On July 1, hundreds of new interns will arrive promptly for morning rounds, with crisply bleached white coats, a sun-kissed glow to their well-rested faces, a delighted strut that shows off their new pagers, and a light in their eyes that emanates the enthusiasm that today, “I am a plastic surgery resident!”

As time goes on, most of us grow to wear a fleece for the practicality of warmth; our skin is anemic in appearance from the hours logged in the hospital. The sound of our pagers is likely to propagate palpitations with the hope that they may “accidently” fall into the toilet and our eyes yearn for a long blink, as they are open more hours than they are closed.

In reading the article in Cosmopolitan Magazine, “13 Things I Wish I Knew Before I Became a Plastic Surgeon,” I think about if there are things I wish I knew before I became a plastic surgery resident. What would I tell that person on July 1?