A lot of people hate hospitals.
And I understand them for doing so. For it is where you go when you're sick. It's where you run to when you've broken a bone, when you feel unbearable pain, when you want to monitor recurrence. You run to it when you're bleeding, when you're dying. When something's wrong.
I want to let you in a secret. Sometimes, I hate the hospital, too.
Understand me for doing so. For it is where people run to us when they're sick. We painstakingly interview patients or relatives as we extract all the details we could get, thinking of the right pill to relieve them, and we do it while they are agitated, shouting, or worse, unconscious. There are times we give them bad news, there are times they blame us for it. There are nights we pronounce deaths, there are days our hands do the pumping for other people's hearts, and sometimes we bag their lungs with oxygen for hours, we vigilanty monitor and measure their urine - sometimes we do all of them in one hour.
And that's what just the patient sees.
The doctor who saw you a while ago might be on his 36th hour in the hospital, devoid of sleep, glucose, and a smile. The resident who just prognosed your relative with only 3 months to live might have also gone from an audit wherein she was skinned alive by her consultant, yet putting on a brave face in front of you. The intern who pushed your wheelchair who seem like he was ignoring your small talk was probably in his mind, prioritizing the list of errands he has to do after he bring you to your room. He might probably forgot that you needed to bring your oxygen tank with you - add that to the list of errands, too. The Clerk who cannot extract blood from your crying child for the Nth try probably wants to cry with your child, too.
We have a lot of reasons to hate this setting. I mean, most people get hospitalized maybe once a decade, visits a few relatives in the hospital once a quarter and feel sad. But us? We're here every day, sometimes spend the night here on duty. Even on Sundays. Even on Rainy Days. Even on family reunions. Even on the UAAP Championship Holiday. Maybe even on the Apocalypse (nah?)
And here's the thing: Everytime we go to work, we must always be on top of our game (or at least pretend to be), because there are times we need to compete with each other. Because what we write on charts triggers a cascade of events and errands and extractions and monitoring and reassesment, and revision or continue our orders until we write "MGH". Hopefully MGH. We always need to be on game face because our seniors expect a lot from us, and as we go up the ladder of heirarchy, we realize that it's a two-way street of expectations, the juniors expect a lot from you, too.
We need to be on top of our game, most of all, because it's life that we are handling. Not the latest promos to promote a new gadget or to up the sales of a certain product, but the clogged coronary arteries of the CEO of that company, because if he dies, the company will not just lose a CEO, but a father to his kids, a husband to his wife, and a provider for his other wife. We're not like prostitutes who just open our legs and get paid, and sometimes leave our skin out, open, bare and cold and get paid some more - we slice up skins, and open rib cages and peritoneums and skulls - and we don't get paid sometimes. We don't just handle complaining customers on 8 hour shifts while sitting in an airconditioned room. We do 24+ hour shifts, on a damp, moist ward, standing for hours of rounds or errands or taking the vital signs on a sea of patients. We handle shouting kids, vomiting grandfathers, uncooperative adolescents, demanding relatives, sometimes flirty bantays (both opposite and the same sex), patients who needed attention every hour, or 15 minutes, or bedside - and did i mention? they're sick, they're contagious. And we, despite what you think, are mere mortals, still susceptible, still vulnerable.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not belittling other jobs. We actually sometimes want to do your job, live your life, spend your weekends, sleep your sleep, we want your sick leaves (ironically we don't have any), your social life, your wives. It's just that the process of learning how to save and preserve life, the process of being the "almighty-savior" you imagined us to be, has has become too delicate and complicated that it had branched out to so many specialties, sub specialties, and not to mention the years that passed us by. While our highschool friends are referring their kids to us, We haven't even planned your proposal yet. That is, if someone stuck up.
A lot of people hate hospitals. Sometimes, we hate it too.But we have no other choice, but to love it. Because we promised to do good, and to do no harm.
Because if we don't, who else would people run to? Where else would they get their hope, strength, and understanding? who else would explain their disease? wikipedia? As my resident said to me last year when I was a clerk, "Always stand tall, even if you're tired, don't lean, keep your head up, smile. Don't be rowdy and dirty. Look neat and tidy" - because patients need that from you. While they are not strong, you are."
How will they get better if you smell bad? Pwede parin naman, pero, mas ok pag mabango diba? Help them get better by looking good, by cheering them up, but being their pillar of strength. Make them release endorphines by your mere presence. Appreciate every progress that's happening and give hope while you fix emerging problems.
This is the reason why doctors' coats are white, and matched with a neat looking necktie. It emanates hope, purity, and cleanliness. It improves doctor-patient relationships. It promotes better mood and faster wound healing... Nah, I just made up the last 3 sentences. Haha.
We have a lot of reasons to hate this setting. But at any day, it's trumped by the fact that one way or another, you've been a part of someone's healing, of someone's journey. You've helped save a life, and whoever saves one life saves the world entire.
Right now, I still don't get paid. But sometimes, the simple thank you warms me up better than tequila, and it hangs over until from-duty. It never fails to fascinate me seeing the heart beat in the ultrasound. I love how God uses our hands to slice up the skin and fix what's wrong inside. How I teach girls natural methods of family planning. How the first cry of a baby is music to me. How death makes me understand life more. How you send a brother home for his birthday, how you make a grandmother live to see her first grand grandchild, how I hear the voice of a young child after being extubated.
All these, and more are the reasons why I love this job way way more than I hate it sometimes.
I know the world doesn't owe me anything for sacrificing too much for the sake of humanity.
The years I've lost and I will lose, the stress lines on my face, and the sleep im supposed to be getting. The world doesn't owe me for that.
And I'm fine with that.
As long as I put in my heart the reasons why I'm doing this, I will put them as my headlights as I travel this uncertain, challenging, yet fullfilling profession. These lights may not be enough to beam all the way to certainty, but it's bright enough for a few meters ahead, and the rest will just unfold along the way.
Coldplay couldnt have put it any better, in terms of fixing people and being guided:
"Lights will guide you home.
And ignite your bones.
And I will try, to fix you."
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