Be Patient: Don’t Wish Away Time

In the early mornings when I awake for work, I sometimes place my hand on my wife’s belly to feel for the baby kicking. At 33 weeks, it is no longer subtle. 

When I’m lucky, the kicks come within a few minutes before I have to dress for work and leave. 

In feeling the brief tap I imagine a little boy restless to be born into the vast world. Out here, he will learn to see colors and taste food for the first time. He will turn stones and touch water. He will plunge his hands into garden soil. His experiences out here will be richer and more intense in every aspect. There will be more than enough for him to try and to learn such that his curiosity should never be disappointed. 

Surely, he must be eagerly awaiting the day where he will discover the rest of the world. 

Oh, how restless he must feel in there, kicking so hard that his mom and dad can unmistakably notice it while lying half-awake in the early morning hours. 

My wife and I, who are both surgical residents, want to say to the boy who has, in our eyes, only just turned 33 weeks in the span of an entire lifetime to come. 

“There’s still more time for you to grow inside the womb, to eat what we eat, to go where we go. You may be growing quickly but be patient and don’t wish away time.”

“It’s too early for you to decide on your own but that day will come before you know it.”      

I rise from bed and walk out onto the cold Philadelphia streets that are still faintly illuminated by streetlamps at this early hour. 

I’ve grown so accustomed to these streets that I can find my way to work without thinking. I’ve spent ten years in this city already, four years in medical school, and six years in cardiac surgery residency. A little more than two years remain. 

Over the last ten years of early mornings and late nights, I feel that I have grown steadily. 

Ten years ago, I hardly understood how the human body works. I could barely differentiate between what is normal and abnormal. Now, in my job, I get to touch the heart. I get to address my patients’ concerns and reassure their family members.  

I must admit that some mornings are so cold and dark, I feel impatient to get to the end. 

I feel restless. I want to start my own practice and decide for myself exactly how I want to conduct the operations. I want to shed the safety of being a trainee and take on the burdens of independence. 

I walk over the cold bridge wrapped up in these thoughts and wish for the next two years to evaporate away. 

But then I take a deep breath and tell myself to be patient. My time will come soon. I may feel strong, and capable, but there’s more time to be had. It’s too early to decide on my own what to do but that day will come before I know it. Don’t wish away time. 

I return to thinking about the boy kicking inside my wife’s belly. I’m thinking about the tap I felt in my palm just moments ago. 

He’s 33 weeks old and is over two thirds of the way there. The sun begins to rise over the bridge. 

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Jason J. Han (@JasonHanMD) is a cardiac surgery resident in Philadelphia and is part of the TMS leadership.

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The opinions expressed in the article is not affiliated with any institution, company or product. The article should not be interpreted as medical advice.