs. I’m going to fill up my tank. Then I’m going to start up again – refreshed.
Today is a day for refueling and I’m going to take it.
I got God’s word in my hand. I got His presence in my heart. And I got His family surrounding me.
Why don’t you do the same, and I’ll see you on Monday.
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