My nexus event

Today I drafted my resignation letter.

After I saved the file, I didn’t feel anything. Not worse, not better. I thought I was going to feel something, as a culmination of all the things I have endured for the past eight months, but I didn’t. No sadness, no joy, no relief. Just, nothing. It’s not some grand event like what we see in movies of how it’s supposed to be after making a major decision in our lives. A nexus event, as what I’ve learned in the “Loki” series by Marvel — you do something so life-changing, that your timeline branches into different realities that will alter the course of the universe. Of course, the universe will not change if I quit today — maybe my workplace will have to adjust for quite some time but will eventually get used to it. I, for one, will adjust to the sudden shift in my schedule and will probably lose my mind feeling guilty and regretful of the decision I have made. My family and friends would be devastated. The thoughts that came to mind would have made me feel something, but they didn’t.

Maybe this is how life is supposed to be. You’re not always supposed to feel anything. You’re not always supposed to consider what everybody else is feeling. When I’m gone, it will, for a while, become a huge adjustment for the people I leave behind, but in the long run, people will adjust, forget, and move on with their lives. Life is not always a series of grand schemes and milestones, and at this age, I should be on track. I’m turning 30 next year, I am not getting any younger, but maybe, I am just getting started. Maybe I’ll spend the next five years finally figuring out what I want in this life, and then come back to being a physician once I realize that it’s what I truly want. Maybe I’ll discover something new. Maybe I’ll go to school again. I have no idea, and it doesn’t scare me. I was always scared of dying and not making a mark in this world, but I guess it doesn’t make any difference if you’re not happy anymore. I realized that choosing myself is a nexus event.

People have told me that it would be a waste to quit residency after eight months of suffering and that all my efforts will be for nothing, and this is the first time that I disagree. I am not defined only by my sufferings, and once I choose to not suffer anymore, my value in this world will diminish. I do not wake up every day to be some good, law-abiding citizen who follows every word and every rule; sometimes I can just be a normal person who likes to have coffee and do nothing all day and learn about different things aside from correcting electrolyte imbalances or weaning off a patient from a mechanical ventilator. I am not defined by the number of things I have succeeded or failed to accomplish. I was never a fan of how the culture of medicine has been for as long as I can remember. My seniors and mentors were more than helpful, but the system itself will definitely eat you from the inside. I find myself being a toxic senior when things do not go my way, or when management is delayed because of some miscommunication and lack of mindfulness from other healthcare workers, and I wonder, is this like this everywhere? Or am I just stuck in this hellhole called Philippine health care?

Tomorrow, I will have to do my grand rounds with a patient that I have been caring for since Day 1; he is a 27-year-old male with probable constrictive pericarditis who only has around P500 to his name, admitted to our institution that charges around P10,000 a day. Why is he not in a government hospital? Answer: It would take three months before getting any procedures done, or being seen by a doctor because our public hospitals are congested.

If you asked me three months ago if I still like what I do, I would say, even with tears in my eyes, a grumbling stomach, and no good sleep for three days, that YES. I will go to work every single day because every day is a new day to learn and help people and save lives and all the things I told myself to keep myself from dying.

If you ask me now, I say after one sip of black coffee: I do not know. And it doesn’t matter, because, at this rate, I cannot afford to start a nexus event. It’s not because I do not want to experience the world—believe me, I would love to. I would love to have the privilege of doing something entirely bold and different. A lot of times I tell myself, what if this job doesn’t work out? What if I’m just here because this is what I’ve already started?

Yes, I cannot afford to start a nexus event. I can’t afford to do something entirely bold and different. But maybe, just maybe, I am already in that nexus event; maybe I am now being bold and different. Every encounter with a patient taught me something; every lapse as a resident doctor has humbled me; every victory in saving a life has added to my seemingly insignificant will to live.

Choosing to stay was my nexus event. I do not know where this will lead me, and I do not care if it will indeed make a huge difference in this world. I am learning that we choose to be happy, to be kind, and most of all, we choose who we become, and we make it work.

To quit or not to quit?

There is no question.

* * *

Liel, 29, is a first-year medical resident