It has been 18 months since I last worked full time. This is longer than I have been away from brain-work since I was three years old. I’m using this as an excuse for the panic that laces my (considerable) anticipation.
All my feelings about returning to work rely on my faint memories.
I remember starting earlier than rostered every day.
I remember working with lots of fabulous people, but only being able to remember the names of the evil ones.
I remember being quizzed and measured on my intellectual abilities.
I remember getting home later than I intended. Often.
I remember scaring interns. (Tehe. I’m not that horrible, I just have an “efficient” phone manner).
I remember the disconnect between providing care I was proud of and being paid for the time it took.
I remember regrets.
I remember telling my friends and family how much I loved my job.
I remember my husband telling me I was happier in a cutting job, than any other department.
However, I can’t remember the feeling of loving it; the thrill of knowing the answer; the satisfaction of making the right decision, incision or stitch. I’m guessing it’s still there. I believe it’ll kick back in, once I start work again. I’ve just got to wait my five weeks to know for sure.
The thought of cutting a real person is so odd to me that I can’t even imagine doing this at all. You have a very special and much required skill. I am sure this never leaves you, just takes a holiday while you are up to your eyeballs in nappies.
Good luck.