Où je vais réellement

People assume doctors drift through the city like consult notes: disembodied, efficient, and somehow everywhere at once. Reality is smaller. It’s a handful of buildings I can navigate half-asleep after night float, a museum I drag interns to when they start calling everything “septic,” and one library that still smells like paper and terror before boards. This is the medicine side of my Chicago—places where lungs get fixed, research crawls forward, and the coffee is usually worse than the outcomes. Read it like a call schedule, not a travel guide.