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I haven’t written for a long time. It’s not because I haven’t had things to say. I think it’s because I’ve had too much to say. But too many thoughts, especially when kept inside one’s head, are not good for anybody. So here’s to more writing. Not necessarily good writing – I’m going for quantity here.

I am nearing the end of my first year of general surgical residency. It’s been a hard year. It’s been a long year. But it’s been a good year. I am so much smarter than when I started. I realize that’s the hope, the goal, the necessity, but let’s be honest, goals aren’t always achieved, and it’s nice to be on the positive end of an investment. So here I sit, ready to end this year and get on with the real stuff of surgery. Let it begin.

But there is one nagging thing that keeps me mind away from the grind. I recently went on a trip to Haiti, to Quanaminthe, where I worked at a medical clinic. As little as I know in the grand scheme of things, I was told I was fully prepared for what I would see. In some ways I was, but in many I was not. Sure, I can read about malaria in a text book and figure out a way to treat it. But I wasn’t prepared for the extensive need I saw. Sure. I had seen poverty, but I had never seen in while attempting to fix one aspect of it that is so tied to finances, to structure, and that relieves on a society to deliver.

So now, at the start of year 2, I am working on two things: how to become the best surgeon I can be, and how to attack health-care delivery in Ouanaminthe. Here we go.