I don’t know if this even counts as a confession, really. More like... a question, I guess. Or just wondering if anyone else has ever done something like this. Something you know, deep down, isn't quite right. I’m a resident, a medical resident, and I'm sort of older for it, I think. Most of the others are so young, just out of school, full of energy. I went back to school later, after... well, after a whole different life, trying to make it as an artist, which never really quite worked out. So this is sort of my second chance, my practical chance, you know? And I have this fellowship coming up, a big one. It means a lot. My last chance, probably, to really make a stable life for myself. Anyway, we were on rounds yesterday. End-of-life care. And my supervisor, Dr. Hayes, was talking about a patient, an older woman, very frail. And Dr. Hayes was just... very detached. Talking about "comfort measures only" in a way that felt really clinical, almost dismissive. Like the person was already gone, in a way. And I just kept thinking about her family, and about what *I* would want, or what someone who knew her, really knew her, would want for her last days. It felt very much like we were just... managing a bed, if that makes sense. Like just getting it over with. And I had this thought, this strong, clear thought, to say something. To ask, "Have we really talked to the family about her wishes? About what she enjoys? What brings her comfort beyond just... not suffering?" You know? But I didn't. I just stood there, nodded, scribbled my notes. Kept my mouth shut. Because Dr. Hayes is the one who writes my evaluation. The one who can make or break this fellowship. And I really, REALLY need this fellowship. It's EVERYTHING right now. So, I didn't say anything. And I feel... I don't know. Like a piece of me, the part that wanted to be an artist, the part that always wanted to see the beauty and the meaning in things, that part sort of shriveled up, just a little bit. And now I'm just sitting here, drawing little swirling patterns in my sketchbook, and I just keep seeing that patient’s face, even though I hardly knew her. Anyone else ever feel like they sold a little bit of their soul, just to get by? To get to the next step? And you just hope it’s... worth it, in the end? I don't know. I guess I just don't know.