In my first year of training as a doctor, I knew something was wrong with me. I had trouble sleeping. I had difficulty feeling joy. I was prone to crying at inopportune times. Even worse, I had trouble connecting with patients. I felt as if I couldn’t please anyone, and I felt susceptible to feelings of despair and panic.
I’m a physician, and, if I do say so myself, a very well-trained one. Yet it took an “intern support group” and the social worker who ran it, close friends and my fiancÉe (now my wife) to convince me that I might need help. Even if I couldn’t acknowledge it, they could see I was suffering from depression.
I wasn’t alone.
[For more of this story, written by Aaron E. Carroll, go to http://www.nytimes.com/2016/01...tntemail0=y&_r=2]
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