Reality check
Shivanthi Sathanandan has realised that being a doctor in real life is a far cry
from that presented on television
Medicine is that
gloriously glamorous profession that American television is so good at
portraying. George Clooney and Alex Kingston bat their eyelids and flirt
with us as they treat our bodily ailments. The nurses do more than their
usual daily duties; they are natural born solvers of all personal angst and
are angels who bring estranged families together. The medical students are
all enthusiastic, never complaining that they wish they could be in bed or
out partying, but would actually prefer to be given more responsibility.
They want to sacrifice life and family for the good of all humankind and
stay well beyond the call of duty. On top of all this, they manage to
acquire the knowledge of a consultant who has been practising for 50 years.
Every day is a life and death situation, with car crashes, domestic
violence, and terrorist attacks; the staff of this television-world
hospital cope beautifully.
"Ah, what an amazing profession," we all
say. Practically all fiction, I say. As I near the end of my medical
degree, I realise that being a doctor is nothing like I had thought, as I
started medical school. When eager little schoolchildren attack me with
questions about what it is like to be a would-be-doctor, what do I say?
We have early mornings, sometimes very early mornings.
At first enthusiasm drives you to wake up, put on your clothes, and tramp
towards the hospital for another day. By the third morning, the 12 hour
days begin to dampen your morale. Coming home every day at 7 pm, you begin
to quickly realise that life consists mainly of eating, sleeping, and
learning. It takes a strong person to maintain any hobbies while trying to
become a master of medicine. Daydreams soon change from marrying Johnny
Depp to being able to wear jeans for a day; getting up at 7 30 am instead
of 6 30 am and actually making it home in time for EastEnders. The day is spent trailing
after the doctors in fear that you will miss the most exciting and
educational events.
Then there are those nerve wracking moments when you
are actually expected to do something. It may be something simple, such as
fetching a piece of cotton wool or doing something that will cause
palpitations, such as taking blood. On an unlucky day, you might be asked
to answer the telephone on the ward. Pretty easy, huh? Well, you would
think so. But after having to tell the 50th person that you are only a
medical student and have no idea what they are talking about and will have
to see if you can find a member of staff, you begin to wonder what the
point of getting you to answer the phone is. During this time you are
constantly taking out your pocket guide to medicine, desperately trying to
anticipate the doctor's next question and read up on the answers.
It's a jungle; there is no future beyond surviving the next question
fired at you and avoiding humiliation for a second longer.
LP WOODS
But wait, there is more: 24 hour on-takes. No doctor or
nurse ever does 24 hours straight at the hospital. In fact, I am almost
sure there are human rights issues about making someone stay for 24 hours,
but medical students seem to be exempt from human rights of any kind. By
the 18th hour in the hospital when you have taken the 100th blood pressure,
you are aware that there really is no purpose to you being here, and, if
anything, you are just in the way.
On top of these demands, you have to take into account
your fellow students. Most will be decent humans, who feel all the pain
that you feel. But then there will be a few, a few who think they are
already world experts in all fields of medicine. They will try at every
point to compete with and outshine you. This will extend to dressing better
then you, being perkier then you, less tired than you, arriving at 5 30 am
instead of 7 am as the timetable says, staying for at least 20 hours every
day, and buying all the doctors skinny lattés. To top it all off,
they seem to be the captain of the rowing team and manage to maintain
loving relationships with their partners while you are barely keeping your
life together. They may even insist on conversing with you in depth about
their profound capabilities. They will say things like "It just was
not going well, so we decided to oxytocin her," when you are saying
things like "Yeah. The woman was screaming; I hid in a corner of the
room while the doctors gave her oxytocin."
So, why become a doctor? Even in the life of a
disillusioned medical student such as mine there will come moments when
things seem to fall into place, just for a moment. The instant a
baby's head pops out into the world and the mother slumps back in
complete peace. Or the second when everyone in the room begins to breathe
again as they realise a patient is going to make it. Maybe for these
moments we choose to become doctors.
Shivanthi Sathanandan, medical student, Royal Free and University College London Medical School
Email: shivanthis@hotmail.com
studentBMJ 2005;13:265-308 July ISSN 0966-6494
