The End Of Medical School or When One Door Closes, You Go Into A Worse One

A few summers ago, I gave birth to a slippery, ornery baby and then immediately moved that baby and four-ish boxes of thrift store dinnerware to Hershey, Pennsylvania so my husband could start medical school. I have talked about being married to a student before. For the most part it is fine. I could tell you a bunch of stories about suppers going (…)