Those of us in the U.S. are celebrating the Fourth of July by kicking back and grilling things. But if you’re here for a food-related post, you might want to head over to my Recipe Index or archive instead, ’cause today’s post is all about me quitting my job.
That’s right: I’m celebrating my own personal independence day. After 14 years as a clinical pharmacist at the local hospital—the last dozen of which was spent working overnights in a fluorescent-lit ICU pharmacy—I just wrapped up my final graveyard shift.
My last night at the hospital was more emotional than I’d expected. One minute I was rocking out to Europe’s “The Final Countdown” (which was blasting triumphantly in my head all night), and the next, I was weepy over leaving my happy little nightshift family. (Goodbye, Will and Deb!) I’d been working at this hospital since 2000—when Bill Clinton was in the White House, Buffy Summers had no idea she had a sister, and Mark Zuckerberg was just some 16-year-old kid. I won’t miss the 70-hour workweeks, but on some level, I’d become weirdly fond of my nightshift routine. My Indow Windows blackout panel is pretty awesome, and I love my Tempur-Pedic Sleep Mask. Call it the Stockholm Syndrome, but I’ll even (kind of) miss the jetlag I’ve suffered every Wednesday since Ben Affleck and J. Lo got engaged.
In some ways, I loved being a zombie drug dealer. (The job title has a nice ring to it, too.) Believe it or not, I actually chose to switch from my position as a critical care pharmacist to a generalist nightshift pharmacist back in 2002 because I craved predictability; I figured the seven-nights-on, seven-nights-off schedule would allow me to make restaurant reservations weeks or even months ahead of time. (Yep, I had my priorities straight.) The routine was fabulous…
…until it wasn’t anymore.
In hindsight, it’s telling that I titled my nightshift primer “Surviving the Night Shift” and not “Thriving on the Night Shift.” No matter how you slice it, staying up all night is neither natural nor healthy; numerous studies show that nightshift zombies like me are at higher risk for sickness and death. No bueno. For over a decade, I felt like I was able to keep it (relatively) together and avoid (most of) the ill effects from regularly punching my circadian rhythm in the face. Plus, my energy levels and sleep quality improved by leaps and bounds once I started eating Paleo—but looking back, perhaps experiencing the benefits of Paleo only prolonged the inevitable.