ON WORKING IN A HOSPITAL

Apparently, when I was 7-8ish my mom had asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up and I don’t really remember what insane medical drama cum love story cum family saga I was watching then but I ended up saying that I wanted to be a doctor. That way all I have to do is sit in one place in a hospital and whenever a terminal case comes to me I draw a white sheet over the person and utter the word “you are too late… I am sorry.”

Now, this says a lot about how lazy I was even when I was that young but let’s skip that discussion. The point is, through this anecdote of mine I have realized that one of my first ambitions was to work in a hospital. Now God has really funny ways of screwing me up. I mean none of my wishes came true when I really meant them. Like the time I really wanted to top that exam… or I really wanted that dude to notice me… or I really wanted to… well, it doesn’t matter, none of that happened. But THIS he listens. And so, I came to work in a hospital.

But a far cry from hair swishing, unbuttoned white coats flying, stethoscope wielding image of hospital staff that TV serials or movies portray, hospital life is as de-glamorous as it can get. You don’t get time to have your morning tea, let alone apply make up before going for work. You can’t smile your million dollar smile at the patients’ irate relatives and put them at peace. You do not calmly put that white sheet on the patient with apologetic eyes and declare that the relatives were too late…

Each failed case leaves a scar. Every time you get close to a really jolly 30 year old who later gets detected with cancer or cardiac cirrhosis, a part of you dies inside to think that the person will have grueling god-knows-how-many years ahead. 16 year olds admitted with case of organophosphate poisoning, 14 year olds taken to bed forever due to a freak road traffic accident, 2 year old toddlers in a fire accident with third degree burns… to think if u let yourself get scarred every time this happens it won’t take long for you to be dead inside. But you let yourself feel the pain anyway.

Too sentimental? I guess I did go a bit overboard there. Because every makes-you-want-to-kill-yourself thing has a makes-you-want-to-live-to-be-a-hundred side. The joy of knowing that you are a part of the team that cured the patient, the gratitude of their loved ones, the 8th of every month (when you get your pay :P), knowing that people trust you, no matter what: sort of makes up for everything that messes with your head. It is here where, like any other place you find the world’s best colleagues… feel a sense of importance when there is an emergency… feel the respect and the humility that goes hand in hand when you don the white coat

Life in a hospital is barely a life. But even then every time you walk out after a shift, you can’t help but take another glance at the building, an insignificant speck on the vast cosmos that we call the universe, and yet quite significant in that one place which is not nearly as vast as that universe, but a universe for you, nonetheless J