The idealized doctor is dead. Or at least on death’s door.
The American medical establishment has systematically clogged his arteries with paperwork, lined his lungs with rules, and filled his intestines with, that’s right you guessed it, shit. There he lay, in a comatose state, awaiting to be pronounced. Only one thing is sustaining his overworked body.
Four months into my intern year and I’m just realizing how crucial maintaining my idealism — as unrealistic as it may be — is to …