I read patient charts and feel nothing

Dear Delyara, I became a doctor because I cared about people, and now I catch myself resenting them before they enter the room. I look at the schedule and see twenty-three appointments, not twenty-three lives. When a patient begins describing pain slowly, part of me calculates how late I am becoming. Last week, an elderly man cried while telling me his wife had died. I handed him a tissue and watched the clock behind his shoulder. That moment has frightened me more than exhaustion ever did. I work twelve-hour days, complete notes after my children sleep, answer messages during dinner, and wake thinking about lab results. The hospital offers resilience workshops at lunchtime, as though another scheduled obligation will repair what the schedule has done. I have not made a dangerous mistake yet. Everyone praises my efficiency. That praise makes it easier to keep going and harder to admit that compassion has begun feeling like a resource I am rationing. I am afraid the part of me that wanted to heal people is not resting. I am afraid it is leaving.