Festivities
I.II.V
FESTIVITIES
My time in neuro was a breath of fresh air. We had fewer patients and fewer commitments. No boring endoscopy lists, no tedious pre-op assessments, and, though not quite to my liking, no surgeries.
Even so, I relished it way more than I had expected to. I got to manage really interesting cases and learn as much as was humanly possible, all whilst reading tons of books and enjoying a multitude of coffee breaks during working hours. Not to mention, we invested a lot of time decorating our office for Christmas. It might not be my favourite holiday, but I gotta admit, the department was so warm and friendly that I was fully immersed in the Christmas spirit.
Being part of the neuro department was just something else. I was surrounded by all these brainy people (pardon the pun) – with everyone around me being an intellectual – and not only in terms of medicine. I’m talking life here. I felt so ignorant, so uncultured compared to them. And I loved it. Not to mention that everyone was genuinely nice. Our seniors treated us more like friends than colleagues – something quite unheard of for junior doctors in their second quarter.
Then Rosa – our senior who had been locked up in quarantine – showed up, and she was more akin to a best friend, someone with whom I could constantly gossip and chat like we’d known each other for ages. I could hardly imagine a better workplace environment!
Marking the end of our second rotation, we had a somewhat special celebration to look forward to. With COVID-19 restrictions finally becoming more lenient, we were informed that our class would be having an unofficial graduation ceremony.
Everyone was abuzz and elated at the news. Receiving our results smack in the middle of the pandemic had robbed us of the chance to commemorate such a momentous occasion. Whereas everyone in our class had been distraught, I, for one, didn’t mind it one bit. You see, starting work was all I cared about – and that I still got to do. Others didn’t quite see it that way. For them, it was a day they’d been looking forward to their entire lives. A day they could celebrate with friends and family. I, on the other hand, had been dreading it since day one and couldn’t wait until it would be over.
There were many reasons for this. First off, I think togas and trenchers are tacky – especially the biretta us doctor get to wear, with the puffy ball on the cap making us look like we’re wearing winter beanies.
Second, and perhaps most importantly, everyone would be there celebrating with their families. And me and my family? Let’s just say we don’t have the best dynamic in the world. For starters, if there was one family member I would’ve really wanted to share that day with, it would’ve been my father – you know, the dead one. I had gotten there because of him, after all. He deserved to be there as much as I did. But he couldn’t. And so, I was left with my mother and brother – two humans I barely had any connection with.
My mother would’ve loved to come, I’m sure – but did I really want her there? Not at all. All my life, I’d tried to keep her separate from anything important to me (more on that later), and every time she met any of my friends, I’d physically cringe. I’d revert to that stereotypical kid embarrassed by his parents. My relationship with my brother was a whole other can of worms – but to sum it up, let’s just say it was close to non-existent.
If I were to celebrate such a special occasion, I would’ve wanted to be surrounded by the people I loved – and those were my friends. For years on end, my friends had been my family. They were all I had.
Luckily, I wouldn’t have to deal with that after all. Turns out, it was going to be a very unofficial ceremony. We’d go to the university, pick up our degrees, and that would be it. No togas and biretta, no fancy schmancy speeches or rituals. That, I could easily get behind.
And so, donning our finest formalwear, we were unceremoniously handed our scrolls. Despite the low-effort arrangement, I have to admit I got a little emotional. We’d put in so much work to earn that damned degree, and finally, it was in our hands. It was the perfect celebration – surrounded by my closest friends who were now colleagues, under twinkling fairy lights and a huge Christmas tree adorning the campus.
It felt strange being back there – even if it was just a few months later. Everything was the same, yet somehow everything felt different. In that short span of time, we’d gone from carefree students worried only about acing exams, to overly stressed working adults responsible for the lives of others. From kids to adults – just like that. Truly the end of an era. But hey, that was exactly what we’d worked so hard for.
With everyone in our class having earned a much-needed night off, we could finally let loose and celebrate the way we used to. It was a crazy night – just like old times.
And just like that, my time in neuro was over. It truly felt like the end of an era. I’d been a doctor for just six months – yet my life was completely unrecognisable from the one I had left behind.
Neurology didn’t make me softer, but it made me more aware. It slowed me down enough to notice what I was becoming, and honest enough to question it. I walked in sharper, faster, and louder than I needed to be. I walked out humbler, a little bruised, and better for it. It stripped away the noise, the ego, and the race to be first, leaving me face to face with my limits. I didn’t leave knowing everything – I left knowing I never will. That’s the version of myself I’d try to carry forward.