Crossroads
II.IV.V
CROSSROADS
That’s how it went for the rest of the rotation. Work hard, work harder – no time for play. But I was fine with that. It’d be over soon enough anyway.
At that point, I had my future all mapped out. I was hoping to pass my exam so that by the time I finished my Foundation Programme, I could move on to become a surgical basic specialist trainee (BST). Having already ticked off the prerequisites for higher surgical training (HST), I’d then focus on other things – maybe starting a Master’s programme and investing more time in myself. It was a clear, linear path to excellence – one that would eventually lead me to neurosurgery. Only fate had other plans.
My hopes of becoming this high-achieving surgical trainee were shattered the day my MRCS Part B results came out. I’d failed. And worse still, I’d failed by two points. As grounded as I tried to be, it still stung like a mother, not gonna lie. I wasn’t used to failure – especially academic failure. Add to that the time, effort, and hard-earned money poured into that exam, and it felt like it had all gone straight down the drain.
Deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. Preparing for the exam had sharpened my clinical practice in more ways than I could count, and if anything, it only confirmed that I had what it takes to pass it next time around. Emotionally, though, it still hurt.
Thankfully, I didn’t dwell on it for too long. Mostly because, by that point, I had something else occupying my mind. Something I’d been holding onto, afraid to jinx. Something that would completely upend my life. Something I’d been dreaming of doing for years.
Over the previous two years, I’d gone from being monomaniacally obsessed with a single goal – becoming an extraordinary surgeon at any cost – to someone who had started valuing other parts of life. The deeper I buried myself in work, the more I felt something was missing on a personal level. I knew something had to give.
The version of me who’d once claimed he’d sacrifice everything for his career no longer existed. Call it growth, or maybe fickleness, but life had taught me too much to just ignore it. I’d seen patients die before ever getting the chance to chase their dreams. I’d heard colleagues lament missed opportunities. I’d watched myself slowly lose any semblance of a life outside hospital walls. Something had to change.
That’s when it hit me. I wanted more. All my life, I’d spoken about love, adventure, and wisdom as the three cornerstones of a life well lived, yet I’d sidelined all of them in favour of a single pursuit – medicine.
It took months to fully arrive at that realisation. The seed had been planted during my very first rotation, began sprouting during my time in Gozo, and by the time I reached my final rotation, it had grown into something impossible to ignore. This wasn’t a decision I took lightly. I didn’t want to do it – but I needed to. I was going to leave. Not medicine altogether, but medicine for a year. I was going to take a gap year and travel the world.
For months, I’d been meticulously working on what I considered my perfect itinerary. Central America first, then the Caribbean. That was the plan – one I’d been shaping ever since my first quarantine in Gozo and refining throughout my second year as a doctor. What began as a vague idea slowly crystallised into something tangible: a once-in-a-lifetime journey.
Ironically, by the time my Foundation Programme drew to a close, excitement had been replaced by dread. Leaving meant putting a thriving career on pause. Leaving meant stepping away from a life I’d finally grown to appreciate. I didn’t want to go – but I had to. I wasn’t burnt out, and I didn’t need rest. I just felt this overwhelming pull to prioritise other things. To explore. To live. Everything else could wait.
So on my very last day as a junior doctor, I wasn’t just saying goodbye to a hospital that had become my home, my sanctuary. I was saying goodbye to colleagues who’d become family, mentors who’d taught me how to do what I do, and patients who’d taught me why I do what I do.
As much as I loved my job, I knew stepping away – even briefly – was the right thing to do. And while I was excited about the adventure ahead, I was equally excited about the part that would follow: coming back.