The Worst Decision I Ever Made

…was falling for a doctor. Anyone not married to medicine won’t understand how heartbreakingly true that statement is but will shame me for even thinking about not being by his side. But, come on, you know it’s the worst.

What a shame it was when we met in college as he studied molecular biology. He put up with my endless girly shenanigans and I faked enjoying working out because a few more minutes flirting with each other was better than anything else we could or should be doing.

How terrible when he had to move far away for medical school and I agreed to go with him because although no one had gotten down on bended knee yet, we knew an important question would be popped soon enough…and that the answer would be a resounding yes.

Oh, the misery of adding a research year (to be a more competitive applicant), walking down the aisle, moving in together, and seeing what all the fuss about marital bliss was! Those early years were a mix of interviews, newlywed nights, rank lists, and mister and missus days.

And then there was residency, which meant another move (but this time thirteen hours away). Just as the ink dried on his seven year contract…TWO pink lines appeared! And then disappeared. Too soon and just two weeks before he disappeared into the hospital for intern year. The wounds of the years that would follow still sting.

Work, work, work for him. Labs, tests, needles for me.

Baby? No baby.

Family? Friends? Nope. None of those out here either.

But there were plenty of hours…countless hours of him learning how to save lives at work and then us struggling to keep ours afloat at home. No one understood what we went through to help him live the dream of being a doctor while hiding the nightmare of personal struggles.

What kind of masochist chooses this life? Who agrees to move around again and again? Who supports a career that comes with so many strings? Who works this hard with this little recognition? Because no matter whose side of the family or which friend it is, everyone applauds his dedication and sacrifice but merely expects mine. How can you not want him to succeed and do everything in your power to make it easier for him to do that? It could be worse, you know? Why are you the one complaining? You don’t work those hours; he does. Because, of course, while he’s working I’m certainly not. What kind of monster hates her husband’s job sometimes…oftentimes?

And then…BABY! And baby! And baby! And, goodness gracious, another baby. And the hours at work went on and on. As our lives grew and changed, our responsibilities increased, but only my to-do list got longer. Take care of everything I need, everything he needs, everything we need, AND everything they need too. After all, he has to go to work. Those dreadful words always coming at the most inopportune times: I have to go into the hospital. Forget missing the big events and dates! That was commonplace at this late in the game. Now the small moments, the ones that meant nothing to anyone but me and him and them, were being stolen too. Studying for boards. Reading for cases. Prepping for presentations. Falling asleep ALL THE TIME. In fact, I still don’t know how that hilarious story about his attending ended because he only got halfway through the first word before falling asleep with a mouthful of the dinner I prepared for our family. Terrible decision.

That’s right. I learned to cook! And I’m kind of good at it. I also taught myself how to pay bills, do taxes, work in the yard, collect trash and recycling, balance schedules, not miss my career right now, make appointments for home repairs and health repairs, deal with two families who don’t really get it, take one, two, three, and four babies out alone, be an independent woman AND man, remember everything, and forget nothing. I learned it all, but he has the degree and the letters behind his name. Horrible decision.

The worst decision I ever made lead me to a life where I live in a lovely home with my four amazing children and their disappearing, zombie father. My partner is never fully present. Their daddy lives at the hospital. I sleep alone more times in a week than I thought I would in a year. Everyone we know cheers him on for the incredible work he does while barely mentioning all that I give to make it possible for him to succeed. So there are moments where instead of being grateful, I curse the stars for having me look up at the stud standing in front of me so many, many years ago. The explosion of my heart in that moment left me no choice but to begin my happily ever after.

But I stay. And I always will.

Because the worst decision I ever made looks at me with tired eyes, scruffy face, smelly scrubs, an empty stomach, a full bladder, an impressive brain, a strong will, and a thankful heart. He kisses me. He hugs me. And he calls me the best decision he ever made.

BOOM goes my heart.

And who could need more than that?

By: Soraya