The doctor is lost
In my 25 years of existence, I have never felt more lost in my life than I am now.
I am a fresh passer of the physician licensure exams held just last August—the fresh meat, the lowest member of the food chain of the professional medical field. I have been too used to going to school for the past 20 years, too used to have medical subjects laid down in front of me and where my problem was how to pass and learn from them, too used to have a certain predetermined schedule for my upcoming rotations in the hospital, and too used to being financially dependent on my parents.
After the joy of passing and acquiring my most awaited medical license, accepting congratulations and handshakes here and there, finally being able to wipe off the blood, sweat and tears, I thought it was time I gave my parents what they had sacrificed for all these years. I had never been happier.
But it passed all too swiftly and now I’ve got this wake-up call. It’s reality time. It’s time to make decisions. Big ones.
I closed the door on my old chapter and opened a new one. And I froze. For lo and behold, there were a hundred paths pointing to different directions. Most were long and winding, and as to where they were heading, it was too dark to see. Some were dead ends. These represented my possible choices: moonlighting, residency, rest, USMLE, and many more. There was no one to choose for me, or with me.
At the back of my mind I wanted to get some rest, to take a break from all the studying of the past years. However, I thought, for how long? I really wanted to start earning so as not to be dependent on my parents anymore. Probably I could do some moonlighting then? But I settled on the choice of residency, to start early and finish early, hopefully. After all, training will be at least three years. But what specialty? Should I go for internal medicine? Pediatrics? Radiology? Pathology? Surgery? I was at a loss again.
My colleagues had their own choices, specialties they picked even while in medical school. But I didn’t like anything in particular; I liked a little bit of almost everything. I love kids, for one thing. I enjoyed suturing wounds and watching surgical procedures. Pathological skin lesions interested me. I also found looking under the microscope and doing autopsies exciting.
But in choosing a specialization, there are many things to consider, such as the time it would take for training, the sacrifices to be made anew in terms of family life and social life, the physical and emotional turmoil that we have to go through once again, and earning a living.
I chose internal medicine. It’s a very broad specialization, with many patients. Though never my favorite back in med school or internship, it’s the most feasible, most practical choice, especially if I will be practicing my chosen field in our province.
I managed to be accepted for preresidency at a prestigious private hospital. It had the best facilities, the best mentors, one of the best training. But in terms of exposure to patients and being hands-on, I wanted more. As we were doing endorsements, I thought to myself, “I can’t see myself doing this for a long time.”
So I searched for another place and was accepted at a government hospital. It was very different there, and I enjoyed my first few days. However, my critical overthinking got ahead of me. Maybe I was so used to semiprivate hospitals and this was something new to me. I realized once again that it was reflective of the government and the Philippines. The facilities, the personnel, the hospital itself…
I was distraught. I mean, the patients deserve the utmost healthcare. But in this state, how can that be possible? I see the doctors in the government hospital as heroes for they do almost everything from managing the patient, extracting, inserting IVs, to doing ECGs. They were the med techs, the technicians and add-on nurses themselves.
Serving my patients there was my priority at that time, but I became frustrated about the things I could not change, like the state of healthcare in our country. And I felt guilty every day that those patients who should have been the priority didn’t get the care from the government that they deserved, while the funds that should have been for them are enjoyed by thieving government officials who enjoy things that are not a matter of life and death. And so I left.
I was at a loss once again. I wanted to reassess myself, to go to a faraway place, to think. I was curious of the two extremes in the hospitals that I applied to—a very private one and a very public one. I don’t regret that I was able to satisfy my curiosity. But what was I really looking for? I didn’t know. Was I a coward? Wasn’t I ready to assume a position of higher responsibility? Was the hospital my problem? Should I have chosen a different specialty? Or was it me, not being able to give myself time to adjust? I even questioned if I really wanted to be a doctor in the first place. It was frustrating to think that I didn’t even know what I wanted.
Observing my colleagues, I saw that a lot of them were going through the same crisis. Some chose to stop and think for a while. Some altered their choices, for they also had their wake-up calls. Some are pursuing what they really love. Most of them would tell me that it’s only a matter of being tough, of having the strength of will and of heart. It just takes getting used to, they said.
Some said choosing a specialization is like choosing a spouse: You have to be sure because it’s forever! Some seniors even said: “You have to start at the bottom to get to the top. It will be hard but it will be worth it.”
One of the simplest pieces of advice came from my father, who told me not to rush things and to take things one at a time. He said that residency and the practice of medicine is not a race, that I should not be too hard on myself. But then my mother said: Go for it! And she always reminded me that this profession entailed a lot of sacrifice, and that I can do it.
It may be true not only in the practice of medicine but also in other professions. Sometimes we have to keep moving forward and keep opening new doors. We also have to know when to stop walking, to close other doors, to start running or maybe turn around and pause. The biggest question after finishing a chapter is: Where do I go from here? I may not know it as yet, but I will get there.
Clarisse E. Cledera, 25, a graduate of the UST Faculty of Medicine and Surgery, is “still contemplating as of the moment.”
