I consider myself one of those fortunate people who have managed to get the job that they were thinking of when they were in junior high. (Actually, I wanted to be what I am now, or a lawyer, or a diplomat, or an actress...but that's another thread.) For all my complaining about the hours and intensity, I like the Day Job, and I am glad I have it.

One thing I have noticed, though, is that many people do not look at me and think that I have the Day Job that I have. 

I'm not talking about when I am wearing my T-shirt and jeans and sneakers, and buying groceries at the supermarket. (I probably look like a 14-year-old to some Americans when dressed like that.) I'm talking about when I am at the Workplace, wearing that white coat and walking from one part of the Workplace to another.

"Excuse me, Nurse, do you know where I need to go to get my EKG?"

A couple of years ago, my response would have been, "No, I am not a nurse." Now, it is "Go straight down this hall, follow the green arrow, and take a left at the third hallway, second door on your left."

I don't mind being mistaken for a nurse. The general public (especially the older general public) don't seem to realize how many women are entering (and graduating) from medical schools. (Speaking of medical school, once, while I was there, a patient called out to me..."nurse, would you please empty this urinal for me?" I smiled and obliged...) It will change, but for now, that is the way it is. Besides, if I were getting upset every time I were mistaken for a nurse, my gastrointestinal tract would just be one big ulcer by now.

Another case of mistaken identity. I was on call, and I rounded on the patients I had. I introduced myself to a middle-aged woman as "Dr. so-and-so (insert Ayako's real family name here)", asked her questions about how she was doing, did a quick physical exam, gave her a brief update on her plan of care, and a quick overview on the exam she would be taking the next day (an MRI.) 

She nodded understanding, I gave her my standard spiel about how she should feel free to holler for me if she thought she'd needed me, because I would be there all night, and how I hoped she had a nice evening. I went to the Nurses' Station to chart her and other cases.

Three minutes later, the woman pops her head into the Nurses' Station. 

"Yes, Mrs. So-and-so (name has been changed to protect privacy). May I help you, ma'am?"

"Yes, Nurse. Is the doctor not coming to speak to me tonight?"

(Please insert barely stifled scream here, with lots of rude words mixed with comments about how I clearly stated that I was a doctor and how she is not supposed to be hearing impaired or whatever the PC term is for people hard of hearing these days...)

I suppose the general public (again, especially the older general public) 's image of someone with my Day Job would be of a male in his 50's, calm, composed, with a placid, gentle smile on his face, wearing a white coat, a necktie, and glasses with expensive-looking frames. Baldness, obesity (if mild), and gray hair will earn you bonus points. Being short and female and, youthful is, well...not preferred. 

And some people will state that it is not preferred.

"I don't want the intern touching me."

"Please don't let the resident operate on me."

"Are you a real doctor, or are you just an intern?"

O.K., major peeve here. If you are in a large hospital known to be a teaching hospital, you will sometimes receive care from a younger doctor. This is how we gain experience, and it bothers me greatly when people demand that the people who are still officially in training not take part in their care. (BTW, an intern is a real doctor. I know that interns in other professions may have not be real so-and-so's, but this is not the case in medicine. Interns have their degrees and have licenses, or will have them within the next year.)

Just like everyone used to be a newborn baby, every doctor goes through his or her first year out of medical school. He or she makes the difficult transition from the world of written concepts to (gasp!) real live patients. The only way he or she will make the transition is through contact with actual patients. 

The preferred middle-aged doctor described in a previous paragraph will someday become a senior citizen. And who's to say that he won't get Alzheimer's or something? (Actually, in one institution, the good doctor did indeed get Alzheimer's...but that's a potentially harmful thread, so I will tread no further.) When he's gone, the world is going to need another experienced, middle-aged doctor (with or without stout abdomen and bald spot) to take his place. Which is why we, the youthful, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, inexperienced (O.K., maybe not all of the above, but definitely the last will apply to the people I'm talking about) people of the profession try to gain as much experience in the sheltered environment of residency as we possibly can, picking up knowledge and skill from our more experienced colleagues, who can (and most certainly do) tell us when we are about to do something potentially harmful.

At first, we will miss the veins (and you're probably not bearing the worst brunt of our skills, or lack thereof. We practice on each other first. I had needle tracks and bruises on my hand for days after I let the newbie practice i.v.'s on me...the patients gave me the weirdest, most horrified looks when they saw my hands...they must have thought I was enjoying my narcotics access or something...) and spend half an hour on what should be a ten-minute procedure. Bear with us. The attendings are breathing down our necks to make sure we never cause you real harm. Even (or especially) during surgery, the younger surgeon receives all sorts of abuse (verbal, and believe it or not, otherwise...preferred method is use of the cranium, since the hands must remain sterile...) until he cuts and sutures to his or her mentor's liking. 

And to express my thanks for your patience with me and my colleagues, I'll not correct you when you call me "nurse." And, if I'm in a really good mood, you might even be able to get me to empty your urinal.