I remember my first solo surgery, clear as day—a resident for years, then suddenly it was just ME. The scrubs felt like a child’s costume, a little too big in the shoulders, and I kept picturing Mrs. Henderson from across the cul-de-sac, nodding approvingly at my professional attire. The whole time, I was performing the procedure with what I hoped was a convincing air of gravitas, while internally I was just... waiting to be caught. Like someone would burst in and yell, "AHA! We knew you were just playing dress-up!" It's almost funny, isn't it? The sheer audacity of it all.