Thursday July 16th 2020

Is there some sort of magic potion I missed in Med School?

Dear Diary,

Is there some sort of magic potion I missed in Med School?

Something to stop me from feeling so deeply for some patients? It’s been one of those weeks, and I am not only physically tired; I am emotionally drained. I lost a twenty-seven-year-old patient this evening. She was so beautiful. Even unconscious and slightly dishevelled as she was when she was brought in, it was easy to tell. Her fiancé brought her in, accompanied by her mother.

Who wakes up one morning, and thinks they’ll lose their twenty-seven-year-old fiancé? Or daughter? She had apparently been well just a day prior. She had no chronic illnesses.

“She only complained of a fever in the morning.” They said.

It was heartbreaking.

“Sir, I assure you we will do everything we possibly can. It’s not looking very good, and she might not make it. But we will do the very best we can.”

I’ve uttered these words so many times, you’d assume they came easy. The look in his eyes were not a look I ever want anyone to have. It was one of those looks that tell you: this is really my all… and it’s killing me not being able to do anything to help. It was a look of hopelessness.  

I think I can easily say today has been one of the most difficult days I’ve ever had. Apart from the physical fatigue, I also felt completely shattered.

When it was finally time to head home, I sat and held my steering wheel for close to thirty minutes, wishing I could dissociate myself with the whole day’s events, something so many of my colleagues seem to have mastered so well! They get out of the hospital, and it’s all out the window for them.

I ate my cold sandwich that was supposed to be lunch, with a cup of tea when I got home, wondering if my newly diagnosed hypertensive patient probably had some renal issues that had been missed in the past? We hadn’t gotten his workup back yet. Also did I forget to hand over any of the patients? I picked up my phone and confirmed everyone had been handed over.

I cried in the shower.

I guess it was a good thing? Because I felt just a bit better after. I cried for the young womans fiancé and mother. I cried for the patients I couldn’t help. And then I cried for my job… for all the hard work I put in to get so far, only to be constantly tired and stressed and confused about my own mental health.

And when I finally fell asleep, it was a fitful, restless sleep that left me half tired in the morning!

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