First week.

So it’s been amazing.

It works out to more than 80 hours a week; it means working at 4am in the morning on a public holiday or weekend when one has already been on one’s feet seeing patient after patient with different stories on different storeys for more than 20 hours with another 9 hours to go; it means getting scolded and told off by patients’ relatives who are hot with emotion already from the diagnosis and family tensions when one has already tried one’s best within one’s human means to do one’s best for the patient; it means waking up every morning at 530am to followup with one’s patients day after day after day, even on Saturday and Sundays.

This month, I’ve been scheduled for 30-hour shifts on 3 weekends and two public holidays… But it’s been fulfilling nonetheless.

I love this job.

Yes, doctoring really is a calling, especially when one’s phone is ringing non-stop at 2am in the morning from nurses all over the hospital. Pun totally intended.

” Doktorrr,” comes the heavily accented voice, “ Patient at bed 20 is complaining of pain… And relatives want to speak with you…”

… while another call comes in saying you have a new patient to see. Sepsis. It’s a dreaded word- it means raging infections, it spells endless investigations and a stressful night of taking blood cultures, monitoring temperatures and giving antibiotics.

And then, while still hungry and tired and sweaty… the senior radiologist calls me to say, ” Your patient’s scan which I just did shows a pulmonary embolism. Do something about it. Thanks, bye.”

Pulmonary what?! I am alone and sleepy and rather tired and she has a what? Its a clot in the lung leading to the heart and I’m panicking because I realise this is not medical school anymore. It’s the real deal. Real patients, real lives.

She has a pulmonary embolism. Deal with it.

And a crazy box within me suddenly unleashes a cataclysmic firework of stress hormones because my seniors are tied up and I’m not sure what to do.

Think woman. Think. Clexane BD. That’s right. 1mg/kg dosing. I tell the nurse across the counter, “Dear, what’s your name? Take her vitals please. Give Paracetamol. And clexane immediately-thank you!”

I ask for her name because I remember what it was like for me being a medical student. Nobody wants to be a nameless faceless statistic. So I am making it a point, to ask every nurse I meet what his or her name is- Nurses, truly have a thankless and difficult job and yet, form one of the most crucial parts of any healthcare team.

That night on call, I didn’t have time for dinner. Facing my first “emergency” left me with a heavy head. And the number of patients which rained on us left us tired, dehydrated and worn. But the nurses in my ward fed me well, offering me biscuits and fruits and Coke and making hot drinks for me, as I scribed patients’ prescriptions to be ordered.

Over breakfast with the medical team the next morning, my senior asked me whether I had dinner during my 30-hour call- it’s an indicator of how busy that call was. “I didn’t need to,” I laughed, “the nurses fed me!” I thought it was a joke, that it was not unusual, and expected everyone to laugh along. But there was a strange pause after that which I did not expect.

“Well in all my years being on call, that’s never happened to me before.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah.”

It was then, over that breakfast table that I learnt the importance of remembering names.

I learnt, that remembering the names of patients and nurses and ah-mas (little old ladies) and hot-shot consultants are all equally important. People just want to be valued and know they matter as individuals. I remember the doctors who tried to remember my name during my medical school life and want to remember to do the same for others, too. It doesn’t come naturally, and sometimes, it can even be pretty awkward. But being friends, and not just colleagues with the nurses in my ward, have made looking after patients not only a job, but a joy every day.

They have made my first week at work memorable, in the right kind of way.

So I’ve been rushing around all morning because of the number of patients who need lab tests and things to be magically done for them before the senior doctors come to review them again in the afternoon; I’ve just been spoken to harshly by an emotional member of the family of a patient; I’ve just been told another slew of patients are due to arrive in my ward and I’ve still yet to have lunch… and I’m wondering why I chose to do this…

… then a patient comes to me to hand me a handwritten Thank You card; a little old lady whom I’ve pricked 4 times already for blood-taking smiles at me and kisses my hand for taking care of her; and a nurse comes to offer her help to me when I’m swamped…

Then I realize, that as a junior doctor, the hours are bad, the pay’s not good and the paperwork can be a pain… But I know one thing for sure:

There’s no other job I’d rather do.

Thank you God, for the privilege to be where I am.