Lost Soul

I used to say I couldn't remember the last time I was REALLY happy. Most days, I try to show a smiling face, pretending to be glad. Sure, there are sporadic comedic moments, allowing genuine laughter, but most days I'm indifferent. Feeling alone, with a million thoughts running through my head. drenched in nothingness. At times drenched in misery. Futility. hopelessness.

Two days ago, I decided to quit my job as a first year surgery resident. For good, this time. I was really happy then. Even more so when my family supported my decision wholeheartedly. No more lines like "there's no quitter in our family". It like the weight of the world was taken off my shoulders. Yet now, I'm stuck in limbo. I feel numb, indifference. I hate the fact that happiness can be so fleeting.

I didn't mean to quit that time. Everything was going smoothly--- Ok, I had several fuck ups last friday, and if I was all sensitive they'd be reasons for quitting. But for the past few months I've learned the art of hearing something on one ear and then letting everything out on the other, so any emotional pain I've felt was gone in a few hours. I deserved to be scolded, anyway. Basic things that should already be inherent, that should already be part of my reflex were forgotten. One glaring example of how my work has become so sloppy. I guess when you're not 100% into what you're doing, it shows in your work. You fuck up. You become sloppy. And it only gets worse.

Saturday morning i woke up late. Make that extremely late. Ideally we should be back in the hospital at 4 am, but we manage to sneak in without getting caught if we arrive there at 6 AM at the latest. Arrive at 7AM and you'll be late for an operation. You'd be scolded. You'd have to treat the entire team for lunch or dinner at a nearby restaurant. Arriving at 7AM is considered a mortal sin. Imagine what they'd call arriving at 12 noon.

I was trying to find the right time to show my face. jeez, what was I supposed to say? I woke up VERY late? I missed a lot of calls, starting at 6:30 AM. The team has finished their rounds in the hospital. What else was there to do? I was ashamed to show my face just in time for endorsements. I was trying to make up some better excuse. I was ashamed. Also Afraid. My seniors were calling again, still I didn't answer their calls. I've been warned before that if I don't shape up I would be reported to the training committee. I could get fired. The clock kept on ticking, and before I knew it, the sun has set. What's pathetic was I was either inside my car or at the dorm the whole time, moving back and forth... I didn't even eat a single meal. I was like a turtle who chose to keep hiding in its shell, hoping all troubles would have gone away by the time it shows its head. I was more than pathetic. I was crazy. A LUNATIC.

Sunday morning I woke up at the the dorm. Miraculously late again, even though I practically slept the whole saturday away. Just goes to show I've lost all motivation, I guess. I received a text message, or should I say Ultimatum. If I still wanted to do surgery, then I should show my face on that very day. If I decide to show up the next day, then I'd better not because I would no longer be welcome. I found it hard to decide. I've been indecisive for a very long time. 50% of me wants to go on, while 50% wants to leave. I equally want to stay and go, so i didn't know what to choose. After some thought, I know that if I stayed, I'd remain sloppy because of my indecisiveness. I can't give 100%. I don't have enough motivation to drive me. I'd just bring the whole team down. Ultimately, I chose to go. And Yeah, that text message/ sermon I got from my pudgy batchmate who's acting like a senior helped a bit in my decision making. I told my family abut my decision, and I told them for the first time what life as a first year surgery resident in PGH was REALLY all about. What we have to go through. From the outside, It may seem like getting into the residency program is something prestigious, or something like winning the lottery, but it's not. There's nothing prestigious in what we're doing. Sure, we help people, we save lives... but at what costs? We sacrifice our own health, and many times for people who are so ungrateful. We don't even get the luxury of "thank yous" at times. Plus the system sucks. A lot has to be changed. Why do they refer to it as work when we're not really earning? our salaries are spent to buy for our patient's needs and medications, or to keep the stomachs of our seniors full. I sincerely want to help, but there's such a thing as helping too much, that there's nothing left for yourself. What if I already have a family to support? Would that be an acceptable excuse, that I spent my earnings to help our less privileged brothers and sisters? not everyone can afford to be saints. The hospital director, sitting high and mighty on his throne, can't be much help either. He says he can't understand why we keep on shelling out for patients when there are funds allocated for every department. If e only took some time to get off that throne, he'd see that those funds are practically non existent, used up within a few weeks after they've been given out.

It wasn't about how hard the job is. I got used to not eating, not sleeping, not taking baths... I got used to being scolded, that I have become numb. It's just that everything has become so impractical. The whole system sucks and I refused to take a part in it any longer. So I quit.

And then, I was happy.

And now, I'm back to where I started.

Ambivalence. Indecisiveness. Nothing has changed, really. It's still 50-50. Part of me wants to go back. I do miss surgery. It's the only thing that I found interesting in the medical profession. It was like having an epiphany for someone who didn't want to be in the medical profession in the first place. In a sea of ennui, I found something i liked, the very minute I was exposed to surgery. Sure, I get sleepy
after all those lectures, and life outside the operating room can be synonymous to slavery, and sure I get sleepy when I'm assisting at operations... but when It is i who hold the scalpel in my hands, the emotional high is indescribable. A friend told me that I should go back because even if I say I don't want to do surgery anymore, she says she can see it in my eyes that it is what I want to do. Either I don't realize it or I'm just denying it. She knew it was what I want to to the rest of my life when rotated in surgery as interns, and she still sees the same desire now. I wonder is she's right, if she can see through me more than I can see through myself.

Like a lost soul, I still don't know which path to take. I thought I had direction when I entered a residency program, but the fact is I'm still in limbo. All these years I remain in limbo. I should get another job soon. Just three days of rest and I seem to be craving work. I guess I got so used to abuse that I'm having withdrawal symptoms. I need to find another job so that I could move on, so that I could forget. Else I might do the unthinkable...

I might go back to where I've been for the last seven months. 50-50. A huge part of me still wants to.