Without an End, There Can Be No Peace

Photo credits.

The early morning sunlight filters through the ward windows. I got the phone call even before finishing morning rounds. Mr X, our long-suffering elderly patient, had finally gone to the end of his pain.

The nurse at the counter hands me the file. "The night duty doctor called the family. The sons are on their way."

I look over at Mr X's bed. Sitting next to him, still holding his hand, was an elderly lady.

"That's his wife?" I asked the nurse. 

"His ex-wife. She hasn't left his side all night."

I walk over to the bed. The old lady was still staring at his face. Trying to approach as quietly as possible, I noticed that through streaks of dried tears on her face, she was smiling.

"Madam, I'm very sorry for your loss. He was a fighter, but he was in a lot of pain."

She turned to me, the smile still on her face. "No. Don't apologise. I'm happy he's free of all his troubles." She pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. "Without an end, there can be no peace."

"I'm sorry?" 

"Without an end, there can be no peace." She looked up at me, eyes now dry. "It was one of his favourite sayings. He used to tell me that all the time, even when we were married." She put his hand down gently on the bed, patting it as she did so. "In fact, it's what he told me when we finally got divorced as well."

"I see." I shifted uncomfortably in my shoes. What do you say to something like that? "It's nice of you to still come visit him."

This made her laugh softly. "No, we didn't hate each other. He was still the love of my life, and I was his. We just decided it wouldn't work. And after years of quiet suffering, we decided to go our separate ways." A single tear rolled down her cheek again. "He just always believed that sometimes things needed to end, finally and properly, before people could be at peace again."

She looked at his face. His eyes were closed. His expression was almost peaceful. Almost as if he was relieved.

I started to move away. "I'll be back once your sons are here, to settle the paperwork."

"Remember that, doctor." She looked up at me again. "It's good advice."

I found myself nodding as I walked away, leaving her to her final goodbye.

Why I Stopped Blogging

Okay. So I haven't exactly been blogging as frequently as I promised. (Understatement of the Year Award. --Editor) I've tried coming back here and there, and I've tried writing shorter posts instead, but the real reason I stopped blogging is a lot simpler. In fact, it's five words.

I became a real doctor.

Yes, after years of pretending to be a doctor in medical school, years of looking forward to finally putting "Dr" in front of my name and not being a piece of unwanted furniture on ward rounds, I actually graduated and got a real job. (If you hear a distant "thump", don't worry. It's just the sound of all my medical school professors fainting in shock. -- Ed.) I finally got my orientation, joined the workforce, and became responsible for  the lives of hundreds of patients who rely on me as their first line of defense against every illness known to mankind.

It scared the shit out of me.

How I feel every day. You may think I'm joking. I'm not.

To be honest, it completely overwhelmed me. For my entire first year, life was little more than work, eat and sleep. My already ridiculously poor time management skills withered to nothingness, I lost touch with friends and family, and I sometimes slept in the hospital to save travel time. (Yes kids! All the horror stories you heard when you first decided to do medicine? Totally true. MWAHAHA! Seriously, go to law school instead. --Ed.)

But the reason I started this blog is because I thought since my life is so full of misery, I might as well share that misery with other people and entertain them a little. So even while I was suffering, all these stories built up in the back of my mind, and it wasn't long before I felt the urge to write again. But then I remembered the second reason I stopped blogging:

I was scared of being discovered.

Anybody who's read this blog for a few years (that's like, three people now, I'm sure --Ed.) knows that I've lost fellow bloggers and friends who shut down their blogs because of pressure from work. And every doctor owes confidentiality to their patients. Even though I change details of all my patient stories on this blog so that none of them can be identified, I am not anonymous. I know patients' relatives who've googled my name and found this blog. And I'll admit it. I'm scared the same pressure that shut down other blogs might force me to close shop too.


But in the end the reason I'm writing this is the same reason I started this blog; the same reason anyone starts a blog or a Twitter account or even a Facebook note. I love to write. And working as a doctor gives you PLENTY of things to write about, even if they're just bad jokes about patients throwing up repeatedly all over their doctors' brand new Padini shirts. (Not that I'd know anything about that. Cough. --Ed.)

It's been over two years since I've been a real doctor. And how do I feel about it now?

It's still terrifying every day.

A Death In The Family, Part Two

For the first part of this post, about the ultimate lesson that death teaches us, including some truly inspiring comments, click here.

It's done. I'm back.

***

Three quotes that, in my opinion, sum up the ultimate lesson that death teaches us:

“The great tragedy of the average man is that he goes to his grave with his music still in him.” 

-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, American poet

"One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon--instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today." 

-- Dale Carnegie, author, How To Win Friends and Influence People

"I would rather be ashes than dust. I would rather that my spark burn out in a brilliant blaze than be stfled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.

The proper function of man is to live, not to exist." 

-- Jack London, author and journalist

So go. Live your life; I mean really live it. Seize your day today.

For more inspirational quotes, you can follow me on Twitter or like my Facebook page.

Photo credit.

A Death In The Family

Recently there was a death in the family.

It wasn't anyone very close, but close enough that it's been taking up all my time, which is why I haven't put up the stories from the comments on The Question Everyone Should Ask Themselves. I've seen quite a bit of death lately, and it makes me ponder.

Death has an effect on everyone. It reminds you that however young or old you are, however healthy (or fatass unhealthy) and however ridiculously good-looking (like me) you are, we all die. It will all end someday.

As a doctor, death changes you. The first few times, anyway. If you let it affect you, you're protecting your humanity. But if you harden up (as all doctors do eventually) and don't let it affect you, you're protecting your heart.

I still remember vividly the first time I pronounced someone dead. It was an elderly grandmother sitting alone in her hospital bed. The family had all left the previous night, and she died in the early morning. The senior doctor and I walked into the room, and there she was, lying on the bed, perfectly still. I remember wondering what a dead body would look like just before entering her room. It didn't look very different from a sleeping person.

The doctor taught me to listen for the heartbeat for three whole minute, then check for breath sounds, then check for a pulse. Having watched too many horror movies (or Scrubs episodes) I kept expecting her to jump awake at any moment and scare me right out of my pants. But of course, she lay perfectly still. Nothing. She was truly gone.

What is the ultimate lesson of death? We already know. Every day we watch movies that tell us, listen to music that tells us, talk to old family members who tell us. Yet still we never listen. The lesson is - life ends. Yours will end someday too. Maybe even today, maybe tomorrow. So we truly should live with no regrets. We truly should act as if every day was our last. As George W. Bush's pastor in the Oliver Stone film 'W.' tells him - "I want you to treat everybody you meet - your friends, your enemies, EVERYBODY - like they were going to be dead at midnight".

But living like that is hard. We tell ourselves it's human nature to plan for the future. If we truly lived like there was no tomorrow, we'd all be out partying and looting and killing our politicians and I'd be gang-raped by every nurse in the hospital (I'm joking. Partly). So maybe we can compromise. Maybe we can start by being nicer to each other. Because death hangs over all of us.

I'll be back next week. In the meantime, if you have any stories of what death means to you, please share them in the comments.

Hi Mom, Obama Won!

(Apologies to Kanye West for the blog title. Normally I wouldn't bother, but hey, this is Kanye 'Beat-Up-My-Own-Fans' West we're talking about.)

By the time you read this, most of you will know that Barack Obama has won the US presidential election and been crowned the new President-Elect of the United States of America. You've listened to tons of talking heads on TV yap about how historic it is and interview everybody who had anything to do with the election from Obama's campaign manager to the Indonesian janitor who cleaned the toilet he last sat on during his school days in Jakarta. So I'm not gonna wax lyrical about how amazing it is.

What I will say, though, is that two years ago I read this article on how the US election process was like The Apprentice. Being a Donald Trump fan, I devoured it, and sincerely believed its prediction that Obama was just a media darling and would lose to The Establishment in the end. I'm really, really glad it was proven wrong.

I'm not having that great a time in clinical school. My classmates make me feel stupid, my senior doctors sometimes don't appreciate my keenness, and some patients just like yelling at anything that moves. But for this one day, when the news broke, it made me look up from all the blood, gore and shit (literally) and smile. And feel that there was hope for the future.

So like millions of people around the world, I'm going to take this amazing victory as an inspiration. It's time for me to change.

Out of my pajamas, I mean. I've been lazing in bed all day.

(What, you didn't think I was gonna leave you without a lame joke, did you? You DO remember whose blog you're reading, right? --Editor)

Sex, Lies and Exams! The Angry Medic Tells All

Sheesh. You take a break from blogging and try and go into seclusion to set things right with your life, and what happens?

Why, your readers form an angry mob and drag you right back, of course.

But yeah. In a nutshell: I messed up, didn't do as well in my exams as I should have, and am now suffering from guilt. Which is why I've been as easy to find in the blogosphere as cellulite on Megan Fox's stomach. (The chick from Transformers, for those of you who a) are female, or b) are males with testicular deformations. --Editor)

I've spent several posts over on Medscape ranting on about passion, so much so that comments have ranged from a polite 'Um, why don't you write about something else for a bit?' to 'Stop whining, retard. Don't you have rectal exams to do?' But I worked hard, very hard at times, to get into med school, and when I got in I stopped and became what my tutors would diplomatically call "a lazy git". Which is why I was left wondering where all the passion went, where all the discipline went. (Not that I had much to begin with - remember I got into Cambridge on the strength of my eyelashes. Dangit. Now I wish I'd taken my mother's advice and become an eyelash extension model. --Ed)

To cut a long story short, I told my tutors, got a few textbooks thrown at me, got a few more whip scars on my arse (and some wheelchair tracks - one of my professors is kinda old. Don't ask. --Ed) and am on my way to fixing things. Which basically means that for the duration of the summer I have to SuperGlue my arse to my seat and study as if Dr Miranda Bailey herself was behind me holding a whip.

Thanks for the lovely words of encouragement to those of you who left some. They restore my faith in humanity. No that is NOT a tear in my eye. That's just, um, pencil fumes. Yeah.

Actually, I'm In Between Posts Right Now

(The Cambridge Anatomy Department is recruiting and I thought I'd help them out.)

Anyhoo, I've been mulling over a post for a long time now, and it's coming up as soon as I finish the endless stream of mock exams that should hopefully end on Monday (after which we have an endless stream of practicals. Experimental Psychology practicals. What the hell are those about anyway? To test if we're sane? Crap, I'm finally going to be found out. Well if they expel me, I'm going to sue. "Sanity" was definitely NOT on the admissions requirements list in the prospectus. --Editor) but I thought I'd give you some background reading to do first.

This issue is a universal one that affects all of us, because all of us question whether we're really doing what we want to be doing in life. Three links:

1. I sat down and wrote a post for Medscape on it. The volume of comments surprised me (and made me really REALLY glad I'm not the only one feeling that way! --Ed) and has passed 60. Do go read it and do leave a comment here or there. I'd really like to hear your thoughts on this one.

2. Nathan of A Jolly Company expresses it better than I do in his article on the famous physician Sir William Osler. Take a look at the comments too, especially the first one by a 'Tinea' and the last one by Medstudentitis.

3. And saving the last for best, this post over at one of the best medical blogs out there, a blog that has inspired countless other bloggers, medical or otherwise, but has reached such a pinnacle that its author doesn't update as frequently anymore and no longer replies to comments: Ah Yes Medical School. Best summarised in the words of one commenter over there: "Really good, blah, blah, blah."

And just because you've all been so good and read this far without falling asleep or haemorrhaging out of your ears, I'll include a bonus link: Donald Trump's first rule is also about passion.

Passion, passion, passion. Starting to see a pattern here?

AngryMedic.com Launched!

I know I haven't been updating in a while, but I've been busy revising for next week's mock Pharm exam (okay, so maybe I've also interspersed it with 12-hour breaks to play Star Wars: Empire at War. Maybe. --Editor).

Ever notice how when you're cramming, you start being really introspective and go all deep sometimes? There's the Penitent Promise, in which you promise yourself you'll never do last-minute cramming again and be a good student for the rest of your life (with the rest of your life inevitably meaning about 24 minutes after your last exam ends --Ed); there's the "What Am I Doing With My Life?" Self-Argument, where you question whether your standards are as high as you want to be known for/whether you're really doing what you love in life/whether the universe really was created by a Flying Spaghetti Monster; there's also the "I'm Sorry Mom & Dad" panicked call home to blubber over the phone apologising for not being a good child and revising in time, and promising to study harder the next time around if only they'll keep paying for your education (this may occur in conjunction with the Penitent Promise).

And then there's the "Something Missing" Soul Search. The sense that something, somewhere, is missing in life; that medicine (or whatever else you're doing) isn't as fun as you thought it would be, but you know that's your fault.; the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, you're just going through the motions and not REALLY enjoying what you're doing.

Sound familiar? Or is it just me again? But more on this next time. Now I have to go drown my post-Empire at War guilt in a few hours of revision at least. In the meantime, want something fun to do? Click here!

Awesome, huh?