The Climb

My third day on the job, I nearly killed somebody. Okay, I hadn’t, but the surgeon tried to convince me otherwise. Having withstood countless similar assaults in the past, my callused skin was impenetrable. I listened to his concerns, and together we agreed that I could have communicated better. Still, he forgot to withdraw his accusations regarding my attempted homicide.

We practice in a fishbowl in the emergency department – surrounded by critical eyes that wait for us to do wrong. We’re considered the cowboys of the hospital: the ones that mainly care about getting out on time so we can ride our mountain bikes or run a marathon. And we’re rarely regarded as the smart ones. A cardiac surgeon can walk into a hospital on her first day and without knowing any of her background, other specialists will bow in reverence. In the emergency department, though, we have to prove ourselves – until then, we’re an unknown commodity, and a potential threat to everything that matters.

I’ve worked at twelve different hospitals in my career, and this story has followed me to each. It’s frustrating – I had worked hard, my patients and other consultants liked me, yet it never carried over. I had to start from the bottom of the well, and claw out, just to be seen as an equal.

But I’ve noticed that the red carpet can trip those that walk upon it. It can blind the specialist to their arrogance and faults, and cement their old-fashioned, potentially harmful practices. It can keep them from becoming the version of greatness that they originally sought. Starting from the bottom means I have the chance to remind myself of the person I want to be – for me, and for others. It allows me to re-center those thoughts, so I don’t continue blindly on a wayward path. Instead, I can secure, or even redirect, my ladder to the wall that I want to define me.

The way I see it, my past determines my legacy, but my present determines my future. And I’m appreciative of any reminders that I can, and should, keep climbing.


“This is life. Things get taken away. You will learn to start over many times — or you will be useless.”

Mitch Albom

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