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I don't know why I always feel the need to cry during the first month of starting a new job, but that's how I feel now. Two twelves down this week, one to go.
Despite the commute time and the office politics and overwhelming patient census and all the terrible, horrible, no-good things I whine about in regards to my "old" job on the bypass unit, somehow my 8-hour shift there on Sunday is looking, to me, like a piece of strawberry rhubarb pie. That is - delicious, relaxing, best enjoyed in the company of good friends (or, in this case, good coworkers). I can't wait to be back at my old unit where I know where everything is and how to work all the equipment and where everyone knows that I work hard and am not as big of a scatterbrain as I am in other areas of my life. I rarely feel dumb there.
Right now, at this new place I'm working, where the patients are no sicker or have no weirder problems than any of my patients from my old job, I nevertheless have to ask about EVERYTHING. I'm back on orientation with someone else's routine to follow, a new system to learn, a new way of doing things, new doctors to remember.
Bad day. Dreading tomorrow. Hoping to get some sleep tonight. I am a certifiable Big Baby.