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Doris A. Pichly
Sacramento, Calif

JAMA. 1987;257(16):2165.

	Since this article does not have an abstract, we have provided the first 150 words of the full text PDF and any section headings.

To the Editor.—

The letter to JAMA by Dena Lovett¹ jolted me. I didn't realize the same life existed for interns and their families as was so prevalent 30 years ago when my husband was an intern. Except then it wasn't considered a "job." The one with a salary was me, and I worked nights because of our preschool-aged daughter—I cared for her during the day, and her dad had her five nights most weeks. It worked out beautifully, but at the time I hated medicine, medical school, our ugly, drafty home, and the endless substandard living.

The wise dean of my husband's medical school spoke to the incoming freshmen's families and friends, who gathered to be introduced to future expectations in the making of physicians. He said, and the words are etched in my consciousness, "A rut is a grave with the ends kicked out." Those words gave . . . [Full Text PDF of this Article]

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