Puerto Natales – Day 4: Doctor or Nomad?
PUERTO NATALES
Day 4: Doctor or Nomad?
March 31, 2023
A day I had been both looking forward to and dreading had finally come. Since starting this journey, there were very few days when I didn’t think about this one with a great sense of anticipation, even though it would also mark the end of yet another beautiful chapter in my life. At this point, I kinda didn’t even wanna think about it. And now that the moment had arrived, I felt completely and utterly blindsided – and terrified.
In a surprising twist of events, I woke up to about ten messages, all saying the same thing: “Marius, the basic specialisation training applications are open!”. I was convinced they’d be published either once I was stuck in the middle of the Patagonian mountains with zero internet connection or once I was back home. Technically, my prophecy wasn’t too far off, considering I was actually meant to be trekking around that time but couldn’t due to logistics.
Finding myself locked up in the drom, you could say the timing was nothing short of perfect. As I lay there in bed, with plenty to do outside of my four walls, all I could think about were the things I had to do right there and then. “This is it, I guess. I have to start getting my crap together right about now. I have to go back to reality soon,” I told myself over and over. I couldn’t believe it. In just two weeks’ time, I’d be returning to normalcy. What I once thought of as a chance to experience the real world had become a lifestyle – one I wasn’t quite sure I could leave behind.
The Ultimatum
When I first started this trip, for months on end, I was wrecked with grief after leaving behind a job I loved so much – one that filled me with such passion and drive that it overshadowed everything else in my life. And now, standing so close to the end, I could hardly believe it – no, I could hardly accept it.
How does one go back to a normal, sedentary, nine-to-five lifestyle after months on the road doing things I could never have even dreamt of? How would I reconcile the sight of cranes towering over traffic-jammed roads, amidst the overpopulated concrete mess that is Malta, with the landscapes I’d come to love and expect out here? How would I cope with gossip, petty drama, and work talk instead of swapping incredible tales and adventures with fellow travellers? I felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum on their first day of school: “I don’t wanna leave. I don’t wanna go!”.
I freaked out. Adding to the list of reasons why I wanted to give up my life in Malta and become a nomad was the fact that I was now applying for a job I wasn’t even sure I truly wanted. Once again, the neurosurgery versus emergency medicine debate that had been simmering for months resurfaced. Only this time, it wasn’t a debate so much as an ultimatum.
By this point, my idea was to apply as a basic specialist trainee in surgery – a training programme lasting two years. During this time, I’d be working towards becoming a surgeon – the very same goal I’d been chasing ever since I got into medicine – while also buying myself enough time to figure out what I actually wanted to do, who I wanted to be. The world would still be my oyster this way. And if I decided to change my mind and prioritise travelling as much as I do medicine, my surgical training would surely come in handy down the line.
After those two years, no matter how busy I might be or how little I’d manage to feed the adrenaline junkie within me, I’d once again be standing at a crossroads. I could either continue down the path to neurosurgery or upend my life entirely and pursue a career in expedition medicine. I had no rush, no set timeline, no restrictions. That window would be my fail-safe.
Embracing Change
I spent the day locked up in my room tying up loose ends for my application. Luckily, my organisational skills served me well – I had almost everything ready. Just some final tweaks to my resume, uploading qualifications and achievements, requesting official documents, and that was it. Once I had everything in place, I could submit the whole thing. My first choice would be general surgery, followed by emergency medicine.
I won’t lie – revisiting my achievements and thinking about my future career prospects brought with it a certain sense of relief. As much as I hate putting down roots, the thought of returning to the hospital I’d come to call my home, my sanctuary, made me feel warm and gooey inside. I wouldn’t just be returning to something that gave my life meaning. Waiting for me would also be colleagues and patients I love and cherish.
That morning, when the news first hit, it felt like I was inching towards my own funeral, as if I’d hammered the final nail into my coffin. Yet by the end of the day, I wanted to grab the same scalpel I’d earlier imagined jabbing into my own carotid and instead use it to slice open a scalp and save a life once again. Life goes on. Things end, other things begin, and, most importantly, we are in control of what we choose to do with our lives.
I figured I’d take things as they come and deal with them step by step. As I always say, change is the only constant in life. And once again, I found myself embracing it.