Ah, prose, how I've missed you.
It's been a while since I've written anything of note that wasn't an introduction to a research paper I'm supposed to continue, a meta-analysis that will have to be finished by the end of the month, the gazillions of reports on basic cardiology, arrhythmias, vascular lesions and echocardiograms.
It is now, 10:34 pm on the 13th of July and taking a break from running around in the wards, that I am taking time to write in a few things in this taken-for-granted blog.
First, I am in fellowship. For the run-of-the-mill reader of this blog, I am referring to my never-ending quest to better myself as a doctor, which involves finishing another 3 years of Cardiology training on top of the 3 years of Internal Medicine, the 1 year of post graduate internship and 4 years of medical school. Oh, and to top it all off, there might be a possibility that there could be another year of subspecialty training after this.
Yes, there are times I question my sanity. The pay is paltry, the hours are wickedly draining, and the stress is beyond belief. I questioned it all the more when I recently found out that our security guards, with all the hazard pay, earn more in a month than I do.
But seemingly, I think I belong. I'm where I'm supposed to be -- learning more, treating patients and until the Great Planner up there changes up the script for me, I'm here to stay.
Second, I have graduated from being a resident, to dealing with residents. And every single day, I ask myself, "Was I this hopeless when I started out?" I'd like to think that I turned out okay.
It is a very very busy world I exist in these days but I've finally found a moment in between exams, reports, research, patient rounds and echocardiograms to just sit down, reflect and as this day would have it, write down a few words.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Here I Go Again
I've always loved donning the white coat and seeing patients, walking the hospital hallways and holding the charts. So returning for three more years of punishment, sleepless nights, stress and torment in an Adult Cardiology Fellowship was just about right for me.
For those not in the medical field, after four years of medical school, and a life-changing board exam, comes residency in specialty field of choice. After that comes another certifying exam then onto a fellowship into a subspecialty in the field you originally specialized in. Then comes another exam and sub-sub-specialization, you get the drift. It is a long and arduous process that does not come with the wealth and prestige most people think doctors have. But rather a long road of training, reading books, examinations, sleepless nights and tears that others don't seem to get.
But I do this because I love the work. I love being with patients.
In my interviews for my neurology and cardiology applications, a staple answer I gave when asked why I chose these particular fields, was that I love puzzles and I love to figure them out, and I love working with people and talking to them and building rapport and working relationships. Thus, I always pictured myself forging on in medicine -- through residency, fellowship and subsequent studies to be the best doctor I could possibly be.
It's not about the money -- never was and never will be. But being compensated enough to be able to have my family and I live comfortably is the goal.
Fellowship is an acquired taste and is not for everybody. Right now, I have to contend with residents lost in the nature of their job (I'd like to think I wasn't that hopeless when I first started out), more responsibility and specialized books to read, and not to mention all the intrahospital and intraspecialty politics that doctors have to deal with.
So here I go again, another 3 years of echocardiograms, angiograms, CABG's, ECG's and angioplasties.
All in the hopes that at the end of it all, I'd be more confident in seeing you come through the clinic doors as my patient and having you walk out the same way, feeling a wee bit better for having seen your friendly neighborhood cardiologist.
For those not in the medical field, after four years of medical school, and a life-changing board exam, comes residency in specialty field of choice. After that comes another certifying exam then onto a fellowship into a subspecialty in the field you originally specialized in. Then comes another exam and sub-sub-specialization, you get the drift. It is a long and arduous process that does not come with the wealth and prestige most people think doctors have. But rather a long road of training, reading books, examinations, sleepless nights and tears that others don't seem to get.
But I do this because I love the work. I love being with patients.
In my interviews for my neurology and cardiology applications, a staple answer I gave when asked why I chose these particular fields, was that I love puzzles and I love to figure them out, and I love working with people and talking to them and building rapport and working relationships. Thus, I always pictured myself forging on in medicine -- through residency, fellowship and subsequent studies to be the best doctor I could possibly be.
It's not about the money -- never was and never will be. But being compensated enough to be able to have my family and I live comfortably is the goal.
Fellowship is an acquired taste and is not for everybody. Right now, I have to contend with residents lost in the nature of their job (I'd like to think I wasn't that hopeless when I first started out), more responsibility and specialized books to read, and not to mention all the intrahospital and intraspecialty politics that doctors have to deal with.
So here I go again, another 3 years of echocardiograms, angiograms, CABG's, ECG's and angioplasties.
All in the hopes that at the end of it all, I'd be more confident in seeing you come through the clinic doors as my patient and having you walk out the same way, feeling a wee bit better for having seen your friendly neighborhood cardiologist.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
To Ashes
Somehow, Ash Wednesday took on a whole new meaning for me and my family last February 13, 2013.
At around 3 pm that day, I took out my phone to take a call from my sister, and she said ," Nong, do you know?"
I looked up from peering over a patient's chart and said, "No. Wala. Why? What?"
"Our house is on fire. It's burning down along with Tiya Fely's and Tiya Intay's!"
"WHAT?!" I exclaimed, immediately getting up from the chair and heading for the empty stairwell. "Are you guys ok? Is anybody hurt?"
"Everybody's ok nong, but our house is mostly gone. Most of the second floor is gone. Mama's room was the first to go, as well as all of our rooms. But what's important is we're ok. Jassen got out in time and right now, we're going to buy milk for Luke."
Still in a state of shock, I could only manage to ask "Ha?!"
"Yup, nong. It's okay, we'll call you later for more details. We're going out to buy Luke's milk because we don't have any here."
Our home was gone.
The place I grew up in -- the halls were I ran through to greet my parents when they came home, the porch where my grandparents used to sit on their rocking chairs to talk to us grandkids, the ancestral home by all of us who grew up in and around Dumaguete City, burned down last Wednesday.
Allegedly, the fire started from our former neighbor's empty house directly 2 houses in front of ours. It had recently been sold and had been mostly empty these past few years. But apparently this didn't stop a group of local teenagers from raiding the wires and melting these to retrieve the copper inside. Not only were they trespassing to get these, but having a jolly good time with beer and glue.
Long story short, their fire ended up burning down 5 houses, including ours.
No human lives were taken, which is great, but our two dogs perished. My nephew hasn't eaten since the fire and keeps on saying "Go home?" My almost complete Hardy Boys collection has gone up in smoke, I think, along with a host of what I referred to as my mini-library.
But all is not lost. I came home this weekend to find my family in good spirits despite everything we've been through. These past few days, we are reminded of the value of family and friends -- all those who have extended themselves to us through prayers and aid and consoling words -- and we, collectively, owe you and offer you our deepest gratitude. Thank you for standing with us in our hour of need.
The house is in shambles, mostly gone, but the family that shared that home and memories spent with them will stay with me and these will withstand the strongest of fires.
At around 3 pm that day, I took out my phone to take a call from my sister, and she said ," Nong, do you know?"
I looked up from peering over a patient's chart and said, "No. Wala. Why? What?"
"Our house is on fire. It's burning down along with Tiya Fely's and Tiya Intay's!"
"WHAT?!" I exclaimed, immediately getting up from the chair and heading for the empty stairwell. "Are you guys ok? Is anybody hurt?"
"Everybody's ok nong, but our house is mostly gone. Most of the second floor is gone. Mama's room was the first to go, as well as all of our rooms. But what's important is we're ok. Jassen got out in time and right now, we're going to buy milk for Luke."
Still in a state of shock, I could only manage to ask "Ha?!"
"Yup, nong. It's okay, we'll call you later for more details. We're going out to buy Luke's milk because we don't have any here."
Our home was gone.
The place I grew up in -- the halls were I ran through to greet my parents when they came home, the porch where my grandparents used to sit on their rocking chairs to talk to us grandkids, the ancestral home by all of us who grew up in and around Dumaguete City, burned down last Wednesday.
Allegedly, the fire started from our former neighbor's empty house directly 2 houses in front of ours. It had recently been sold and had been mostly empty these past few years. But apparently this didn't stop a group of local teenagers from raiding the wires and melting these to retrieve the copper inside. Not only were they trespassing to get these, but having a jolly good time with beer and glue.
Long story short, their fire ended up burning down 5 houses, including ours.
No human lives were taken, which is great, but our two dogs perished. My nephew hasn't eaten since the fire and keeps on saying "Go home?" My almost complete Hardy Boys collection has gone up in smoke, I think, along with a host of what I referred to as my mini-library.
But all is not lost. I came home this weekend to find my family in good spirits despite everything we've been through. These past few days, we are reminded of the value of family and friends -- all those who have extended themselves to us through prayers and aid and consoling words -- and we, collectively, owe you and offer you our deepest gratitude. Thank you for standing with us in our hour of need.
The house is in shambles, mostly gone, but the family that shared that home and memories spent with them will stay with me and these will withstand the strongest of fires.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)