During medical residency, PGY3s face many new challenges. If fellowship is on the horizon, many docs are padding those stats and getting research published so that they may be accepted into a program of their choosing. Some docs choose to stay and become Chief Resident. For many, the third year becomes interview season. Recruiters start calling.
And emailing.
And texting.
And sending homing pigeons.
The United States is on the horizon of a major physician shortage, and docs of all kinds are in high demand.
We traveled south for an interview in Valdosta, Georgia. We ended up really liking the hospital, we loved the southern community, and those folks made my sweet husband a nice offer. We decided, Why Not? We had never planned on moving to Atlanta, and that worked out well. Valdosta is equidistant from two major cities that are important to us; Atlanta and Tampa. It also has a sweet (small, quiet) airport with service daily to Hartsfield-Jackson, which means we have a gateway to the world. We decided to sign a two-year contract and hope for the best.
When I started telling people that we were moving to Valdosta, the look I invariably got was doglike. As in a side-head tilt with an overall air of confusion. (The exception here may be my stepmother; for some reason she is beyond excited that we chose to live here.)
For us, we didn’t choose Valdosta, per se. The location of where we ended up was ultimately unimportant. My husband and I are lucky in the sense that we truly are best friends. We can be happy pretty much anywhere, as long as we are together. Valdosta was the dream we held onto during that final year of residency. We whispered it to each other like a mantra, in quiet and revered voices. Again, it wasn’t exactly Valdosta itself that we were stoked about; it was more what it represented. Freedom from the hellish schedule of residency. A chance to get compensated for the work. The ability to explore all of the hobbies and endeavors we put on hold for three years due to time constraints and financial blocks. An actual house of our own, to decorate in our style and provide a safe haven when outside of the hospital. The end of studying (after The Boards in August, hopefully.) Time together. Glorious, glorious time together. The Doc being able to read for pleasure and consistently play the piano again. A multitude of things, big and small, represented by those three syllables.
Val-dos-taaaa
We moved here and went to Target (natch). The lady checking us out said, “Oh it is horrible here. There is nothing to do.”
A waitress at a local restaurant, when we told her we’d just moved here:
“Why?” was the only (incredulous) response.
A former coworker: “That place is the worst.”
Please contain your opinions.
Please.
We have decided, going into this new chapter, to Expect the Best. (Please tell me someone else remembers that scene from the classic grunge movie Singles. He’s only like the next Martin Scor-Ceez.)
We are excited about every day. I grew up in Montana so I feel like a master tour guide, “Look honey, this is small town life! Over here we have a bumping Dairy Queen! And believe me, everyone in the neighborhood knows you're a doctor from Atlanta”
I, of course, reserve the right to change my opinion at any time. But for right now, we are living the dream.
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