HO talk, talk.

After 2 months of abandonment, I’m finally back.

God, life can be horrible sometimes.

I’m now a working, independent lass trying to survive on my own cash.

And a lass who has lost 3 kg in my months stint of working life.

Goodbye life as medical student, now everyone calls me doctor, that heavy – duty title. Heavy – duty as in long – lasting on your feet as long as you are in the ward taking care of other people but yourself.

The day starts at 5.45 AM. 6.15 AM out of house to drive the 20 minutes drive minus jam to Hospital Sungai Buloh. Arrive and punch in, scan and compare previous time and smile if I managed to surpass previous time or curse if I made it slightly later. Hey, it’s one of those minor things that add glimmer in working life for me.

By 7 starts the HO round tracing all bloody results, making frustrating phone calls for untraceable results then updating daily progress. 8.00 AM MO appears for MO rounds while me the HO pushes the laptop cart along to type down whatever dictated for the day. Then Specialists drop by for the Word of the Day. Until 12 PM you settle whatever tasks set for the day, more blood-taking, type referrals, call up lab for more results, push everything to be urgent, get yelled by those frustrated by your pushing, deals with shooting up/dropping BP and blood glucose and desaturated O2, do some smooth talking to get consents for CT scans/MRI/procedures, and pray that you will somehow manage to have lunch.

Unfortunately, when you are about to leave for lunch, the relatives approach you because it’s also visiting hours when it is the only time they can meet up doctors for a chat. You smile and try to explain in the easiest plain Malay/English you could think up while your eyes dart to the clock from time to time.

Then afternoon rounds commence. Repeat morning doings. Pray that you can go home at 5 PM. Pray that the road won’t be congested with other people going home at 5 PM too.

5 PM. That stable patient suddenly collapsed; BP drops, consciousness going down the drain, heart rate shooting. You poke her everywhere trying to get one bloody line to get in resuscitation fluid. MO come, commence full blast resuscitation. By the time you sign the death cert, it’s 8 PM. You are post – call. Punch out, blast the music in your car and drive home, praying for a longer night to sleep and rest.

Morning comes, another repeat.

This is, my noble profession life for now.