Monday, 26 January 2015


In the last month, I've understood the full extent of the term 'hospital resident'.

Yeah, ladies and gentleman, that's me.

I spent most of my year as an ED resident, which hasn't been too bad to me in terms of working hours, as you're typically rostered for 76 hours a fortnight. Given the high intensity of the work, this is understandable... You wouldn't be able to function very well in a cardiac arrest if you've worked 140 hours a fortnight as you sometimes do as a specialty resident. Sleep deprivation results in your brain cells committing suicide and the last place you'd want to be working in with that kind of mental reserve is the Emergency Department.

ED has been fun. I've even taken up the Emergency Medicine Certificate this year because I've enjoyed it so much, and I wanted to get something out of it. Probably the only thing I would change about my year in ED is that the year has been mostly unsupervised, given that night shifts are only covered by 2 residents. There are no consultants on overnight and there are no ED registrars ever.

As an ED resident, I've had the opportunity to cover specialty wards after hours and overnight, which adds a bit of variety to the work. But again, you're pretty much the senior on-site. Don't get me wrong, I've loved the experience and I've gained plenty of new skills... I just feel like on the flip side, I've missed out on opportunities to learn from a mentor, which is really what being a junior medical officer is all about. To me, the lack of supervision is a pretty big deal... Especially at this stage of my career. Sure, I'm qualified to do the job... That doesn't mean that I wouldn't love the opportunity to learn from someone who's done the job for far longer than I have.

My last month at the hospital involves me working as both the Hospital Redesign HMO (a position I've held for most of 2014) while working full time as the Paediatric Resident. As expected, Paediatrics has been fun. There's been a lot of learning and mentoring opportunities, as the treating team consists of just me and the 4 rotating Paediatricians. As we do not have Paediatric Registrars, I'm pretty much performing that role... Except I'm paid as a junior medical officer. There have been plenty of opportunities for procedures and I've even gone to doing the last few unsupervised as my skill and confidence have grown.

As much as I love the work, the days are long and fairly busy. It takes a lot out of you. I've been rostered for seven 14-hour days a fortnight, which include cover shifts where I'm also responsible for the O&G and Psychiatry wards as well, including admissions and discharges. I was on the phone with one of the Paediatric Infectious Disease Consultant in a metropolitan hospital a couple of weeks ago and at the end of the discussion she asked, "I've spoken to you quite a few times this week... What are you still doing in the hospital at this hour of day on a weekend?" After I explained what my rostered fortnight to her looked like, she exclaimed in disgust, "That is just ghastly!"

Indeed, it is... But, hey... Somebody has to do it.

It certainly didn't help that all the other residents decided to take their annual leave all at the same time, followed by a couple of them being off sick. When it came down to it, there were so few of us left that we needed to take on extra shifts but even then, everyone agreed that I have the worst roster by far. I really does feel like I'm residing in the hospital. The good of it is that it's great for experiential learning, the bad of it is that I'm exhausted... And that's not very conducive to learning.

However, I'm on the home stretch. I've done the hard yards and I'm almost at the finish line. After today, it's just one more day and I'll be done. So that's what I keep telling myself.

Just one more day... And then I'll get my rest.

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

Sick Days

This is getting ridiculous.

No sooner have I recovered from the URTI from hell (that's 'Upper Respiratory Tract Infection' for all you non-medicos), here comes the gastroenteritis.

The plague never ends.

The good news is that I'm currently rostered on 4 days off after a 6-day stretch.

The bad news is that I'm meant to be attending classes for these next 4 days, before going back to work on a 10-day stretch.

The bottom line is... I'm far too busy to be unwell!!! ��

But it is how it is. Willing myself not to fall sick does not unfortunately make it so.

Despite all my efforts with hand hygiene, protective gloves and face masks, the bugs still get me. Partly due to my crappy immune system, partly due to the sheer volume of exposure.

And, yet... I doubt it's just me, but it's incredibly hard to take sick days when you're a doctor. Even when you're entitled to it; even when you need it; even when it's the right thing to do. It's really hard.

For starters, sick or not, if you don't show up to work, there's no one to do your job. Guess what happens then? Your colleagues are asked to not only manage their unmanageable workload, but also yours as well.

Another side of it is, nobody really cares about doctors being unwell. Especially other doctors. They just want you to be at work because hey, they're also sick and they're at work! Why shouldn't you be?

In any other profession, you'd call that sadistic. In medicine though, it's just the culture.

Puking your guts out? Take a chill pill and some metoclopramide. Bloody diarrhoea? Here's a cup of concrete, you'll be alright. (Disclaimer: That was sarcasm, not a prescription...)

We all know the rules with gastro. If a hospital worker gets gastro, they're meant to stay home until 48-hours post the last episode to minimise the risk of transmission to others (colleagues and patients alike).

Realistically though, I know a doctor who once had an acute gastro attack on his shift and rightfully informed the senior doctor of this. The senior doctor then said, 'No big deal. Just push on, it's all good.'

You might be thinking, 'I'm sorry, but I don't think it's right for doctors to be treating patient when they're sick, particularly not when they're infectious.'

My response to that is, 'Congratulations! Right answer. And while I whole heartedly agree with you, medicine can be a really cruel and thoughtless profession sometimes.'

I find this particularly true when it concerns the intraprofessional expectations of fellow doctors.

A nurse once said to me, 'Medicine is the only profession I know of where they eat their young.'

Young or old, I think doctors do tend to have very little compassion for other doctors. And that's a terrible shame.

According to Beyond Blue's 2013 'National Mental Health Survey of Doctors and Medical Students', 40% of medical professionals perceived their fellow doctors to be less competent if they have had a history of mental illness and 59% felt that being a patient results in embarrassment for the doctor. Sad to say, stigma within the medical profession is alive and well.

If you've ever wondered why there are so many doctors out there who seem tactless and uncaring and appear to lack compassion, it's because to a certain extent, the profession breeds them. The perception is that it's the 'tough' doctors that survive the decades of rigorous training, ragging and gruelling hours. The profession prides itself on being resilient; on rising above the decades of physical, mental and emotional torture and abuse that is perceived to only make us stronger.

And often it does. But amidst all the success stories, you can't look away from the other side of the truth.

We don't all escape the trauma of self-neglect unscathed.

Thursday, 6 February 2014

Mirrors and Walls

I was on Day 3 as a resident.

I was in a new department, working with new people, fulfilling a new role in a new rotation.

Even on Day 3, I still felt completely lost.

She was on Day 3 at her new job.

She was in a new town, working with new people, fulfilling a new role in a new and unfamiliar field.

And on Day 3, she was stretched to her limits.

We spoke about the stressors of her new work and life, the guilt that comes with putting herself above a commitment that she's made, and the feelings of uncertainty and inadequacy that she felt in her new role. We talked about the difficulties she was facing and discussed options that could assist with making things better.

Even today, I'm not sure if the nature of the discussion we had was part of my role as an ED resident, but I stuck with it because it was what needed to be discussed. If not now, then when, and if not me, then who?

As I worked within the limits of our professional relationship to defuse some of her fears and anxiety, I had to make a conscious effort to go against some of my own natural responses that were driven by my instincts of compassion and empathy and this was a real challenge.

Medicine is a paradox of incredible proportions. Isn't it funny how the exact qualities that draw individuals into the profession, the very fundamental values that we seek to instill in our doctors and the ones that we identify present in good doctors, are the ones that they are often required to silence in order to appropriately fulfil their roles?

I have no doubt that she will be okay. All that she really needs is time to prove to herself that she, in the words of Christopher Robin, is "braver than she believes, stronger than she thinks, smarter than she thinks", and that there are always options in her favour. And in the time that she is discovering that, all she needs is someone to be kind to her on days when she hasn't got the ability to be kind to herself.

In retrospect, I wonder if some would have thought that I had spent to much time with her in that consult. The truth was that I took as much time as I needed to get the work done. 

I gave her the time she deserved, the time that she needed and the time that I secretly wished I could give to myself for the same purpose.

In the end though, I think what matters most is that we ended the consultation with her stating, "I don't feel sick anymore".

Amidst all my doubt about whether I'm following all the rules, fulfilling all the criteria and being and doing my best, I can't help but be extremely comforted by her parting statement.

After all, if my patients can honestly say that they feel better after a consult, surely I must be doing something right.

Isn't that what I'm ultimately here for?

Friday, 23 August 2013

What Kills You... And What Makes You Stronger.

It is my first fortnight on General Medicine and it has been brutal.

Not only has there been the compulsory Week 1 breakdown, there has been around 6 breakdowns in the past 12 days.

While covering the wards last weekend, I felt completely burnt out. But of course, Monday came along so I kept on going.

That's just what you do.

I started out the year on my 20-week GP rotation, and I loved every minute of it. Moving on to Orthopaedics was tough, but as the trend seems to go, you find that you start to get the hang of things by Week 9, only to switch rotations after Week 10 and end up back where you started - lost in unfamiliar surroundings.

All throughout my internship year thus far, there have been ups and downs, but ultimately I have found that I've been enjoying my training tremendously and even at the worse of times, I love what I do.

General Medicine, however, has been hard. It's a hard unlike anything else I have ever known.

It's the kind of hard that makes you run like your life depended on it, then knocks the wind out of you and then as you crash to the ground, delivers a fatal blow to the back of your skull.

You don't want to get back up, but you do anyway.

What makes you do this?

The fact that you don't have a choice.

It's do or die.

I started my rotation thinking of what a great opportunity this would be to learn and grow in my clinical skills and experience. But now I just feel bruised and battered. I'm just tired.

The real danger is that exhaustion has a tendency of beating the enthusiasm out of you. In the past fortnight I've tried so hard to struggle through the exhaustion and to fight off the apathy. It has not been easy, and it required me to call upon an internal strength that I did not know I had.

Now that I'm finally facing my first day off since starting on Gen Med, I still find my thoughts stuck on the wards. It's a form of psychological trauma.

Have I done all the blood slips for the weekend? Are there investigations that I haven't followed up? Have I missed something important?

That's the problem with hospital medicine. The work never ends and as everyone else has their own work to do, there's no one to cover you if for whatever reason you don't do yours.

And at the end of the day, after being so invested in the treatment and progress of so many patients, it's hard to just shut off when you finally get to leave the wards.

Another problem with hospital medicine is the high turnover rates and the high patient load. As an intern, your days are busy and there are always investigation results to chase up, referrals to be made, tests to order, notes and drug charts to write up, admissions to be done.

The work is constant, and a reliable pen is your best friend. With my 30 - 40 patients a day load in the past fortnight, I have very easily run dry a total of 4 pens.

With the nature of the job being so task-oriented, it's very easy to lose sight of why you're there. It's also easy to lose the empathy - there are just too many pressures on you at any one time, and when you're struggling to catch your own breath, it's very easy to inadvertently look over someone else who is also struggling to breathe.

Rather unfortunately, their lives depend on you. So sink or swim, your patients are your priority.

Rightly or wrongly, medicine involves a lot of self-sacrifice. It involves sacrificing your time, your life, yourself, for someone else, simply by virtue of the role that you choose to take on by being a doctor.

We are told on airplanes that when cabin pressures are low, you first need to put the oxygen mask on yourself before attending to those under your care.

It's an important principle, but unfortunately the medical world has not yet adopted this principle. It is expected that doctors take care of themselves, but the nature of the work and the hours that we work do not logistically allow us to do this.

It is undeniable though that when exposed to a consistent state of low oxygen, the body learns to adapt. We learn to function at a much higher level than most under much less desirable circumstances. We become stronger.

Still, there is a fine line between learning to thrive under extreme circumstances and failing to thrive. Everybody has a limit and often the factors that test those limits are not within our control.

Sometimes it feels like a game of chance. Like Russian-Roulette.

If you're pushed hard enough... Who is going to be the next to have a breakdown?... Who is going to be the next to make a mistake?...

Who is going to be the next one to stop caring?...

Because when the work ceases to be fun... When it starts feeling like a chore and all you do is rush about doing your daily jobs to get them all done before midnight, which is 2 hours past the time you were meant to leave, knowing full well that you have to be back at work at 6am...

When you're pushed so hard that your own reserve tanks of hope, love and joy run empty and you couldn't care less about anyone else's wellbeing...

That's when it ceases to be medicine.

Monday, 8 July 2013


I've often marvelled at how amazing it is to be granted the privilege to do the work that I do.

It truly is a privilege to be able to wake up every morning, go to work and care for the sick.

To be able to gain insight into their lives, to help make them better, to be trusted with their stories and their secrets, to have their families trust you to care for the ones they hold most dear; it is an extraordinarily humbling profession.

Today came with a lot of 'firsts' for me:

  1. I managed my first acutely unwell patient from start to finish
  2. I took my first set of ABGs
  3. I experienced my first "breaking of bad news"
  4. I certified my first death
It's been a long 16-hour day, and I start up again in 6 hours, so I should probably get some sleep.

The thing is... Given the day I've had, it's not exactly easy to come home at the end of the day and wind down. The adrenaline, which is so crucial to keeping you going while you're at work, doesn't just switch off when you leave the hospital. It takes time to wear off.

But now that the silence has overcome me, I'm ready to call it a night.

And at the end of the day, this is what I think about being a doctor:

The job is hard, but the work is good.

When you put everything you have into it, you start to get into the flow of things and it just feels right. And when everyone works together and does their part well, it feels like a symphony.

You cannot do medicine by halves, and I cannot think of anything else I'd rather be doing.

I love my job.

Monday, 10 June 2013

Hotel California

Medical Internship is a little like going to war.

A lot happens, some of it traumatising, and at the end of the day, you don't really want to talk about it.

Since I've decided to chronicle my internship year however, it would be remiss of me to back out of it now.

So let's get ourselves up to speed.

At present:
- I have just completed my second week of Orthopaedic Surgery, in which I have worked between 11 and 16 hours without breaks
- I have been working for 12 days straight, 3 of which have been a long weekend cover shift, in which I covered the Orthopaedic ward, along with General Surgery, ENT, Urology and Rehab

The work is good and I really enjoy it. However, my work is all I have been doing for the past 12 days.

In the past fortnight, I have felt unrested, uncleansed, and unfed. If you walked into my apartment you'll find a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, a pile of dirty laundry on the floor, a rubbish bin full to the brim, and piles and piles of things around the place which have yet to be unpacked from when I "moved in" two Sundays ago.

I leave for work before the sun rises and I return from work after the sun has long set. This is not an unusual pattern of schedule for a medical professional, but it does not mean that it is right.

All it means is that all I want to do when I get home from work is sleep. All other aspects of my life outside of work - family, friends, recreational activities... All things that make me sane - are all placed on the back burner; as if you're familiar with Maslow's hierarchy of needs, you'll know that physiological needs tend to raise above those of safety, love, esteem and belonging.

Regardless, I've had a good first fortnight. I love my patients, my colleagues are a pleasure to work with, and the administration provide me with a lot of support and encouragement. All these factors make me feel like I'm working for a purpose - a worthwhile cause - and that I'm a part of something much bigger that I, and that is good quality healthcare.

The only problem with me working 12 days in a row, other than exhaustion, life neglect and sleep deprivation, is the fact that it is so hard to leave when you eventually do get some time off.

I am in Melbourne this weekend to attend my interview and entrance exam to get into the General Practice Training Programme and while I'm aware that my thoughts and attention should be here with me, I can't help but wonder about my patients in hospital and how they are doing.

I wonder if the interventions I performed yesterday helped at all. I wonder if any of my patients are getting discharged over the weekend. I wonder if anything eventful occurred overnight (and I hope the answer to this is, No).

It makes me feel like the hospital is a little bit like Hotel California.

You can check out any time you'd like (assuming it's rostered), but you can never leave.

Tuesday, 7 May 2013

The Sick Doctor

One of the hardest things for a doctor to do is to be a patient.

There are many factors that contribute to doctors not being able to take on the sick role, and it's often not as straight forward as simply not wanting to.

For starters, all doctors know that there is a gradient to being sick, and theoretically, there is a point in that gradient line in which you are deemed "too sick to go to work".

However, in practice, it's actually very, very difficult to properly ascertain where you are on that list. It is hard to be objective when it concerns your own health, which is why it is always valuable for a doctor to have their own personal doctor; an independent assessor capable of making the call that you should be off-duty.

Why is it important to have someone to take that decision away from you?

It can be very easy for a doctor to say "It's just a cold, I'll soldier on" because a lot of the time, it takes a lot more effort to take a sick day than it is to just go to work even though you shouldn't. For a specialist, it means rescheduling appointments that have been booked months in advance; for interns, residents, and registrars, it means finding someone else to do the work you were assigned to do.

Whether in hospital or in clinic, when you're a doctor, there's always more work to be done than there are hours in a day. And more often than not, you're the only one who can do your job because other doctors have way too much on their plate already. Quite simply, there is no one to pick up your slack.

It is undeniable, however, that a sick doctor is no good to anyone. Not only do you risk spreading illness to your patients and colleagues (further contributing to countless hours of loss productivity), your physical, mental and emotional states are compromised and you're more likely to make mistakes.

And in medicine, mistakes are costly and not tolerated very well.

All the same, there seems to exist an expectation within the medical profession, conscious or subconscious, for doctors to push through adversities. Whether it's related to physical, mental, or emotional drain; whether it's due to excessive working hours, unpaid overtime, lack of personal or professional support, work or life stressors or illness of any sort, we all seem to be expected to suck it up and be okay anyway.

Despite being constantly reminded throughout medical school about the importance of taking care of ones health, the comment one of my supervisors made regarding my need to get some time off to visit the doctor was, "Do that while you can, because when you get to my level, there's no such thing as taking time off. When I get sick, I still have to go to work."

And therein lies the hypocrisy of medicine. What they tell you to do and what they really expect you to do are often two completely different things.

One of my colleagues recently confessed to me that she has been struggling with the hours and jobs required of her in her medical rotation. In fact, she was having such a hard time at work that she felt she needed to bring the matter up with the Director of Medical Services so they could together find a solution that could improve her situation.

The response she was met with was appalling. The DCT essentially said, "Suck it up, this is medicine, when I was at your level I had it 100 times worse. I'd be lucky to have a rotation like yours."

My thoughts? Tyrant.

And this is not an uncommon scenario.

My personal thoughts are, it doesn't matter that back in "the good old days" doctors were expected to slave over inhumane hours which were both hazardous to their health and their patients' health. There's a reason why we have put a stop to the Dark Ages. It wasn't working for us. Just because you had it hard, doesn't mean that it's okay; and it definitely doesn't mean that you need to condemn others to the same fate. 

In that regard, I have a lot of respect for the nursing profession. Nurses adhere religiously to their stop and start times, they take multiple schedules breaks a day, and are extremely ferocious about guarding these sacred rights. And, more importantly, they look out for each other. They ensure that their fellow nurses take breaks and leave when they're supposed to.

The habit is so inspiring that I can't help but wish that they were just as watchful over their doctor colleagues!

Unlike a lot of my colleagues, I've been very lucky in my rotation so far and I've had wonderful, amazing nurses working with me who care about my health and wellbeing. In fact, it was under the advice of a senior nurse that I took my sick leave and I'm very grateful to her for pushing for it. I had really needed it, but the weight of my supervisor's expectations (and my own) was urging me to push on.

At the end of the day, we are a team. And like any team, we are only as weak as our weakest link. I think it's important for us to look out for one another and stand up for one another when the occasion calls for it.

We all acknowledge that no one is superhuman. We are not immune to disease and when we come across someone who needs a hand with taking on the sick role when they rightfully deserve it, I'd like to think that we could defend that persons right, just like we would want someone to defend our own rights to it when the time comes.

It is incredibly sad to note that, from my observations thus far, compassion is a virtue that is incredibly scarce in the medical profession, despite the fact that it requires it most.

It is both frustrating and disappointing, and I can only hope that this improves in my future observations but until then, I suppose the most I can do is to follow Ghandi's advice and be the change I wish to see in the world.