I am standing in the stairwell of the hospital, watching dawn break over the trees through the windows from the 9^th floor. It has been a crazy night on the pediatrics ward, but as the sky turns lighter I am reminded of how lucky I am to get to do what I do. Sure, I am up all night while the rest of the world rests, but I get to bear witness to the incredible journeys of the little fighters, in the presence of the incredible humans who dedicate their lives to taking care of them. I am officially 5 weeks into being Dr. Nikki, and although the learning curve has been less of a curve and more of a 90 degree cliff, I have never been happier. My first assignment was pediatric hematology/oncology, or, put more simply, kids with cancer and blood disorders. On my first day there were only 5 patients on the Heme/Onc floor, and still I felt like a chicken running around with my head cut off. Fortunately, I worked with a wonderful senior resident who never tired of my stupid yet genuine questions (Tylenol is still dosed 15 mg/kg, btw). I saw a wide variety of pathology and met children in all stages of their cancer journey: a two year old newly diagnosed with leukemia, a teenage boy with a cough who turned out to have a huge tumor in his chest. Some kids came for a few days of chemo, some had been there for months battling one complication after the next. I got to work by 6am every morning to check in on my patients and review overnight events, then presented each one to the supervising physician and executed treatment plans throughout the day. I was called to bedside for fevers, pain, weird rashes or spots. I listened to hearts and lungs, pressed on little bellies to make sure they were soft. I sat with distraught parents to explain what their children were experiencing or would experience, always blown away by their resilience at what must be one of the worst times of their lives. I did my first spinal tap, and, despite my shaky hands, I was successful on the first try. Exciting stuff, albeit heartbreaking, and day by day it got easier to keep my head above water.

Of course, I am not an oncologist, and honestly, I don’t want to be. I am still confused by the complex chemo regimens and steroid weans and rescue medications, but I have learned an incredible amount in the short month since starting residency. I learned to place Tylenol orders correctly, sure, but I also learned how to live up to the role I have worked so hard to attain. I learned to lean on my coresidents and seniors when I felt like I was about to drown. I learned to trust my gut when something seemed wrong with one of the kiddos. I learned to partner with nurses and other team members to provide the best care possible. I learned, most of all, that this is a very difficult career, but one I am worthy of and one I will be fulfilled by for years to come. I know the long hours and the weight of what we see as doctors will inevitably wear on me, but I hope that I will always be buoyed by the gratitude of patients and their families and humbled by the challenge of helping them get well and stay well. I may not totally deserve it yet, but every “thank you, doctor” I receive drives me to be better, patient by patient, day by day. My patients may not know it, but I too, am incredibly grateful. For their trust in me, for the opportunity to make a difference in the world. I am a baby doctor in the grand scheme of things, but I am on my way.