Wednesday, March 30th, 2011
My friend from medical school and fellow intern is currently on holiday in the U.K. After driving her to the airport I sat with her in the Terminal as she filled out the Departure Card.
“What do I write under ‘Occupation’?” she looked at me and asked.
“Well, what’s your occupation?” I replied matter-of-factly.
“But I don’t want to write that.” She paused, considering her options. “I’m just going to leave it blank.”
“If you do that, they’ll just make you fill it out as you go through Immigration,” I said teasingly.
Further pause. “Then I’ll write ‘Student’.”
I pointed to the fine print underneath the signature panel, which committed the signatory to a truthful declaration.
“Ugh!” she bemoaned, frustrated but acquiescent. “Fine, but there better be other doctors on the plane, and at least one consultant.”
During med school, and especially in our final year, we try to imagine what it will be like, when the name on our hospital ID badge suddenly has the gravitas of those two magic letters, ‘Dr’. I can’t remember what I was expecting but speaking as a now three-month-old doctor all I can tell you is that I completely underestimated how hard it would be and completely overestimated my personal abilities. A huge error of judgement, to say the least.
As a student our greatest fear is that we don’t know enough. Those esoteric classifications, eponymous syndromes, and expansive lists of differentials memorised for exams have long been forgotten. But the truth is, that should be the least of your worries, because if med school has taught us anything it’s the medicine. What makes this transition an almost un-human experience is all the stuff they don’t talk about. How does a mere mortal deal with physical, emotional, and psychological EXHAUSTION? How does a [insert personality type here] master the subtle art of successfully working with a plethora of other professionals, each with a personality of their own? How does a person respond to the angry, complaining, noncompliant, dying patient, and their family? But more importantly, how does one human being with just two hands and one brain do all three simultaneously… at 4.30pm… on Day 10 of a 12-day stretch… all the while second-guessing even your smallest clinical decision … constantly wondering, am I unknowingly making that one mistake worthy of NZ Herald’s front-page? ‘Exhausted Junior Doctor Makes Fatal Error.’
I in no way proclaim to have the answers. I am but one human being with two hands and one brain trying to keep my head above water. And in all honesty, I have found myself floundering – truly floundering – for the first time in my life. Normally a proponent of jumping into the deep end, I romanced one of the biggest hospitals in the country, selected one of the busiest runs to start on, to serve one of the most difficult patient groups. That is the bed I made, the bed on which I have had to lie these three months passed.
A few of the issues I faced may have been specific to my situation, my personality, or my gender. But at the end of the day ask any intern how they’ve found their first run and you’ll find we have all struggled. It does start to get easier – slowly, painfully – with time and with experience, but there will come moments where it feels impossible to catch your breath. With this in mind I want to share with you some of my ‘rock bottom’ moments. A raw and unfiltered account from a pragmatic optimist who found herself one day a student, the next day a doctor, and then in the months that followed, a not-so-well being.
- A. A. Choi
