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On a bright, cheerful morning – birds chirping, sun beaming, children laughing –a medical resident stands in wrinkled scrubs that haven't been washed since last Sunday. Wide-eyed with the immense enthusiasm of someone who either pulled off a miracle in the OR (Operating room) or was told their medical license now depends on positive Yelp reviews, the medical resident flashes a wild smile.
But this smile is not from joy. No, it's simply a deranged grin of someone who's been awake for 27 hours straight, and someone who has been on call more in the past week that they've spoken to their own family. Furthermore, they've just got praised by their attending with the classic "not bad" instead of the usual "you suck". It's the kind of smile that shouts "I'm totally fine," while their left eye twitches in Morse code for help – a smile sculpted by fear and caffeine instead of happiness.
Anyway, that's enough background. Meet Dr Broke, a first-year surgical resident who aspires to be a neurosurgeon. Which means that they've survived four years of undergrad, four years of medical school, three traumatic standardised exams, one year as a surgical intern and a complete personality wipe.
Graduation day came, and with it, the title of "Doctor", a little piece of paper and a giant burden labeled "$300,000 in student loans". But Dr Broke wasn't fazed. After all, they didn't need to worry about money. They were entering the most respected and one of the most well-known professions, right?
But Dr Broke's yearly salary isn't enough to cover much more than a mortgage payment for their sleep deprived brain. Dr Broke makes $60,000 dollars a year working an average of 80 hours a week where some days can exceed 90 hours.
Dr Brooks lives in Boston where rent is just shy of a second mortgage. He lives in a one-bedroom apartment with a broken oven and a fridge that is full of expired takeout containers. On the bright side, Dr Broke only has to make a choice between rent or food every month because, hey, at least they have free wifi.
They had visions of prestige white coats, grateful patients, maybe even a TED Talk titled "How I cured burnout while being burned out". Instead, most days are spent suctioning blood, retracting organs, or being told to "just observe" while holding in a sneeze for six straight hours.
Their badge may say "MD", but their duties scream "advanced human paperweight". The stethoscope around their neck is more for decoration than function, and they haven't felt their legs since the 16th hour of their last shift. Still, they smile through it all, convincing themselves that this is just the price of greatness, or at least health insurance. Perhaps, after 14 long years and severe PTSD, that 300k will somehow feel worth it.
