“It’s not a sport,” Josh grumbled, shoving his stuff into his backpack.
“It’ll go away in a second. I’m not fucking old,” Heidi said, continuing to limp.
There were many days when we all felt like we were aging in dog years as eighteen hours on call bled into the next shift without us really ever catching up on sleep. It became hard to know what day it was sometimes, and it didn’t matter. There was always another long shift around the corner and another physical feat of getting through it without making a mistake that could end up harming a patient. The only saving grace was that we were all in the same boat, so there was no need to explain anything. A look was enough to convey exhaustion or frustration.
That was why so many people who’d tried to date outside of our residency program had broken up. Other people didn’t get it.
“Of course you’re not old,” Maddox said. “Thirty is not old. Especially to someone who’s eighteen.”
“Ha ha. I know when your birthday is. You’ll be joining me in the threes soon enough.”
“But until then, I’m a jaunty twenty-something of indeterminate age."
It was denial borne of the knowledge that we still hadn’t gone out into the real world and worked a real job. Our in-training status gave people the impression that we were youthful students, but the closer we came to graduating from residency and the longer we went without starting our actual careers, the more nervous we all felt about whether we had what it took to succeed. The fact that we were all in the same boat made us myopic. We worried that we were all kidding ourselves and after all these years of studying and training, we’d fall flat.
In five months, we’d scatter far and wide to take jobs or pursue fellowships all over the country. People who decided to study gastroenterology or surgery or a whole host of other specialties were in for another three years before they’d be able to practice medicine. A few of us would be staying local, but there was no denying that what our small group of friends had developed over the past three years in the trenches would never exist in its current form again.
So for the moment, we’d mop off our sweat and hit the showers, planning to meet up in an hour for drinks and dinner and, if any of us could stay awake past that, maybe more drinks or a club for late-night music. Over the course of the night, people might peel off, but it was our one night to be together, so most of us would hang in as long as possible.
“Want to come to my apartment and we can walk somewhere after?” Heidi asked. “I’ll get some cheese and crackers, and people can bring wine. Or fucking whatever.”
“Sounds good to me. If I eat cheese and drink wine, I won’t need to leave your apartment,” I said. Cheese of any kind was my weakness—the smellier and stronger, the better.
Josh didn’t share my propensity for eating light or for substituting cheese for a meal. “I’m gonna need a burger,” he said, starting to walk toward a Zipcar he planned to use for the drive home. Heidi and I trailed after him like a couple of lost puppies to avoid taking the bus back over the hill to Cole Valley, where we lived. I was all for walking, but not after chasing a Frisbee for an hour.
Meanwhile, Maddox was hopping on his bike. His iron legs were accustomed to the San Francisco hills, and his hypercompetitive personality was such that he’d never accept a ride if he could get a little more exercise. With the traffic, he’d probably beat us to Heidi’s.
I snuck a glance back in his direction, expecting to see him pedaling away, but he was looking right at me. Smiling like he did when he ogled women with much better legs than mine. Interesting.