Why Do I Do It?

Why do I do it? Why do I do some of the things that I do now that Kaitlyn took her life almost a year ago? Sometimes in looking on WordPress here I go to the “Medical School” search and read about all the medical students’ experiences. It’s “match” time for them now, which is the time the 4th year (and final year of med school) students find out if they will match into the residency of their choice or anywhere near their choice. It’s an excruciatingly stressful time for them in waiting. There is so much happiness and so much disappointment.

I remember learning all about this process from Kaitlyn. I knew nothing of these kinds of things because before she went to medical school, I knew nothing about all these processes. I remember this time last year how she was so excited about some of the people she knew getting the residencies they wanted. She was so happy for them and imagining and hoping that in 2 years she would get the residency that she wanted. She worked so hard studying for the Step One exam, but never lived long enough to know what she made. She had thought she did very well, and as it turned out, she did.

Whenever I slip on over to the medical school blogs I’m filled with ambivalent feelings. I feel good in that it connects me to Kaitlyn in some way because she spent the last 2 years of her life in medical school. She always told me she was “born to be a doctor” and this was what she wanted ever since she was a little girl. But it always makes me feel sad at the same time because though I am happy for all of the medical students that express all their feelings in their blogs that I don’t even know how they have time for, it makes me sad that Kaitlyn will not go through her 3rd year or 4th year of medical school. She will not go through the matching process. She will not graduate Medical School. She will not go through residency. She will not get to fulfill her lifelong dream. She took her life during the time of orientation into her 3rd year of medical school on 4-11-13, almost a year ago. It’s as if it were yesterday.

Though I shouldn’t, I do these things to myself. For good or for bad, sometimes it makes me feel closer to her. I guess that’s why I still do it….once in a while.

tag

Advertisements

About gatito2

My name is Rhonda. I'm a registered nurse, for the last 20 years, that has not been able to work since the day I learned of my daughter's death by suicide 4-12-13. (She actually died 4-11-13 and her body was not found until the 12th) Me and my husband have been married for 32 years and he's a wonderful man. We grieve in different ways. He works, I write. This is my journey through this horrible land of losing a child..
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Why Do I Do It?

  1. Gemma says:

    Rhonda, I read your blog often but rarely comment, as it’s near impossible to find the right words. I just wanted to acknowledge this post.

    Like

  2. gatito2 says:

    Thank you Gemma. You may not think that means a lot, but it does.

    Like

  3. It is always hard to find just the right words when I read your posts, and even harder to click the like button. I just hope that you find your catharsis.
    Regards.

    Like

  4. gatito2 says:

    Thank you. I know the “like” button does not mean you like what I’m going through but that it means that you understand and have compassion and I thank you for that.

    Like

  5. I’m so sorry to read about this. She looked like a lovely young woman.

    Like

  6. gatito2 says:

    She was, oh how she was. And sitll is somewhere I know…

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s