Malta – Week 1: Paging Doctor Diver
MALTA
Week 1: Paging Doctor Divemaster
May 24 to 30, 2023
PART I
Coming back didn’t have this sense of finality this time round. Maybe cause I was excited about everything the future held in store for me. Or maybe, just maybe, cause my brain was occupied on one single topic – my interview.
As much as I had studied, as much as I had worked, this was the very first step I had always been excited about. I went into medicine to become a surgeon. Five years of med school and two years of internship were the hurdles I had to go through in order to start this journey. All those years, all that hard work, and I wasn’t even at the starting line. But finally, that too was in sight.
You’d think I would have been a nervous wreck, but despite how unprepared I felt, despite my doubts and uncertainty regarding my future, I felt calm and composed. I think it was a years’ worth of growth that had led to this. The chill Marius that I had turned into back in Utila, together with all the revelations that countless contemplative sessions by the beach had brought along, had prepared me for just that moment. Because, at the end of the day, whether my plans would pan out or not, I knew I’d be okay.
The Preamble
And so, I found myself all suited up (Business Marius still had his Utila tattoo and anklet underneath all that), in a waiting room ready to be called upon, along with some four other interviewees. Now they were a nervous wreck, and funnily enough, they didn’t have to be. They had been in the system all throughout. Their knowledge was still fresh. And the interviewers probably still remembered them. Me? I felt so out of place in that room, with those people, in those clothes.
In went one and out went the other, each of them telling us what to expect and what cases they had asked them. Turns out, all that studying aboard the Neptune One would be useless at best, with the question baffling most doctors in the room easily answered by anyone who’s ever watched Grey’s Anatomy. As relaxed as I was, I was further reassured that I’d do well by this very fact. I had forgotten how easy it is to BS your way through these things, and, if worse comes to worst, you can always ramble on about something they didn’t quite ask for and take the lead. And like that, calmness soon turned to confidence. I had this. I still had my doubts about my future career prospects, but regardless, I had it.
Dr Brown's Back
In I went, an hour or so later than expected. The head of department and another surgeon welcomed me to the worn-out seminar room we’d previously use to discuss cases during MDT meetings.
After the usual fake pleasantries, they asked me for my resume, prompting me to lay out three files in front of them, threatening to explode in a flurry of papers that no one would ever read. They then proceeded to read them, blurting out all the ‘excellent’s and ‘wow’s I had amassed from my feedback throughout the two years of work. Then they got to my academic achievements and their smile further reassured me, telling me I had full points in every section but one. They even marked me for some stuff I had barely even contributed to!
“So, Dr Brown, why surgery and why should we choose you?” goes the head. Damn… I hadn’t heard anyone calling me that in ages. It felt good, not gonna lie. That part of me was still in there somewhere. “Well, if I tell you why I want surgery you won’t want to choose me” I replied with a giggle, before proceeding to list all the virtues of Grey’s Anatomy and how it’s shaped me into the person I am today. They both laughed it off, and I think they actually appreciated my candour, making a cogent argument about how it’s inspired an entire generation of healthcare professionals despite being just a show to some.
Then it was the case scenario – the very same one the others before me had told me would come out. A patient presents one week after a complicated lap chole with jaundice and fever. We went through the ABCDE’s and then they asked what the possible cause might have been. Duh… Season six, episode nine. Richard Webber, struggling with his sobriety once again, accidentally clips a patient’s common bile duct, resulting in the same exact thing. I think they would’ve been far more impressed had I not told the same answer to all my rivals before heading in, but hey, I’m all for an even playing field. I had to be prompted multiple times to answer the next question and blanked out completely on the following one – but again, win some, lose some.
To finish it off, a guy from HR, who had been sitting there uselessly all along, asked me the usual crap about leadership and stuff, and then how to go about breaking bad news, prompting me to practically repeat Meredith’s speech word by word. The arrogant, pompous prick within me also went through the god-awful SPIKES acronym I knew they wanted to hear just so I could shut them up too. Despite my inner turmoil, my typical surgeon ego was still intact.
So yeah, overall all I felt I had done well. Of course, I wouldn’t know just how well I had done until after a few weeks when the ranking would come out, but at that point, I felt I had done my best and that was good enough. Only time would tell, and I was fine with that.
PART II
It's Raining Jobs
Over the next few days, I found myself living up to the expectations I had built for myself over the previous few weeks. I sent out more resumes and started contacting more companies in order to get a job, with a day of doing nothing pushing me to the brink of insanity.
Once again, I was at a crossroads. Would it be better to find a job as a doctor, earn some good money and ease back into medicine? Or would it be better to work as a divemaster, furthering this newfound passion of mine and exploring Malta’s underwater side for free in the meantime? Either way, I’d have to get off my ass and start doing something with my life. Sitting in my room reading, writing, or watching television with some occasional hiking and biking didn’t feel like the best use of my time.
I was contacted by Maria – a diving director at one of Malta’s foremost dive centres. She woke me up mid-nap, and, all groggy and disoriented, I answered the phone not knowing what had just hit me. She dished out some hard reality – that being a divemaster in Malta is practically useless and that I’d be unhireable by most dive shops, given the additional and stricter regulations we have here. After a long pause, my resignation had set in. She then told me they’re short-staffed and that she could potentially create a position for me – I’d be leading advanced divers in fun dives, assisting with courses and helping out with admin stuff. Good enough, no? She then told me I’d be paid next to nothing, but, considering I’d be diving somewhere I had virtually no experience in and that I didn’t even have any equipment, it didn’t sound like much of a compromise. I told her I’d think about it, knowing full-well I’d accept.
That same day I was contacted by a private hospital for an interview the following week. The word interview doesn’t quite describe the meeting I had with the hospital director, with her pretty much offering me everything I wanted right on the spot without so much as a hurdle. And the pay… Were I paid the same amount over my two years working in the public hospital I could’ve afforded to take a gap decade, let alone a gap year. And the hours… I’d have twenty to thirty hours a week, as opposed to my minimum of sixty hours during my internship, and I’d start my shifts at 9AM. Crazy!
The Double-Job Compromise
I knew what the most logical choice was. Of course I had to take the job at the hospital. It’d be the responsible thing to do, a no-brainer. Who the hell could say no to such money? Not a sell-out, surely.
And that’s exactly how I felt. I was trading money and familiarity with the opportunity of a lifetime – to work as a divemaster for what could have possibly been the last time (for the foreseeable future anyways). To enjoy myself and dive as much as it is humanly possible versus earning money and easing back into medicine. “I’d probably have my entire life ahead of me working in medicine, should I add more to that, or should I give fun one last go?” I tried to rationalise. My common sense pointed towards working as a doctor, but my gut feeling said otherwise. It was brain versus heart, sell-out versus hedonist, adult versus kid.
I was overwhelmed to say the least, struggling to make a decision that would take over the upcoming few months. As much as I like to think of myself as having the solution to all of life’s problems, life has managed to humble me enough to ask others for help. I ran it past my closest friends, with the older ones telling me to take the job as a doctor and my contemporaries telling me to take the job as a divemaster. Once again, I was at a stand-still. I wrote pro-con lists for both jobs but it turned out that this exercise too was fruitless. But, seeing both of their perks lined up, I couldn’t quite shake off this feeling of exhilaration. I had found the solution.
By that very evening, I had accepted both job offers. I’d work as a part-time doc and a part-time divemaster. I’d probably stretch myself a bit too thin, though that’d be me making the most of my time and living the best of both worlds at the same time. It’d be the perfect compromise. And, if at any point in time I’d feel overwhelmed, I could always quit either of them, or, if I felt like it, both. The world was my oyster, and, apparently, it wanted to be gulped down.
PART III
Divemaster Duties
Admittedly, before I started working, I did have some “What did I do? What did I do?!” moments. Mostly cause I had accepted two jobs I wasn’t particularly confident in.
When it comes to diving, despite having improved so much from my divemaster training days, I still wouldn’t have called myself an expert. When it comes to medicine, despite having been excellent at my job throughout my internship, I had been away from it all for almost a year. I was fraught with insecurities and riddled with doubts. But, as always, I looked forward to the challenges ahead and faced them with arms wide open.
And just like that, I found myself at the dive shop, greeted by no one other than Maria – a diving director with some forty years of experience under her belt. We had been chatting throughout the previous week, trying to hash out some sort of agreement given I’d have to split my time between the dive shop and the hospital. And lemme just say, she is as wholesome as they come, and, most of all, passionate about the underwater world. We got off splendidly right from the very start, with her so much as telling me she wanted me on the team from the very first time we spoke simply cause she took a liking to me. Well, I could very well say the same thing!
We didn’t have much time for pleasantries as everyone in the shop busied themselves to get ready for a big day ahead. I’d be assigned to assist with an Open Water course and a DSD with Yanika – a Chinese instructor who’d been living on the island for around two years. She showed me around the shop, got me the equipment I’d be using and then explained how to fill tanks in a flurry of activity that had me all dizzied up as I tried to keep up with her.
The Handbrake Incident
Luckily for me, I was quickly relieved by Maria who gave me another task – driving the truck to the dive shop in order to start loading it up. Turns out, this was not, in fact, Utila, where I had done my divemaster training. Whereas at Underwater Vision I had the luxury of living in the dive shop, here we’d have to drive around the whole island (or cross the channel to get to others in the archipelago) to get to different dive sites.
I freaked. Nowhere in my job description did it say I’d have to drive, let alone drive a friggin’ truck. Then again, it’s not like there was a job description, given I had blindly sent out my resume to any and every dive centre I could find. And suddenly, I found myself having to drive a truck. You see, in my entire life I had driven three cars – my very own beaten-up Polo (god bless her soul), my mother’s automatic Demio (even a monkey could drive it), and a Jeep I had rented in Mexico (the very same one I had crashed after five minutes). Driving a truck was not something I’d ever envisioned myself doing. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this job after all.
I walked a few blocks away, where this yellow truck was parked on the pavement (probably illegally). I got in, feeling too small to ever be allowed on the driver seat of such a beast, and started saying my last prayers. The worst-case scenario I could picture was me crashing and getting fired on my very first day. The best-case scenario was me crashing and dying in the process, not having to live with the shame of it all.
I turned the keys in the ignition, the truck bumping lightly on the one in front of it. Excellent, excellent start. I set it in reverse, the loud beeping only confirming how inept and unprepared I was for such a seemingly Herculean task. Then, as slowly as a grandma, I started backing it up, the engine roaring and the tyres screeching as they climbed over a ledge standing between the pavement and the road. By the time I was on the street, I was a sweaty, palpitating mess. Then I drove a few blocks down the road, parking it right in front of the dive shop. I felt proud, not gonna lie, especially when I called for Maria to show me where the handbrake is only for her to point at the lever that sprung out from below the steering wheel. I had driven it all the way there with the handbrake up. Way to go!
The loading part I had down from my days in Utila. Carrying tanks at 6AM on most days had prepared me for just this. Then, when we were all set to go, Yanika and the three students we’d be diving with hopped into the truck and off we went. We’d be going to a dive site in Manoel Island – a tiny island connected to the bigger one by a bridge. Luckily, this was only a couple of kilometres away from our shop, meaning I wouldn’t have to be trusted driving the damned thing too far.
As hassled as I had been, I can’t quite say it was the worst experience ever, managing to get to the dive site without so much as one fatality. Plus, I felt cool as hell. Up until a few weeks before, I didn’t even know how to ride a bike, and suddenly I was driving a friggin’ truck!
Hydrophobia and Nausea
We then unloaded the truck and with Yanika explaining how to assemble the equipment and some skills they’d need to practice, we were ready to start gearing up. I gotta admit, putting on the 5mm wetsuit and jacket on top of it was a feat in and of itself, being used to diving with a 3mm wetsuit or nothing at all. But, as Yanika assured me, I’d definitely be needing both of them, given water temperatures were about 20 degrees Celsius – making it the coldest water I had ever dived in so far.
For the first dive, we’d practice surface skills and then a few more at the bottom before we’d go on the fun dive – the part I was looking forward to and the reason I had applied for this job. But, being assigned to a hydrophobic DSD student who requested we cancel the dive, I had to stay behind with him on shore. For the second dive, at least, I’d be assisting with the Open Water course. Whilst both students did brilliantly in the skills section, the second we started heading out for the fun dive, all hell kinda broke loose. One of them had trouble equalising and kept on rising to the surface. The other, perhaps more worryingly, kept on signalling that he had a problem without pointing to the actual one. Turns out, he was seasick. My diagnosis was based on the fact that he puked his guts out. Twice.
So yeah, not a great start to my diving prospects here in Malta nor to my diving career in general. That said, I still had an entire afternoon of diving ahead of me.
The Posidonia Forest
This time round, we’d be going to Saint Paul’s Bay and I’d be assisting Francesca – an Italian instructor – with her Reactivate course. I took an immediate liking to her, especially when she had me teach half the group myself. Felt good being useful! Then, after we had covered all the basics, we headed for a fun dive around the coast.
And boy did it make up for that morning’s disappointment. That one dive made me fall in love with Malta’s underwater side and understand why so many dive professionals move here. Granted, it’s not really the variety or splendour of its fish, with most of them being dull and grey. No way. It’s all the Neptune grass – the sunlight reflecting over the blades as they sway with the current. It truly is ethereal. Whilst I had seen that view a million times when I used to go snorkelling as a kid, diving amidst the forest of sea grass is quite another thing. Apart from making for an absolutely gorgeous scene, Posidonia oceanica – the sea grass – is known as the Mediterranean’s Amazon Rainforest, with every equivalent area capturing up to fifteen times more carbon dioxide than the latter!
As we circled through the marine forest, we eventually ended up at the sandy bottom, with patches of peacock’s tail seaweed all around. From the forest, it seemed we had stumbled upon the meadow – the flower-like algae blooming everywhere. Swimming around, we could also see shoals of brown chromis, cow bream, and mullets, their greyish colour quite the contrast with what I had gotten used to whilst diving in the tropics, with the occasional painted comber and rainbow wrasse providing a burst of colour. This, I quickly got to learn, would be the quintessential seascape and marine life dominating Maltese seas. Whilst they might not be as bright and vivid as coral reefs, it didn’t take long for me to start appreciating it. As desolate and dull as it might be in comparison, there’s just something about it that fascinates me to no end. Perhaps it’s nostalgia – having grown up in these very seas!
And just like that, my first week in Malta and my first day as a divemaster was over. We headed back to the dive shop, where most divemasters and instructors sat down, enjoying a beer and a cigarette. Sitting there, it felt like I was travelling once again – coming back from a dive and enjoying the company of complete strangers as we reminisce on our experiences. I never thought I could feel that way here in Malta – especially so when I met this cool chick from Czech Republic who had spent an entire year in Utila. What a friggin’ small world, huh?
As much as I had enjoyed my first day, I was still a bit sceptical about it all. First and foremost, I was still riddled by anxiety every time I’d think about having to drive the damned truck. Second, it was a hell of a lot of hard work. And third, it practically paid nothing. Meaning I could very well work the same hours at the hospital and use that money to go on fun dives instead.