Chicken Pot Pie

I had been looking forward to Thursday night all week. It was the beginning of my long weekend, and I was more than ready to kick back and watch my stories. The past two weeks of work had been hellacious, and my Thursday night cooking escapade was the icing on the proverbial cake, or pie as it were.

Work has been very difficult, and I feel like a complete failure to my clients and patients. Nothing has gone right lately. Fortunately, that is a huge exaggeration. I have had some splendid cases with wonderful and happy endings. Unfortunately for me, it only takes a few bad cases to ruin my week and shatter my confidence. These cases always make me second guess myself, my treatment choices, and sometimes even my career choice. The responsibilities and emotional fatique that come with this job are sometimes overwhelming. My boss says I am too hard on myself and that I shouldn't beat myself up over situations out of my control. I know that he is right, but I can't seem to make myself believe it enough to practice it. I carry all of my bad cases home with me at night and then back to work the next day, then back home and so on. I know that can't be healthy, especially if I ever want a marriage like my grandparents have. The only good that can come from baggage like this is knowledge. I must learn from what I consider mistakes and just try better next time. However, the thing that really gets me whenever I recite this cliche to myself is the context. We are not talking about a bad financial decision or a few missed questions on a test. This is life or death. An animal's life or death. I am so thankful that I am not a human physician. I could not handle that pressure. But to my clients, these mere animals are almost like children to them. And when I lose one of their children and have to tell them this . . .

I am emotionally fatigued from the number of clients I have made weep in the past month. I need a break. I decided to take one today. A minor one, but one nonetheless.

I woke up this morning, and decided I did not feel like doing any surgery today. I told my boss this, and he gracefully agreed to take my surgeries for the day. All I did today was vaccinate a few animals, do a pregnancy check on a weimeraner, and stitch up one of my patient's stuffed rabbit. I thank God I felt like crap this morning, and I'll tell you why. My one surgery of the day was a routine dog ovariohysterectomy(nice big doctor word, impressed?) . When my boss went to make the incision, he noticed a finite linear scar right down the midline of this dog's belly. "This dog's been spayed," he said. I looked at the scar which was exactly where a surgical scar would be. It was so small and clean that I know I would have missed it had I done that surgery today, and the dog would have been cut needlessly. I was relieved.

Since I did not have a lot to do, my boss let me leave early. I was very excited to get home and go running. On my way home, I stopped by the store to get some things for dinner. I wanted to cook for my aunt and uncle who come over every Thursday to watch my stories with me. I had the strangest notion to cook chicken pot pie. . . without a recipe. I was obviously suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome or some delusions of iron chef grandeur to think I could pull off such a culinary feat. Granted, I had done this once before, but that was many moons ago in a lovely village called Northepointe.

Like a mad scientist, I gathered all my ingredients on the countertop and began to add them to the pie crust. I was so excited, I called my grandmother to get confirmation on heat and time. To my surprise, my guess of 400 degrees for 20 minutes was exactly what she recommended. I felt really good. I was in the iron chef zone. I decided to shoot for bonus points by brewing some lipton sweet tea (spared no expense). Twenty minutes later, I remove my masterpiece from the oven, and it is beautiful. The crust a golden brown. The aroma of rosemary chicken consumed my little kitchenette. I eagerly cut into the pie's golden exoskeleton and attempted to scoop a piece to serve to my famished guests. But I scooped nothing but crust. The filling of the pie was nothing but chicken soup. It was then that I realized my fatal error. Instead of cream of chicken soup, I had foolishly used chicken broth. I don't know why I was so surprised after the week I had just had. But God also used this oppo. to bless me.

After declaring the chicken soup pie unfit to eat, I ordered pizza. Only then, did I discover that the cravings of my aunt for that evening was in fact an italian pie. Poetic, isn't it? Despite my pie being a complete disaster, God gave me a peace about everything because she wanted pizza. To me, the simplicity of that is beautiful. I don't know if my storytelling does it justice for everyone in Bloggerland. I hope you can see it as I do.

Anyway, thank you to everyone who wastes precious minutes of their lives to read my thoughts. And even more thanks to those who comment. I am really addicted to this blogging thing, and when I started, I didn't think I would have anything to write about. The truth is, I can't stop writing. I love it, even if no one is reading. I love you all.