Therapy?

When I was a medical student a long time ago, conducting a delivery used to be a big thing. And the thoughts that always fill your head are "wow I’m welcoming someone to life" and "I’m honoured to deliver you", thinking it was a pretty big deal to be able to do someting only a privileged few are allowed to do.

A week into working, I have dispelled those thoughts just like that. Backspace backspace backspace. There is nothing glamourous in housemanship, and when all you do all day are deliver babies, set lines, take blood and augment labour with 2 units oxy, there’s no glamour, no glory… only routine.

Only work.

I have two colleagues of note. Emily, batchmate and already a future O&G specialist, she makes it a point to stay a full half hour after we are allowed to get off work. She can practically do everything, and I have to step up my game tenfold just to keep abreast, running on empty many times.

Today she suggested we go on call. Just to see what it’s like. As it is we are working from 630am til 10pm, with no breaks in between. On call? As in overnight? Til the next morning? "I think I can do that," she said. Noble, yes, but all I wanted was to strangle her. Give me my sleep, give me my life back.

And there is a new friend, and colleague, Thevan, whose good nature and optimism knows no bounds. This conversation took place.

Me: "The labour room was an absolute madhouse yesterday, we’re working nonstop from dawn till night."

Thev: "Yeah I know."

Me: "Bad day huh?"

Thev: "Don’t say that. We become better doctors."

Are they two the anomalies, or is everyone supposed to be so passion-bound as them? Should I feel guilty in wanting to clock in and clock out at the alloted times, knowing my work is done is enough? Is it wrong to never never talk about work when you’re off it? Is it wrong to expect a life? Why do I feel I lack the passion they have?

However way it is, only one way to find out.

Only work.

Lord help a tired man.