Years ago, I bought an album because the title caught my eye: Some People Have Real Problems. I was browsing used CDs in a music store back when both of those existed, and I felt the universe trying to restore perspective to my personal pity party.
Fast forward a decade, and I had fallen off the wagon again into whining doctor mode: headed into my second weekend night shift in as many days. The first night had been a killer, where the spigot of patients opened to a steady gush around 1 A.M. and all four of the late shift docs stayed several hours past the end of their shift to flush the proverbial toilet that our waiting room had become.
