The call of the West

I am just shy of a full month away from writing my second, and definitely last, Royal College exam. I am also in the midst of a big move. I am leaving Montreal to finish up my fellowship in Vancouver before joining a new IVF clinic in Victoria in January. But first, this: It is late on a Friday night and I just sitting down to study as I listen to the slow, quiet sounds of my kids sleeping in the hotel beds beside me. I am in Banff, Alta. In the place I feel most at peace. I find the fact that with less than a month to spare before writing, I am back here—where I believe my soul calls home—because I did the exact same thing two years ago, before writing my first Royal College exam. I vividly remember just over two years ago, taking an impromptu trip out to Canmore, Alta. It was early in the week, a Monday or Tuesday, and a friend mentioned she was going to the mountains for a birthday celebration. I was immediately envious. I lived in Edmonton while I was in residency, and unfortunately, a four-hour drive to the mountains was never something that fit easily into my schedule as an ob/gyn resident. Born and raised in Calgary, I spent a significant portion of my childhood and early adulthood surrounded by the gorgeous giants. Whenever I go back there, I am immediately taken back to a place of calm groundedness. The envy I had over my friend going to the mountains, I realized, came from something deep down inside of me that needed some love and attention. There is nothing more soul-crushing than the constant fear of failing the biggest exam of your life, while continuing to work a hectic chief resident surgical schedule, and raise a family. That same day I casually mentioned to my husband that I really needed to take a trip to the mountains, but nothing really materialized. However, when I woke up Friday morning, I decided it had to happen. I told my husband that I needed to go—that something was literally calling me to go—and that I was either going alone or we were going as a family. When he realized I was serious, he really had no choice but to agree to come. I booked a last-minute hotel room to fit our family of five, packed everything for me and the kids, ran off to clinic for the afternoon. I was walking on clouds for the first time in weeks. Finally, after our workdays were done, we set out for the long drive to the mountains. It was dark when we arrived, and there was a feeling of stealthy surrealism as we snaked along the highway between the tall mountains we knew were there but couldn’t see. The crisp mountain air that enveloped me as I unloaded the family was the first sign that I was where I needed to be. In the morning, I opened the curtains of the hotel window to reveal the beautiful majesty of the Rocky Mountains. I was finally home. The day was a beautiful balance of hotel pool, walking, scenery, playgrounds, coffee, sunshine, and of course, studying. I didn’t mind studying in the mountains because I was soothed and lifted out of the despair I had slowly been spiralling towards. I actually joked to my husband that he should leave me there for the week and come back next weekend to get me. I might not have actually been joking. . . . Even though I knew I was only there for the weekend, I allowed the balm of the mountains to pour over me and seep into the cracked and hardened pieces of my being that had been deepening with the passing of time. On Sunday morning we packed up our bags and our kids and walked near the river before it was time to head back into the real world. We took our time and stopped for brunch, did some shopping, and then watched the silhouettes of the mountains disappear on the horizon of the rear-view mirror. Even though the visit was short, it was just what I needed to take myself through this last month of never-ending studying. Now two years have passed, I have been living on the other side of the country, I have endured a global pandemic, and I have almost completed my fellowship. And I find myself responding again to the call of the mountains. Amid our cross-country move, the race to study all the necessary material for my exam, and my busy fellowship and locuming schedule, I managed to fit in another weekend trip to the place I belong. This time, it was daytime as we drove through the rolling foothills and watched as they transformed into mountains right before our eyes. We wasted no time and immediately set off on a 12 km hike through Johnston Canyon and up to the ink pools where spring water bubbles from inside the mountain rock. I could feel my body resisting at first, feeling overwhelmed and underconditioned for the work ahead of me. But, as we gained higher elevation and got deeper into the wilderness with fewer people surrounding us on the trail, I felt my tension and stress melt away, replaced instead with a sense of invigoration and harmony. This weekend, like the time before, will be a balance between enjoying the natural beauty of the mountains, spending time with my family, and getting in the obligatory (necessary) study time. I truly believe that these little “calls to my homeland” during my times of crisis are a lifesaver, and that something deep within my soul knows that sensing everything about this place—the sight of the vistas, the smell of the fresh forest, the feel of the crisp air is exactly what I need to survive. Sometimes in medicine, it is so easy to lose sight of the things that bring us peace in our own lives. Commitments to our patients, to our ongoing knowledge acquisition, to our families, and to our colleagues often leave us with little time to even think about, let alone follow through on, a plan to given ourselves what we need. The last time I needed a balm for my tattered mind and soul, I waited until I didn’t have any other choice. This time, I made it a priority despite the hectic and crazy schedule we have for moving across the country. And, I’m hoping that as I move into my career as a staff physician, I will remember to prioritize time for myself to connect with the very parts of life that bring me back to the people and places that make me whole.

The call of the West

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Blog Author

Ginevra Mills

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