In the humid atmosphere of the crowded room, I felt a drop of sweat trickle down my forehead, travel along the bridge of my nose and fall off the tip where it dove onto the white linen sheets. I watched as the world around me revolved, letting myself take in as much from that moment as I could. "Here I finally am", I said to myself as I gazed upon the hustle and bustle of the non-infectious ward. My friends and future colleagues were all busy with their own patients, taking medical histories and performing physical examinations, all too wary of our preceptors hovering over us to make sure performed the right technique. They have transformed. I have transformed as well as I stood there feeling the unusual rubbing of a stethoscope's tubing at the back of my neck and its weight on my shoulders.
It was the first time I would be able to face an actual admitted patient and deal with him as a fully fledged doctor would. It's all real now, I thought wistfully to myself when a groupmate brought me back to reality as she told me to step back and allow the doctor to pass. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to hear the nurse say out loud that the patient had palpatory blood pressure. In a flash, nurses ran to the bedside attaching an ECG, closing off the bed with a curtain, and ventilating the patient all at once while a medical intern performed CPR. A man with a look of urgency in his face, the son of the patient perhaps, was talking to someone on the phone; his mother maybe?
At a loss for what to feel and how to react, I looked away and tried to focus on the patient we were assessing. I could not help but feel uneasy, however, as I caught glimpses of a motionless face from my peripheral vision. A man was dying. It was as simple as that. A man would soon be dead and in that moment, I was reminded of my own mortality. It was like waking up from a slumber I did not ever know I was in. Shuffling from lectures to labs to SGDs and hospital duties, it is so easy to get lost and one day wake up already having turned into an automaton. By pouring out every ounce of energy in learning how to save another's life, we gradually lose our own. We forget how it is to really live and consequently, we forget the reality of death as well. This may prove to be a great disadvantage eventually. For in forgetting that the grim reaper hovers ever so closely, we fall into a false sense of security and believe that we can go on forever.
If we learn to recognize our own mortality, we are reminded of our deficiencies and the limited time given to fill in the gaps. With this, we can choose to stay in this lull or try our hardest to be the best version of ourselves possible. If we accept that someday this world will continue to exist even after we are no longer, we can make the bold effort to leave behind a part of ourselves and pay it forward. As future physicians, we are trained to be meticulous and comprehensive in everything that we do. But as mortal beings, we are also reminded that we do not and cannot control everything. Despite our best efforts, we will not always win the battle against the disease and we must forgive ourselves when that time comes. Lastly, by acknowledging that we are mortal, we accept that it is not only by our hands that the patient is healed but that we are merely instruments through which He does His healing.
I saw that dying man a year and a half ago. Since then, I have witnessed the same scene a number of times more and I know that still more is to come. However, the imagery of that August afternoon has stayed with me all this time and I thank that dying man for allowing me to witness his exit because by dying, he reminded me how to live. He allowed me to awaken from my slumber and I do not wish to fall asleep again. I want to always be awake, alive, so that someday when I am in his place, I may leave as gracefully as he did.
Written by Frances Mae O. Gumapon of Batch Asterion
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