No Time to Die

It has been a long while.

Well, things are starting to look up. Many things happened between my last post and now, which is funny considering it's only been like 4 to 5 months, but it seems like a lifetime has passed.

I haven't posted here because even a reminder of work was bothering me. I decided to focus on myself, and it has not been an easy journey but overall it has made my life a whole lot easier - or so I'd like to think.

I considered quitting medicine, I really did. I was so close to doing it, too. But I surrounded myself with the right people and slowly pulled myself away from things that were perhaps a little too 'toxic' for me, and I managed to hold out on the actual action of quitting and settle for something that may perhaps be better for me in the long run.

I didn't see myself being here in particular when I started working. I did foresee it, apparently, as a medical student and I admit I am proud of how astute I can be sometimes. Then again, we are all egoistic and think we are above certain things in life until life slaps you in the arse and you fall into the muck and realize you are, after all, not below those things but rather under them, until you get back up and brush yourself, or rather hose yourself down, and are above it all again.

So that's what I'm doing. I am getting up, hosing the muck off of myself, and stepping away from the mucky area for a bit until I absolutely have to go through it again.

My parents are a bit hesitant, naturally, but my husband supports me wholeheartedly and so do my siblings. My in-laws may also be hesitant about it but they are polite enough to refrain from saying it outright to my face so far.

Anywho~

I guess I'll see you when I see you.
And all the best to your future endeavours too.

Always seek help when you need it. Nothing is too trivial. :)

A Strangely Common Occurrence

You feel like you have assessed and managed a patient properly, treated them well enough to see remarkable improvement. You feel the patient is safe to be admitted into your wards without referral to a tertiary hospital.

So you happily send the patient on his merry way to the ward.

Barely an hour later, the patient has apparently deteriorated and needs to be sent to the tertiary hospital- intubated.

So...

Is your assessment really good?

Did you miss out obvious signs of deterioration?

Did you even manage the patient properly?

The vital signs chart, does it lie? 

Was the entire department complicit in pretending the patient has improved clinically just so the doctor in charge doesn't have to pick up the phone, discuss the case with her superior and refer the poor, unfortunate patient to the nearest specialist hospital?

Did some supernatural process weave its way through to plant its horrendous, cursed lips on the patient while he was in transfer, leading to a rapid decline in his well-being?

Weird stuff happens.

You could be the first doctor, or the second one.

Your level of knowledge or competency tend not to matter much in these strange aberrations.

The second doctor, kudos for catching a deteriorating patient and doing the needful before proverbial feces hits the proverbial fan.

The first doctor... Well, let's hope your documentation is sound and you have a good track record.

Let's be real, I've been in both situations. 

And only recently was I in the situation of the first doctor.

I kept rewinding through my memories, thinking where did everything go wrong... 

I was by the patient's side for most of his time in the emergency room.

I assessed the patient myself instead of relying on the nurses for vital signs.

I managed the patient as thoroughly as I could.

I gave the final word that the patient was stable enough to be sent to the ward without requiring specialist input.

And much, much later, when my colleagues told me the patient's condition in ward on arrival, I was utterly shocked, because from what I hear the patient was in a worse condition than upon his arrival to the emergency department.

The irate second doctor who had to manage the patient was understandably cross with me, assuming I was dumping proverbial feces into her ward so she could clean it up.

Honestly... 

I think we are all in this field not to dump feces, but clean it up.

Plus the specialist in question that day was actually quite pleasant, so what would really deter me from speaking to her?

So what happened to the patient??

Sigh.

I keep beating myself up for things that are out of my control.

Vital signs that do not tally.

Magical changes in condition.

Troublesome people.

Miscommunication.

Feeling like James Blunt on a moody day...

I think I am considering taking a long unpaid leave to be with my husband.

If things continue this way...

I read through this blog and realize my posts have been negative as of late.

Where were the inspiring posts, filled with positivity and tips for others?

Where did the optimistic HO go?

Quitting entirely would be a waste. I will still have my APC as long as I practice somehow until whenever, but I would like to contribute to my family too, and let's face it, that's the only reason why most of us stick in government jobs- for the safety of the future. For our families. 

Not to change the system to be better, it seems.

See? See where I'm going again with the negativity?

Maybe a small break for now. It's hard to think when your emotions are so clouded, and a nice break may put things into a different, better perspective.

In the Haze

In a life filled with record-breaking moments, there is bound to be one that resonates with you more than most.

I rarely post about my patient encounters. I fear they may be unprofessional, a way of pandering to the masses; an accidental show of farcical empathy and intelligence; you name it. However, this is something I had to get off my chest. And let's face it, there is no real way I can be posturing with this particular story.

Be aware that this story might not be... savoury... to a lot of people. I am a Muslim, and that comes with certain obvious expectations. Malaysia has its own set of rules, too, regarding what I'm about to document here. So if you are not one of the above, you may be unable to fathom why I reacted how I did... 

But you can try.

In the wee hours of the night of a public holiday, a middle-aged lady was supporting her daughter as they walked into the emergency department, the daughter clearly in pain. The daughter had put on a green batik nightgown over which a kain batik was tied to her neck, massively covering most of her front. Mother, in a long-sleeved blue shirt and pyjama pants, called out, 'Help! My daughter is having severe back pain all of a sudden!'

I was in the midst of filling out a prescription form for another gentleman who came in with an unexpected allergic reaction. I eyed the duo as they swerved over to my assistant medical officer at the registration counter and were directed to the closest beds. The mother was told to lay her daughter down and register. They were non-locals and had to pay RM 100 instead of the rate we enjoy, a hundred times less.

Feeling the gentleman eye the duo with more curiosity than necessary, I hastily finished my explanations to him, discharged him and got up to see the lady.

Introductions. Then a quick look-over.

I am not blind. She was obviously having an abdominal distension suggestive of a gravid uterus.

I pulled down the kain batik, and pulled up her long nightgown. Sure enough, the linea nigra appeared into view along with a uterus of about 24 weeks' size.

'How old are you again?'

'18.'

'When did you turn 18, exactly?'

'Earlier this month, on the nth...'

'Are you married?' - typical Malaysian doctor questions. Don't ask if you ain't here.

'... Yes.'

'Doctor, the mother told us she's not married,' interrupted one of my nurses. 

It's not uncommon for a teenage girl to be married around these parts, especially for non-locals. But deep inside, I knew this was not the case.

'Do you know you're pregnant?'

A pause. 'Yes...'

'Does your mother know?'

Another pause, this time more pregnant.

'No.'

We'll see about that, I thought, as I reached over to the ultrasound machine. First things first, let's see how premature the baby is.

Probe on suprapubic area. No head.

I moved it upwards. A tangle of bodies.

No.

Two skulls.

NO.

Yet sure enough, as I moved the probe around, two fetuses were actively moving around, separated by a thin layer of membrane, head to head. They were around 20 to 22 weeks gestational age.

For many people, being pregnant with twins is a delight. But for healthcare practitioners, we know how complicated these pregnancies can be to the mother and both babies. And for a young doctor like me who isn't within the O&G department, even the seemingly simple act of scanning the patient becomes a massive chore. The case will need to be discussed with the specialist.

In the background, the patient is moaning in pain.

I have cussed internally and perhaps externally, but I have asked my nurses to bring the speculum and vaginal examination set over.

'Do you have any water or blood discharge from your vagina?'

'No, doctor, help me, it hurts so much!'

'Labour pains will get worse, girl,' my nurse told her, 'so be strong for your babies.'

For it was clear she was having contraction pains. 

These do not happen for no reason, so far into the pregnancy.

Examining her, I found her to be one centimeter dilated. I took the necessary investigations.

'Have you ever checked your pregnancy with any doctor before?' I inquired.

'No, this is the first time. Ow, it hurts!'

'Please be honest, miss, I'm trying to help you. Did you take any medication before this?'

'Yes.'

'What for?'

Silence.

'Did you... take medication to abort the pregnancy?'

'Yes...'

An external curse word escaped me, in a record-breaking moment.

'Where? Where did you get it from?'

'From a friend in town...'

'Where did she get it?'

'I don't know, she used it before too.'

'Did you bring it?'

'No...'

'Are you aware that you're not just murdering one, but two babies?'

'... What?'

'You are pregnant with twins!'

And I have never heard such words being uttered with such venom from a healthcare professional, as she stared back at me, flabbergasted.

The next few moments were more of a blur.

I rushed to the mother.

'Do you know that your daughter is pregnant?'

'Oh, oh what, really?' An unconvincing show of surprise, eyes widening too late, too long, barely any tension in her muscles- just not how most mothers react to an unexpected teenage daughter pregnancy announcement. The mother knows. Call it a hunch, but she knows.

'Why did you go to town today?'

'Just going out, you know...'

'Are you aware that she is trying to terminate her pregnancy?'

'Well, no, but she is in so much pain, please help her! Surely you can help her ease things a little...'

'She is pregnant with twins, you know.'

The mother stared at me, almost deadpan.

'And you are more worried about her pain than the fact that she tried to kill her own babies?'

'I, uh-'

'You are a MOTHER! How can you be so evil? How can you allow her to take the lives of her own babies? You're also a muslim! You know that it's murder!'

The mother's expressions were hazy behind my watery eyes. I realized I was screaming. Gesticulating. Frustrated.

'Doctor, it's okay, you have the full right to scold me. Just scold me, I don't mind, please... It's my fault,' she told me. And in my whirl of emotions I can't even tell if she was being genuine or simply trying to expedite the process.

I was losing my cool.

In fact I lost it, for I have never had violent anger outbursts in front of my own patients.

I stormed off.

And in the treatment room, I cried for the innocent little souls I saw on the screen- the two skulls next to each other, moving around. Hearts beating, limbs active, strong, surviving.

For how long?

I was not equipped for this. Being alone on-call, my staff unable to console me or advise me.

I wept.

I wept for the babies, and the naive young mother, and her mother.

I wept for my inadequacy and loss of professionalism.

I wept for the people who tried and failed to conceive for long years.

I wept for long minutes, an ugly mess of tears and mucus and loud sobs.

I dried my tears momentarily and called up my specialist for advice.

And wept some more over the phone despite all attempts to the contrary, much to my chagrin (and the specialist's).

She told me there is nothing she can do, and it is not really an urgent case.

I remember her telling me that there is no need to cry, because it does not help things.

I apologized profusely.

But since when has crying ever helped? It's out of our control and I hated myself for it.

'Did the specialist scold you badly?' One of my nurses asked quietly.

'No, it's not that, it's...' I couldn't begin to explain.

'The mother knows, you know.' The nurse told me, and said more of the circumstances surrounding the pregnancy. The guy refuses to be responsible. It was of little import to me.

I did what was necessary and what was ordered by the specialist- the police report, the plans to have her admitted overnight- and refused to see the patient.

What was I supposed to do, hold her hands and tell her everything is going to be fine?

I was a mess and so was she; neither of us needed to see each other.

The rest of the night was a tumultuous blur of emotions, for as I mourned the possible loss of lives, I mourned my reaction to it, too. I wondered if it would ever be possible for me to process such a case with less emotional outburst. I mourned my lack of knowledge.

I prayed to God for all of us.

I hurt myself.

And to stop from going further I began writing into my phone, writing all those feelings, pouring them out from my heart in an event lost to so many years.

I was glad of the reprieve I got after the case; no one sought the hospital in the hours that passed afterwards, probably sound asleep in their homes. Quitting was an idea that appeared in my mind often, painting violent streaks into my thoughts.

I walked around the hospital grounds in the haze, omitting my N95 mask entirely. The thoughts within were enough to suffocate me.

There is news that came with the dawn- the patient has stopped having contractions altogether in the ward. There is a huge chance that the abortion attempt failed.

I wonder what the coming days will bring to the mother, her mother, and the two unborn babies.

But most of all, I wonder what they will bring to me.

EDIT: The ward staff told me over electronic media, on my off day, that the babies were delivered the day after. Of course they came out alive, and it was quite some time before they passed.
I want to say that I wish the mother and grandmother are happy with what they've done.
But that would be lying.
They didn't just kill the babies, but a part of me, too. And that would never change.

Over a Year as a Full-Fledged MO

Okay.

So, they are right.
It gets better.


There are days when it feels like absolute S*&# and you fear the slippery slide to insanity, and best believe those days sometimes come more often than not...

But overall,

it

     gets
         
          BETTER.


Believe in your dreams.
TRY to be patient and not morph into the malignant boss of your nightmares.
No matter how stressed you are.
Pray hard to Him and ask for His blessings in all that you do.

InshaaAllah, it will get better. It may take months, maybe even a year, but it will improve.

So, hang in there.


And when it does get better, remember your dreams (ahem, specialisation?) and GO FOR THEM.

As my favourite medical specialist has told us, do not settle- have an ambition and chase after it. Always strive to improve yourself and move forward; never be too comfortable with where you are.


Thanks, Boss. You will always be our superhero.


And hey, ignore the meanies who tell you you're stupid and make you feel worthless.
Take their advice when given, but ignore the insults.

ACCEPT that you may be so stupid sometimes, it's absurd. Do not have too much ego, okay?
Just accept that your lack of knowledge at that time was inexcusable. You are not super intelligent, even if this title required you to score the highest in all your school years- it means jacks@#& because you are in a field filled with so-called overachievers so again please just accept that.

LEARN. Consolidate. And most importantly, MOVE ON.


Yes it's particularly hard when it concerns certain... beings... but try, for your sake.



Belated Title: Advice to Past Me.
Proper Title: Advice to All Ailing New MOs.

P.S.: I am STILL a new MO. One year does not a senior MO make.

Dignified and Truly Professional

"Dr, Klinik XX nak hantar satu patient. NCC*, non-local post-SVD** 3 hours ago at home. Patient unconscious--"

"--S^#T!" I responded in the most dignified manner possible.


There are several cases that warrant the most dignified response possible when you're located in a remote setting over an hour from a specialist hospital:

- Maternity cases with a high chance of morbidity and mortality
- Paeds cases (especially under 5 years old) with a high chance of morbidity and mortality

Those two are the most important to remember; the rest are nowhere near as frightful.

Because at the end of the day,

even when the patient was roused from a deep and seemingly unrousable slumber by you;
even if the blood pressure picked up and heart rate dropped rather dramatically after your fluid resuscitation;
even if the patient managed to arrive at the referral hospital with almost-perfect blood results, normalized vital signs, fully conscious and cheerful;

if the patient dies at the referring hospital
- leaving you flabbergasted as to what the heck happened there after all that??,

YOU
ARE
GUILTY
OF

...

SOMETHING.
Trust me.

Cry two nights in a row and then, puffy-eyed, go to the mortality meeting and explain how you have done everything within your means to help the patient; fingers will still point toward you for something completely out of your immediate control.

How would you think the patient will die because of a diagnosis you cannot arrive to, simply for the fact that it hasn't developed yet at your center nor do you have the facilities to diagnose it?
Doesn't matter, you were the cause for not having prophetic powers.


Conclusion:
1) Mortality meetings exist solely to shift the blame and not, as they are touted, to improve patient care, avoid further mishaps or 'banana trees fruiting twice'.
2) Don't become a doctor. It sucks.***




*NCC - non-clinic case
**SVD - spontaneous vaginal delivery
*** Okay it has its perks. But seriously don't do it unless you have a ten-metre-thick face and a heart encased with 5-ft steel, resilient to the most pointed misfortunes, insults and humiliation directed to you. Or just go non-clinical, heard the grass there is so green it's fluorescent.

Minefield, Field of Mine.

You would think that after being an MO, you would have more days to be free and thus type in your blog.

THINK AGAIN.

It's not the time that is the issue; rather, the fact that you are too scared to voice your opinion because somehow, with the so-called upgrade in your job title, comes even more fear of being reprimanded. You are even more accountable for what you say.

Hence the anonymity.

I have so many things to say that at times, I am almost bursting. It doesn't help that so many interesting issues are viral particularly in the healthcare sector. But, as always, I prefer to keep mum and let the more outspoken and confident people deal with what they would. Any word or action can and will be held against me at the most unexpected moments.

What a minefield, this field of mine.

*****

I have never pondered quitting so much as I do now.

During my housemanship this was not something I lingered on. I believe I do not have the option to quit, and that I should grit my teeth and bear any form of torture until I am free of this probationary period, when things would become better.

Little did I know things will never become better in this minefield. It just gets seemingly worse.

I am still getting my measly HO salary, but money's not the main issue.
My on-calls are almost always not worth the stress and hours.

You think the brunt of scolding ends at housemanship? Think again. It's not a pleasant experience being scolded, much less when you are being devalued for having less knowledge than a medical student- in front of your juniors and patients.

This is worse for MOs who are not serving within a department with its own boss- the jacks of all trades but masters of none. The KK and district and OPD MOs.

There is too much anxiety and second-guessing. It's getting worse by the day, and quitting seems to be my everyday mantra. It's weird because we are thought to be living relatively peaceful lives.

So guess who just found out that clinical life is not meant for her.
At least, not in this country.
Not in this very toxic environment.

I never thought I was stupid, particularly, but I'm rethinking that thought entirely.
I think too many of my brain cells died and created large dams of negativity held in by strong anxiety walls, surrounded by forests of fear. There is no path for the river of knowledge in my brain anymore.

Everything dead-ends.
Never have I been so unhappy.

Is this the real life?
(DON'T continue singing. Oops, you continued...)

I want to better myself by armoring myself with knowledge and experience but knowledge is a word that sounds too much like no-ledge and it is slipping off of me, repelled by me, and I am scared that I am not getting the blessing nor fruit from all this stress.

I do not know what to tell my parents. Their whole lives led up to this moment of seeing me as a doctor in the family. And now barely 3 years later I say I want to quit?

So, that's what I'm doing right now.
Grinning and bearing, until it gets more bearable, because people say it will.

The Curse of Time Awareness

When we were younger and carefree,

keyword here being 'carefree',

we are less aware of time.

We progress through our days as our parents and teachers dictate.

Wake up in the morning from our mothers' not-so-gentle calls.

Shower and brush our teeth because we are supposed to.

Go to school because that's what our parents tell us to do.

Attend classes as our teachers change, lesson by lesson.

Go out into the field and run because it's part of normal school activity.

Have fun with friends because we are supposed to.

For most of the Malays, school doesn't end in the afternoon.

"Sekolah Agama" beckons until later in the evening.

After that, come home and shower.

Then tuition, or Qur'an classes, until night time.

Then an hour or two to spare for homework, and maybe some TV, before we are forced into bed.

Weekends are largely dependent on how free our parents are (or how financially-constrained, but we rarely realize that until much later).

I don't know how different it is compared to the days of children now, but I rarely count my moments as a child, and well into my teens. I wasn't trying to deduce how many hours of me-time I have left. 

I left it all to the authorities, the 'rentals.

I was devoid of care. 

Entirely carefree.

Where time is concerned, all I want to do is grow up.

Now, every hour is calculated, every effort a pending reward.

I am too aware of the time I spend.

I couldn't recall, during my childhood, there being a time when I'm thinking, 'Aw man, only three hours before I have to sleep!' or 'What, only two days left to school holidays?!'

My days went by as planned by those older than me, and I willingly accepted whatever routine or non-routine activities mostly planned out for me.

I never questioned much of my time. Even in high school, when work began to pile on me and my many younger siblings meant that I have to dedicate most of my free time to helping around the house, I still barely thought about all the free time I'm missing.

Is it because, back then, I had close to nothing to do?

I didn't have free reign to the only PC in the house, nor do I play the old PS2 all that much. 

I didn't own a great deal of books. Most of my reading material were from the school library (and even then I wasn't as picky about what I read, I just devoured what books I could get voraciously).

My goal was to do medicine in a university in the UK, and for that I studied very frequently, mostly without prompting. The dream was only half-fulfilled- and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I often turned down invites to people's parties, and by my geeky nature, it was only a matter of time before invites trickled down to the closest of friends.

Let's not even get into the fact that I did not get into a relationship until I was in my twenties.

So, yeah. 

I didn't have much to do, and I wasn't aware of those times I might have missed out.

My parents didn't realize until way later, when my siblings have all grown up, that I was the easiest child they ever had to care for.

I despise how time-aware I have become.

Now, by the evening of my day off I'm already dreading the next working day; already thinking of worst scenarios to happen, already cursing myself for things I did not do in my free time. 

I spend nearly a quarter of my free time worrying about what's to happen during my working time.

It's a curse.

I have no idea how to get rid of it. How do I return to those days when I take each day as it is; without overt worrying, without putting undue stress on myself? Did I develop an anxiety disorder as I grew older, or is this simply the normal course of an ageing mind?

I am not a young adult anymore. 

I am a full-fledged adult. I can do everything; age restrictions don't apply to me, until such a time when I have to look forward to discounts for being in my 'golden years'.

Where I wanted to fast-forward time, now most of the time all I want to do is slow it down.

I need a Dr Who in my life.

SO MANY THOUGHTS

1.

DEY. Control your short forms lah dey.

Watpe tew?

Ittew nk gi shopink skrunk

lanje ley?

cntk bju tew.

rege rape?

Rape?

RAPE???@

WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!??!?!?!!!



2.

ME IN WARD B: *Running around* AKAK, SAYA SANGAT LAPA--

SN WARD A 1: Dr, tak makan lagi ke? Tu ada nasi lemak Kak S bawak, makan meh--
SN WARD A 2: Dr, jemput makan kek akak buat~
SN WARD B 1: Dr, meh akak ada buat kerepek sikit buat kudap2--
SN WARD B 2: Dr, nak rendang dengan lemang?
SN WARD C: Dr, nah rasa kuih akak buat hari tu!
SN WARD D: Dr, ward kami ada buat makan2 sikit, meh la datang!

ME: -- *CRIES TEARS OF JOY WHILE STUFFING SELF SILLY*



3.

*Stares at logbook*

*Stares at schedule of bosses on leave*

*Stares at unsigned pages*

*Stares at unapproved leave forms*

I cri everytiem. ;___;



4.

Me: I'm so bloody tired.

Also me: Let's watch this 'Shape of You' parody for the 293848945893475934th time since it's 1 am and I'm on-call tomorrow!



5.

People: Dude.

Me: Whut.

People: You're like, almost an MO.

Me: *Fifty feet underwater*
*Gurgling air bubbles*
SRUUUR WUURRRR

One Fine Night in a Hospimart

I was wasting money in my favourite shopping place in this district (obviously Hospimart) when a lady came up to me.

"Dr baru habis kerja ye?" asked the middle-aged lady. She was wearing baju kurung, and being there so late at night I wondered if she was the relative of one of my patients. I barely recognise them, but I tried my best to be friendly nonetheless.

"Ha'ah mak cik. Biasalah, satu hari kerja, lapar malam-malam ni", I replied, grinning.

"Tak pe Dr, kerja macam Dr ni banyak pahala..." She told me. I just smiled and nodded, and said I hoped so.

Then she told me, "Sebenarnya anak mak cik dulu pun macam Dr juga. Dia jadi doktor pelatih. Tapi dia tak tahan dengan bebanan kerja... Jadi dia pun dah berhenti. Tak sanggup kerja lagi sebagai doktor. Puas mak cik pujuk dia, dia memang tak mahu dah. Rasa macam luruh hati mak cik... Berharap sangat nak ada doktor dalam keluarga. Nak buat macamana?"

I was taken aback.

"Bagus lah Dr tak putus semangat. Orang yang kuat sahaja boleh tahan kerja macam ni. Apa nak buat, anak mak cik tak boleh nak tahan..." She was getting tearful, and I was reaching my capacity too. How troubled the mother was. Her voice was breaking.

I put a hand on her shoulder and patted her, looking her in the eye.

"Mak cik, saya pasti semua yang berlaku ada hikmahnya. Rezeki anak mak cik di tempat lain. Mungkin dia yang akan boleh jaga mak cik nanti, walaupun dia bukan Dr.

"Saya sendiri, atuk sendiri sakit, ibu bapa sendiri sakit, jarang sangat dapat nak melawat. Sebab selalu jaga orang lain punya atuk, orang lain punya ibu bapa..." I felt my own tears threatening to fall, but I plowed on.

"Saya tahu mak cik sedih. Tetapi percayalah, mak cik langsung tak rugi kalau mak cik percaya pada perancangan Tuhan. Mestu ada hikmahnya, saya percaya. Mungkin tak nampak sekarang, tapi lambat laun mesti mak cik perasan." 

The lady nodded,wiping her tears. "Saya tahu, tapi kadang-kadang masih rasa menyesal."

I nodded sympathetically. We exchanged a few parting words, and I took my leave, my head abuzz with emotions and thoughts.



It's almost natural, it seems, for parents to want at least one of their offspring to become a doctor- except to parents who actually are/were doctors. At least it seems that way in this country. And it transcends racial boundaries.

I do not understand the fascination, not entirely, but then again I already am a doctor. I am well aware of our capabilities and our large limitations; I was, in fact, a product of such thoughts. My parents really wanted me to become a doctor. I was 'brainwashed' since my infancy, to the point that I actually thought I was here of my own volition.

But that's obviously not true.
No toddler would want to do this for the rest of her life.



And yet there is something so tangible, so rewarding, at the end of the day. The moment you leave the hospital, one of those rare moments where you are actively reaching beyond the walls of your wards or the hurtful words of your seniors, your own thoughts of inadequacy. These are the moments when you feel, 'Yes, I can do this for a lifetime. I can keep on doing this, just give me some breaks in between.'

And life as a house officer, I believe, is way more rewarding than medical student life.

Don't get me wrong, student years are very fun and there is no beating that 'no responsibilities' feeling. But now I get to own my hard-earned money. The hours can be crazy long, but we do get some rest in between. And in the end, I contribute. Despite my lack of experience, and sometimes my mistakes; despite the scoldings of being mere 'clerks' and the feeling of just having to follow orders. Despite these, I have contributed to the society in some way. I have helped save some lives.

I have, most importantly, played a part in alleviating other people's pain and suffering, and brought smiles to their faces.



Perhaps this can be the most rewarding job in the world. But for it to be that way, I must always look above and beyond my hospital walls.



And I pray, so that those parents- whose hopes seem shattered beyond repair when their children refuse to become a doctor- will find the truth and see the advantages of a child not working in the healthcare service. Most other jobs are rewarding, too, as long as one's intentions are right.



Anyway, it has not been the easiest past few weeks. And the story I just told happened in one of my previous postings. I feel like I lost so many insightful moments when I do not write them down somehow.

But at least this one will stick for a while :)

Dear Various Staff of my Current Department...

Dear Specialists,

you don't function as our guardians.

You think you do, but you fail miserably.

Dear MOs,

screw you too.

And for those to whom this applies, love you too. Like, 2 of you.

Dear Nurses,

thank you for being our gossip partners.

Sorry for semi-snapping at you when things don't get done.

Thanks for the CODs.

Dear PPKs,

I know you are underpaid, but so am I.

Please stop taking so many breaks if your work isn't done.

Stop making me do your job.

Dear HOs,

... hang in there.

This too shall pass.

Sincerely,

(And I am not liable for what I say when I'm so emotionally disturbed),

A Highly Upset Cockroach aka HO.

.

Frustrated.

So frustrated.


I actually want to cuss and swear while crying, if such a thing were possible on such a public blog.

I have never felt so stressed in my HO life.


Whatever.

Be back soon with better-sounding posts.

Some Days

Some days,

it's enough for a fellow colleague to thank you and say they trust you.

That you can be relied upon.

That when you're in their shift, they feel less burdened.

Bosses aside,

we know each other (HOs) most.

We are the ones who have to cope with one another, we are our own support system.

So what if your bosses constantly pick on you?

If their advice is useful, then improve on that which you're lacking in.

If not, keep your chin high. Don't be rude, and if it's too horrendous, vent to the proper channels.

Your colleagues, your friends, will be there for you as long as you're not entirely useless.

Entirely useless pun colleagues mostly takkan abandon kan...

Sebab tak nak kerja diorang pun susah.

Rojak sikit.

Love yourself, reward yourself.

And sometimes, be a little more proud of your effort. But not too cocky, mind. It's a thin line to tread. What's important is that you realize there is no way on Earth or in this life in which you can please everyone. The majority is enough.

Your intentions, your niat- set them right. God willing, everything else will follow through splendidly.

And study lah homework2 yang diberi MO/Boss, kalau tak saja cari nahas hahaha!

Counting Work aka Berkira Kerja

No lah I'm not going to write about some vague friend here.

I'm writing about myself.

I have caught myself, time and again, 'counting work' - literal translation from the Malay saying berkira kerja. Or berkira tulang urat- counting bones & veins. Hey, that may be more relevant now.

I entered the posting with several other people.
And I found myself to be the pioneer among them.

First to get more patients to review.
First to get more acute patients.
First to present cases in the morning passover.
First to... well you get the drift.

I started bemoaning my tragic life:
Why am I the chosen one? Why do I have more patients to review than them, they are also taggers? Why do I have to go into the OT with the known malignant MO EACH time he covers EM OT? Why do I have to present two times in a row? Why me, why me, why me?

You see, hearing about this likely made you a little (or a lot) uneasy around me.
But that's the reality- I am far from perfect.
I forget so often that nowadays I have much less patients to review and the workload is so much more manageable. Although there are definitely other added stressors in this posting, I can definitely say this is a posting with minimal workload compared to my two previous postings.

I easily forget that I still have a stable job and am able to live on my own, rather comfortably, while others may be suffering from unemployment, and also countless other real tragedies.

How selfish of me to bemoan a difficult relative, or the fact that yet another patient got into an accident, and yet many others still have to be referred to my department due to whatever reason, even if they were direct results of their own mistakes.

...

I wanted this job.

No one put a gun on my temple and threatened to pull the trigger unless I took up this vocation.
I recall multiple attempts to persuade other people that I am worthy of this course. Letters, essays, interviews...

Oh God.
Why am I so weak when tested?

Yes, I am human, but I am capable of much more than this.
My lips are too fast, my temper too easily roused.

Sometimes in my head I think "Why must this patient be assigned to me? Such a difficult patient, to present to such a difficult boss..."
And almost in that same second, I rescind my thoughts. Forgive me, my patient. Forgive me, God. Forgive me, my past teachers and lecturers and colleagues- my selfishness has overstepped boundaries! Even if I don't vocalize most of my thoughts, their toxic energy permeates my psyche and results in actions that are less than pleasant. At its simplest, a distasteful expression. At its most complex, hurtful words.

It's so easy to snap at a colleague when I can feel the boss getting mad at me over the phone- "Get me the BHT for Bed 01 STAT" I would say- nay, snap- to the newer poster who was a little overwhelmed and could not answer my question.
I catch myself almost immediately and try to smile and lighten my tone, thinking that no matter how I act if my boss is already mad, his temper is hardly going to improve... But by then the damage has been done.

So easily do we hurt others while we try to proclaim that we care, that we're in this profession for noble intentions.
While we try to act our best and smile to our patients, do we extend the same gesture to our colleagues; our supporting staff; our bosses? Never mind that they're not doing the same to us.

I'm not even at my counting work topic yet, not fully.

...

"Eh AA look lah, why must I do this twice? BB hasn't even done it once! And look I got a difficult topic some more! Why is this distribution so unfair?"

Never mind that BB is a first poster who takes more time to learn the ropes compared to his fellow batchmate, CC. CC is more proactive and learns quickly, volunteering to do work where BB prefers to hide in the shadows. But do I understand BB's motives? Do I help him more than I talk about him?

Sadly, no.

A new case comes in.
I just did a procedure, and prior to that I already clerked the last case that came in.
I looked at BB, whose gaze shifted around uneasily.
"You go clerk that new case," I said. More a command than a request.
He needed the experience anyway, I reasoned to myself.

My senior already left to do an emergency operation- 'No doubt to avoid the wardwork and just chill with a rather cool MO', I thought bitterly. This senior also gave me OT time with a more malignant MO, repeatedly, while he/she goes into OT with cooler MOs without even asking any of us if we wanted more OT experience, being new and all.

Astaghfirullah.
What devious thoughts.
So easily does the mind come to conclusions that are less savoury.

I got up and went to BB.
"Okay tak?" I asked.
He nodded, and went to clerk the patient.
Full of trepidation, no doubt, but rising to the occasion- because his senior told him to. Perhaps he realized that there was no other option.

I could have been nicer.
I could have offered to clerk the case right as I returned from doing the procedure in another ward, and offered for him to stand by and watch- but this wasn't going to help him in the long run.
In conclusion, I could have been nicer. Could have had more noble intentions. But as I commanded him to clerk the case, all I was thinking about was how tired I felt.

And I shouldn't be, because come on, what did I do the entire day?

*slaps self*

This is just one simple example of berkira tulang urat.

It happens to most of us.

Some of us are just more noble, more patient, and thus more pleasant.

...

I've been told in older postings that I was a hardworker.
A good senior.
Sometimes I scoff at those remarks.
I also get snagged by selfishness and impatience.

It's just... I try to make up for it later.

I seek forgiveness from God.
Try to be more patient with those around me.
Try to be more mindful of what I say to people, even if those people agree with my complaints.

If my toxic environment affects me, my toxicity added to the environment will not improve anything in any way.

So,

I have to be more mindful.

Actively try to quash any negative thoughts- no matter how numerous. Counter them with good memories and vibes, with humility. Repeatedly tell myself why I wanted this job so much. That I can, and I will, make a difference in this system. That I will be better than my toxic bosses. That I will not treat my juniors the same.

And for that to happen, I have to start now- with my colleagues, with my patients.
If I could be impatient to a colleague who's my junior only by a few months, what's to say I won't be a malignant MO to my HOs in the future- who are my juniors by years?

If one case makes so much of a workload difference, what's to stop me from being an utter devil when people refer cases to me in the future non-stop, just because it's one of those 'J' days?

I will break the negative cycle within me before I could break the negative cycle outside.
I have to stop thinking about what I want, and more of what I need.

Patience. Resilience.
More (even more!) humility.
Knowledge- no matter how tired I may be, I can always squeeze in some quick facts. ALWAYS.

Because my patients entrusted themselves to me.
Entrusted their most embarrassing histories, body parts, habits, to me.
So I can make them feel better.
So I can heal them.

And more often than not, I spit in their faces by being lazy and impatient.
Assuming stuff about the more difficult ones.
Wishing they never came during my shift, to my hospital.

The nerve of me.

Do I know how difficult I can be if I were the one in their shoes?
I don't.
So why do I judge them so easily?

What is one more presentation, when I can learn from it?
What is one more patient, when I have the opportunity to make more people happy?
What is a kind word, when it can change the mood for an entire day?



Everybody needs to be reminded at some point.
I'm almost halfway there.
Right now is a good time for a reminder.

I'm sorry for disappointing you with this.
Perhaps later, more positive stories! :)

A Whiny Post (Sorry!)

Yes, I can be a whiny baby too. Waaaa D:

It's really disappointing when you suffer from the mistake of another individual.

But it's part of life.
Still, can't help whining about it.

I wish I had more patience.

On that note, please pray that I pass this posting uneventfully. If all goes well, I would be ending in a mere 3 weeks (less)! And my logbook still has some ways to go T___T

I really, really, REALLY do not want to get extended.
Really.
Not in this posting.
Please, God. I'm not sure I can handle the test.

Sure so far no MOs seem to be up my case or anything, but the boss can be quietly deadly.
Like, you think you're fine, and then BAM! Extension.

IT'S SCARY OKAY.

I do my work, it's true.
But the stupid thing is, it's so hard to get bosses' signatures on time for assessments.
They're often busy and/or in a bad mood. And when they're not, WE are often busy and too tired to even think of answering assessment questions.

It's something bosses seem to forget to understand.
It's not like I haven;t been rejected at least 6 times in asking for an assessment for one reason or another... And if bosses are that busy. then imagine us tiny little planktons, trying to carry out all their orders.

Sorry. Trying to be sincere here, but I'm only human and after over 30 hours of being awake and more than half of that doing something or another for other people while having your needs neglected...

Well. At least I'm sheltered from the rain and still get to eat afterwards, right?
And I get a steady income, right?

It's not all bad.
But that doesn't mean conditions can't improve for us measly little HOs.

Okay bye now before I get whinier.
I care for my patients, but sometimes people can be big bullies.

Waaaaaaa. 
/endwhinymode

Stained Glass

In my early(er) days as a HO in this department, I forgot to carry out a silly little thing and got scolded very heavily by an MO. Let's call him Bull (for reasons you probably won't guess correctly, believe me). So Bull's close friend in that ward is Crow (again, you won't get it correct).

Ever since those degrading few minutes when I got scolded by Bull, I always managed to evade him. And I wasn't yet in charge of the ward Bull was in charge in, so I rarely saw him after that. But I do get to see Crow a lot more- and Crow, probably by extension of Bull, always has a flicker of distrust in his eyes whenever I say anything to him. In fact, I believe Crow doesn't like me for reasons I do not know- probably because as one of the most junior HOs in this posting at the moment, I am probably expected to be the least reliable. And Bull and Crow like their HOs to be reliable because they do not like staying in the wards- i.e. the more reliable the HOs are, the less their headaches and the more time they get to do whatever they want outside the wards. Hey, I shouldn't judge, they might be attending cases in the OPD or ED all the time for all I know. But- NEWSFLASH- I'm human and yes, I'm slightly judging them right now. But I shouldn't just saying.

Anyway.

Many weeks (not nearly enough) have passed since then and today, as I was clerking a new case, lo and behold did I hear the bellow of the Bull from across the ward.

Immediately I thought, "FECES! Feces feces feces!"
The second thought was, "WHY did I let myself get thrown to help this ward instead of my other friends?!"
The third thought was, "Please don't remember me."
Or maybe "Please be kind."

My Mom and one of my aunts had taught me some things to say when facing those whom I think dislike me, to make their hearts more gentle, but at that time I forgot those entirely. In any case it's hard to remember such nice things when your head is swimming in feces.

Anyway, he told me to present.
Again inner thoughts.

I presented- croaked hoarsely, more like, because I am still rather sick.

And to my surprise...

He did not chuckle at my words nor make fun of me.
He did not show impatience when I fumbled some of my sentences or had to flip though the BHT to find the answers to some of his questions.
And surprisingly, the few times I dared to look at his face, it did not convey irritation, but much patience.

And not once did he raise his voice to me.

Truth be told, it was like he was a totally different MO from the first (and last) time I encountered him- though, if I remember correctly, he was wearing THE EXACT SAME SHIRT.

He told me his plans patiently. Just laid them out, no questions asked.
Told me to carry out some investigations.
Then left.

After some time while I was busy cleaning up the rest of the clerking I made after he left and tidying up the medication indented, the specialist came to review new cases. And I didn't realize it until Bull's voice called my name from in front of the counter. I whipped around, saw him and the specialist headed to my patient and quickly fast-walked to them, my coat hanging on to some spare steths on a nearby trolley and nearly toppling me. The specialist made a remark I couldn't hear. I just grinned apologetically his way.

Then Bull presented the case.
His history wasn't really correct, oh no. But I kept my mouth shut. They weren't important mistakes for managing the patient.
Except if I made those mistakes he probably would have humiliated me...
Or would he?

Then before he left, I asked Bull a question about the patient's medication, half-expecting him to give me a snide remark on how incompetent and retarded I am, but to my surprise he thought about it and gave me the answer nicely, as the specialist affirmed behind him.

Then they left.

And my jaw dropped.
But the hospital floor isn't sanitary so I didn't let it drop that far.

I finished all the carry-outs for that patient, said all that's necessary to him and his caretaker, and then finished up some more work at the counter.

And that day all the SNs were nice to me,  which was weird because the SNs in that ward used to hate me. I think.

When I returned to my ward, Crow happened to be around, and asked me where another MO was (let's call him Violin, also for reasons you wouldn't guess)- Violin is probably the nicest MO in this department, or at least one of them.
And there wasn't the flicker of distrust, nor the snide tone, that I was used to hearing from Crow. All I heard was a genuine question. And then he left also genuinely nicely.

How a person leaves genuinely nicely, I'll never know how to describe. But it happened, okay?

**********

But then here I am at home, and I've been thinking about it a lot, and I'm thinking...

Maybe the prayers worked.
Maybe my mother prayed extra hard.
Maybe all those bad times were the dark clouds hiding the silver linings.

Because not 48 hours ago, one of my other MOs (let's call her Dash- no guessing why again because you're likely to get it wrong too) saw me during morning rounds and asked me, "Why do you look like that?" and I answered, "I'm post-call, Dr," in my very sexy voice (by that I mean the sick kind, and not in the perv way, just in the health way, also don't make me elaborate this is getting awkward). She replied, "Oh, is that why? Your eyes are very red!" and I just smiled (from behind my mask, but I've been told my eyes smile along a lot). In fact I was very sick, and I was post-call as the only HO on-call in that ward the day before.

But then after my section of the ward was done with, she saw me again from afar and semi-shouted at me to go back- in a rather angry tone.
I was surprised. I thought, for sure I screwed something up and she didn't want to see my face.

But when I heard the reason...
"You look very sick! Your work ends in 2 hours, to me that's not a lot of time left. Have you done your work? Do you have anything pending? If so pass it to **** and go home!"
And when I looked confused and asked if she is sure, she told me she was, and that she only hates it when people lie- and I don't look like I'm lying about being sick (in fact I didn't even tell her I was sick nor did I ask to leave early).

... I nearly wept.
And I accepted graciously, for that is rezeki- a blessing from God. Also she was shouting at me, it's not like I can just dismiss it heheh.

She didn't hear me coughing the entire night in the spare bed where I was supposed to take some naps during those calmer times, then throughout the ward. She didn't hear me sniffle, blow my nose, nor croak my words to the patients and nurses, the day before. Neither did she see me with my pack of tissues and ever-present mask, and flushed face and swollen eyes. But somehow, I still looked so horrible the day after that she figured out how sick I was. *laughs*
Even Violin gave me a sympathetic look after that (and reminded me to tell our boss, too).

But the important thing is, Dash saw me being sick and gave me permission to leave a significant amount of time earlier... Even if it meant that she would have one less HO to carry out her orders for those hours.

And initially,

sadly,

I thought she was one of the more inconsiderate MOs.

**********

Which just goes to show...

A lot of the ugliness we see in others, is a result of our own dirtied glasses/windows through which we look, called perception.

What we perceive as reality, and what is actually there, are not just two different things, but in fact many, thrown across a broad prism of time, space and other things unfathomable to our logic. In fact, the way you perceive things, and how this results in how the world interacts with one another, all exist in different dimensions- and it's easy to grasp that notion when you think of just how complex your own train of thoughts are. The collision of so many perceptions and thoughts in this single dimension we call reality- now how does that chaos exist in such harmony? It simply does.

It's hard to see how any single perception is so similar to another when you think really hard about it.

In simpler terms, do not judge a person by a few of his/her habits or actions. Every person is a sum of all his/her actions, though of course there are some that are so bad or good that they almost nullify the other things in that person's character... But most of us do not belong in that extreme category. And all of us are neither the Angels nor the Devil himself.

Most of us are merely trying to find our way through life as easily as possible.
Most of us forget that this isn't the Real thing yet.
Most of us tend to forget that this is a test, and in the more negative moments spiral into darkness (God forgive me, that tends to be me, too).

Like I have repeatedly said, life will always have brighter moments.
Hold on. Just hold on, a little longer, and believe me the darkness and the hurt will dissipate, and give way to brighter, sweeter moments.

When the silence of humiliation or guilt overwhelms your senses, force the tiniest cracks of positive memories and aspirations through- they will wheedle in and take over soon enough, if you let them.

You can do it.
And when people get you down, and it feels like everyone is against you, this little thing should keep you going- that if your intentions are right, and only you and God should know that, then nothing- absolutely NOTHING- shall be futile.

So always correct your intentions.
Always, always try to think positively.
Make excuses for other people's meanness towards you, even as you avoid making excuses for yourself.

Remember that what goes around, comes around;
Kindness and patience is never wasted.


Now to sleep before my next lone on-call shift, and here's to hoping tomorrow's call will be bearable.
Just bearable will do. Preferably restful too. 

Note to Self: Control Your Emotions!

"Dr, kenapa Dr tagging lagi? Dr dah pandai dah..."

Hehehe.
Occasional nice comments make my day.
You'd be surprised at how the smallest things can make your day when you feel downtrodden, and hold the lowest of the low rank in the food chain of the hospital (or at least department).


Because most of the time, comments are more like,

"Dr, takkan itu pun nak tanya saya?"

"Dr, tengok sendiri boleh tak?"

"Dr, bila nak buat *insert procedure here*?"
And all in very irritating tones.

And let's not get started on the snide remarks and outright humiliation one could get from one's bosses.

They- meaning *some* of these beloved human beings- can't see me sit and relax. They'll always ask me to do something.
Never mind that I've been working hours and hours longer than them. Never mind that they had time to take breakfast or lunch, and I didn't because my work started before either meal times and didn't stop.

But to take it personally is a waste, because had they given up on me entirely, they wouldn't call me to do anything at all. When you're so dysfunctional/lazy they give up on you, and even forget that you're working in the ward- or just ignore you altogether because they know you're too slow or tend to avoid doing things. So the fact that they keep asking you to do anything means they think you're capable of carrying it out.

Expect that they will scold you when you ask them how to perform something that, to them, seems basic. Some of them are just impatient- they'll come around when you prove that you are more capable. Or they won't, who cares- you're a HO and hopefully you won't be stuck with them for more than 4 months!


Today, I got so bloody pissed at a lot of things and it barely took all my effort to keep myself from outright shouting (I kind of snapped a little and my face might have shown it).

Then I got sad.

And then I got grateful & happy (it might have to do with the fact that I got to eat hehe).

This posting is turning me into a moody monster. It's awful. I pray I improve in terms of controlling my emotions. Pray for me.


Even the best and most patient of people have a breaking point. I've been very lucky because despite the meanness I have experienced, I could still find many kind, fun, and uplifting moments. But that doesn't mean that in that very dreary moment I could still feel unfiltered joy. It takes a lot of effort to think of life beyond that precise moment of horror.

You may think I'm writing for your sake.
Sometimes I think that too.
But I started this blog to remind myself of my moments in working life, and that means my personal good AND bad moments. I'm only human, and I'm far from perfect. I have ugly moments too. To whitewash them would be the opposite of my goal with this blog.

So forget about appearing like an exemplary HO.
This is the story of a normal HO, struggling with stupidly common HO issues like being bullied by SNs and bosses, and trying to be more competent in procedures that are easy theoretically, but actually really hard the first few times.

You may expect more blunder posts later, I think.
The best way to learn is to learn from others' mistakes and avoid them. I shall be your anonymous scapegoat when I can.
And I also get to remember how awkward I was, later in life!

~

You can't spell 'MOODY' without 'MO'*

Day 9 of tagging (8 if you deduct the day off I took) and my MO was already asking me how long I should tag for.

I got scolded by that same MO for informing him of things and not looking at the patient first.
Too used to my previous posting modus operandi, I suppose. Also my previous posting MOs.

Like, he actually swore at me and snatched the BHT and observation charts before stalking off to see the patient while I stood there for a few moments, blinking my confusion (and guilt). Then I followed him and had to endure him telling me how incapable I was and that I was a Dr., not an informer, and that I should be able to clinically judge the patient, yadda yadda yadda (believe me I took everything to heart but I can't tell you everything. I don't dismiss my bosses' complaints to me no matter how hurtful they are).

Half an hour later and throughout the rest of the day he was very playful with me.
You can't spell "moody" without "MO", eh? Eh?

**********

I have been targeted by several MOs for various reasons that used to not make sense to me.
Like, the way I talk.
Or the silly mistakes I did.

The more playful some MOs are with you, the more likely other MOs are to dislike you (or target you, whichever way you see it). It's something this department is famous for. It's weird, after being in such a different environment in my other posting.

But after being in this posting for such a brief period, I can sort of understand where they get all their stress and anger from sometimes. It's such a demanding posting, and you have to be meticulous yet quick and efficient; have compassion and yet still have the emotional range of a robot when it comes to carrying out certain stuff. How does one find the balance in all that? No wonder they're all moody as anything.

Of course, being the planktons in the food chain of the department, HOs are the main source of consumption.

Lesigh.

**********

Joy in the little things.

Like when one of my patients accidentally called me 'Misi', but continued on with 'Misi, misi maanyak cantik'. Tiredness = Evaporated. I mean, she might have an eyesight problem (she does, to be fair) but my heart flowered and burst into many colourful, fragrant pieces that shattered the dreariness of the day in one single, brief moment.

Then the patient next to her had to comment that she has been saying it since earlier that evening, but she might have been mistaking me for a ghost. That was a total downer zzz.

Or when one of my MOs showed his amazement at my ability to clerk a patient, and include relevant scoring systems pertaining to her condition. Sadly, he was comparing me to another person who was also in my batch, also the same number of postings- and stating how we were so different in working quality. I actually knew there were other factors (I had ages to clerk the case as my MO was busy doing other stuff, and the other person had so little time)... And how I still relished the comparison that I was better than someone.

It's an entirely disgusting, human thing to feel. Most of us do not want to admit that being told we are better than others is actually cathartic. Unfortunately, that is the truth.

Being able to take a patient's ABG.

Having the patient who was previously dreading my approach, actually smile at me each time I review her and being more willing to let me take her blood and insert IV lines for her.

Having patients and relatives thank me for the smallest of things.

Of course, there are many other bad things that happened to me, but why would I waste my precious energy memorializing them? Heh heh.

 **********

When the going gets tough, the tough gets going.
I make sure I have other things to think about.

Life outside the walls of the ward.

Days away from the hospital.

Not to mention the satisfaction of well carried-out plans.

The Grand Scheme of Things, in which these 4 months are but a blip in the existence of my life.

So many things to look forward to, that it is stupid to stay stagnant in a pool of fear over what a single MO has done to me. Or several.

**********

And you will need to vent.

You will need an outlet.

It just so happens, one of my best outlets is this blog.


I know I'm improving, and I will prove that I'm not the non-functional tagger I was on my first day here!
Eh. I sound so confident here.
No lah.


* - Disclaimer: I love my MOs. Just like they love me. Haha.

How's Work?

"How's work?" my lecturer queried on Facebook chat.

"It's great, Prof :)" I replied, tears streaming down my face.

That's the thing about social media- it allows us to be polite and act like everything is amazing when in reality, it's not.

**********

It took me 5 days to get to this phase.

I thought it was going to be shorter, so well done, me.
Finally crying. Finally met the malignant one (and it wasn't who I thought); still have more malignant ones to meet. So many MOs in this department.

But for each malignant MO, there will be three or more really decent ones. And so far all my specialists are amazing; so who am I to complain?

Although it doesn't erase the hurt from the shame and guilt that comes with getting scolded, it's a good reminder to always think that there is life beyond this department, beyond the walls of these wards with their negativity. I am worth more than this silly little mistake.

But crying is good, I suppose. It's a release.

Final Day in Paediatrics

For a few weeks I had been craving a type of food.

There was delivery service for that food, but it was a little pricey, and I thought, maybe when I get my next month's salary (that was June 24th).

A day or so before June 24th, as I was writing a review of one of my patients at the ward counter, one of the mothers rooming in with her baby came by, greeted me and dropped a packet almost on my note. "Nah Dr, ni boleh share 2 orang. Saya memang niat nak beri pada staf wad sini." And as I looked astounded and thanked her, she handed out several more- about enough to feed 15 people.

IT WAS THE FOOD I HAD BEEN CRAVING.

Needless to say I spent no money that day and got the chance to eat something I've wanted to eat for a long, long time- and it was awesome!

I remember having to ask the mother for permission to bring her baby over so I could insert an IV line for her for the umpteenth time (the baby was super active and likes to 'self-debranulate' almost every day). She looked so upset, telling me that we have poked her child so many times. And I don't know how much gentler I could be when I coaxed her and told her the line was needed for her child to be better. IV antibiotics have to be completed, yo. And I can tell you poking human beings isn't fun especially cute babies- but someone has to do it.

I told her, I didn't like repeatedly doing it to her child, but I will try my best to be innovative and make sure the line lasts. I told her I tried my best to really secure the last line, but maybe something innovative has to be done this time around. Together with my nurse, we tried several different line-protective methods- gauze-wrapping, socks-using, blanket-bundling, getting input from one another. I think the socks helped in the end, though the mother preferred the gauze wrapping. We had to persuade her to keep the socks on her precious child and notworry too much about it swelling as the nurses will always look after branulas.

My point is, patience does wonders.
And patients can do wonders, too.

Today, I went to the ICU and saw that the patient I bagged was in a much more improved condition. The parents smiled at me. I am unsure if they remember that I was the one who bagged their son; watched as they went to their son and said encouraging words, oblivious to the fact that he was heavily sedated as I helped to pump oxygen into his lungs, silently holding back my own tears. I  watched as they cried when my boss told them his heart stopped, and then performed CPR and gave him a dose of adrenaline until his heart beat returned. I watched then. I was too stunned after what I did earlier possibly being the major cause of his complication.

But the complication can be corrected and he is alive and improving.

I wanted to inquire about his further progress, but I was too busy having my logbook and leave forms signed, and then I felt too awkward to ask. It's kinda stupid.

But there it was.
The patient I helped resuscitate was alive despite our initial fears.

The feeling is beyond words.

So many things happened in the last few weeks/days of my posting in this amazing posting.

Today is the last day, and I know, I know very dearly, that I will miss it so much. Though I doubt I would want to be a paediatric MO or further- all those tiny veins and flat babies!- I miss being a house officer here. During the time that I was in this department, it was rather heavenly.

I am so very grateful for all the people I met- my senior HOs, lovely MOs and SNs, and of course the specialists who never got absolutely, insanely mad at us for no reason.

Which will not be the case in my next posting.
My most dreaded posting. The posting that got me into a depressive episode back in my final year of medical school.

MEDICAL.