The cramped break room is harsh under the fluorescent lights, casting a stark glow on everything.
I catch a glimpse of my hands as I wash them, the familiar sight unsettling under the scrutiny of the bright lights.
The white lines streaking my fingernails are irregular, tiny ridges running across them like silent alarms.
I trace a pale bump near my cuticle, subtle yet persistent.
It wasn’t there a month ago.
This moment feels insignificant, just another quick look before grabbing a cup of lukewarm coffee.
Yet, it unsettles me deeply.
“Everyone’s tired; just push through,” my supervisor’s words echo when I suggested taking time off to see a doctor.
The workplace culture thrives on stoicism.
Showing weakness doesn’t get you promoted—it gets you sidelined.
But the question lingers, like a silent alarm I’m hesitant to acknowledge.
My days blur into relentless cycles—early mornings, patient rounds.
Quick meals between calls, endless chart updates.
Outside the hospital, life demands even more.
Family responsibilities, bills, a quiet fear of falling behind.
Two weeks ago, a colleague mentioned her nail issues related to thyroid problems.
That seeded a worry that has been growing ever since.
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