24 hours. Limited energy. Just, one of me.
What does one do with it?
Two emails surprised me today. While they were pleasant surprises, they made me think about what truly matters in life, made me ponder over what is worth investing our effort in, and what isn’t. They made me think about selfishness and selflessness, personal gain and public service.
I won’t forget that day. Those wails which pierced the air and rang high into the ceilings were unforgettable. They belonged to Mr. G, a middle-aged Indian construction worker who had suffered a work injury after a forklift fell on him. Part of his left foot and his entire right hand had to be amputated, and while he appeared calm and collected recuperating on his bed, he became ballistic each time the dressing on his right hand stump had to be changed, and he caught a glimpse of that monstrously brutal memory. His employer wanted to send him back to India. He had little emotional or social support here in a foreign land. He had not received any legitimate compensation from Ministry of Manpower. Each day, a thin waif of a man would sit next to him nursing him. Mr G called him “brother”.
He had nowhere to go. His boss would only send him straight back to his village in India without adequate compensation, where medical support would be poor and where he might never find a decent job to earn a livelihood again. He was scheduled to be followed-up in our orthopaedic clinic in a few weeks. Yet, his employer had trouble finding him a place here to stay in.
Migrant workers. We buy them because we want to use them. And then, when they are of no use to us, we throw them away like disposables. Out of sight, out of mind.
Because of policies and a public system which does not protect the rights of foreign workers, even social workers find it difficult to find aid for migrant workers. It was then that Healthserve came to mind and I rang a friend who volunteers there. T came down that very afternoon, agreed to meet up with the social worker on board, and collaborated with her to give Mr. G psychosocial support and counseling.
The next day, I brought this up to my seniors. Why not tap on Healthserve as formal resource for our hospital? Why not raise awareness of such a resource for foreign workers among doctors so we can better help them re-integrate into society. I knocked on a few doors to share this idea and before I knew it, was sitting in front of the head of department who supported the idea. One thing led to another, and over the weekend, I received an email from the Chairman of the Medical Board requesting for me to present my proposal of formalizing Healthserve as a hospital resource and coming up with some sort of a workflow between our Medical Social Workers department and Healthserve in order to better help our foreign workers re-integrate into society at their next Clinical Heads of Department meeting. It is a Big Meeting with plenty of Upstairs People.
It blew my mind. Because I never expected the idea to go so far up. I had met Mr. G and sent the proposal months ago, but work, things on the homefront and research projects got in the way. Yes, excuses.
Today, I got another email. Dr Tan, Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that Ministry of Health will be sponsoring your poster presentation at ARVO 2012 in Florida up to a cap of S$4,500.00 This is to cover your air travel, subsistence allowance, travel insurance, registration fees.
This was the answer to my prayer. For the past year, I had put in many hours on an Eye research project which was eventually selected to be presented at an international Eye conference in Florida. Believe me, it was treacherous work. But being selected was a great relief. Nonetheless, knowing that the registration fee for the Conference cost a few hundred dollars, the air ticket cost nearly $3000, and that the hotel cost nearly $200 per day weighed heavy on me.
All that precious money for a conference. A thirty hour airplane ride there by myself. Was it worth it? This would eventually end up as a one-liner on my CV.
As I slogged away on that research paper, I often asked God if that time might not have been better used thinking of how to raise awareness about or raise funds for children with needs, people struggling to earn a livelihood in the first place. As I stayed up late night after night and stayed home weekend after weekend plotting charts and compiling data, I really struggled.
Today, I put these two emails side by side and asked myself several hard questions. One, had I put in the same amount of effort into the proposal to defend migrant workers’ rights as I did into doing the research project? Two, had I the same desperation in sourcing for ways to help these marginalized group of people financially as I did in applying for sponsorship to go overseas for what seems like a “prestigious” conference?
The answer was No.
I got the sponsorship because I ploughed through pages and pages of Conditions for Overseas Conference Sponsorship, because I filled in forms, sent out emails. I got to attend the conference because I put in hours and hours of hard work sorting through dead data and reading up journal after journal about cytomegalovirus-related anterior uveitis and immune recovery uveitis after HIV therapy, and other medical terms which sound more like wizardry from Harry Potter than English.
On the other hand, what had I done for this project to help the marginalized? One afternoon typing a proposal, a couple of emails, a few phonecalls, and a handful of meetings ahead. It is extra-curricular. You might even agree that any good that comes out of this would be a bonus.
My effort in this pales in comparison to the painstaking effort put into the research project. Even though lives are more important, even though the battle against injustice and needless suffering is so much worthwhile. (I hate to say this, but it is true, that a lot of research is largely for academic purposes.)
Then why the imbalance in our time? Why do we spend disproportionately more time at work slavedriving ourselves to death rather than spending time with our loved ones, investing time in meaningful causes?
The reason is simple. It sounds brutal and terrible to hear, I know, but the truth is that one brings about tangible reward for oneself, while the other is intangible. And at the end of the day, benefits others much more than ourself.
It’s funny. I’m not half as excited about going to Florida to present my project as I should be.
I reflected upon what happened yesterday. It was a Sunday. I went to work at 6am, worked till 1pm, then rushed down for a video shoot with the Health Promotion Board for an interview about Resilience to raise awareness about mental well-being. By the time it ended, it was evening and I felt beat. I felt I had worked the entire day without rest. I had no semblance of a weekend. That afternoon, I had shared my life story over and over again. I don’t know why, perhaps I was tired, but it didn’t feel good. Cut. Rolling. Take 2. Cut. One more time, do it this way… Try this tone. Cut. Rolling, take 3. Cut. Take 5. Cut… Take 20. Enough already.
I then realized, working for a cause you believe in is hard work. The only thing that keeps you going is the dream that perhaps, all of this would this worth it. Perhaps it would make a difference to someone else’s life. Perhaps.
Perhaps this proposal would really be a turning point, giving the many migrant workers who suffered in industrial accidents here and their families back home hope. Perhaps it would make a real difference in somebody’s life. Perhaps, all this time spent in getting past red tape, meeting up, typing proposals, making small talk, rubbing shoulders, would all come to something tangible and beautiful and worthwhile for somebody who had no voice, and their rights robbed from them.
Perhaps it would be worth it.
More worthwhile than another self-made accolade, another line in Font size 5 on a resume which spits self-striving and selfishness. I still am thankful for this rare opportunity to attend an overseas conference and present a poster, but it has made me wonder all the more, that at the end of my 24 hours in a day, what can I say I am proud to have done? What can I say I was exhausted by but with no regrets?
At the end of a long day, we are all tired, withered like roses. But as we come to our roots with heads bowed, and backs bent, what can we say we have lived, bloomed and died for.
Was it worth it?
“People, even more than things, have to be
restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed;
never throw out anyone.”