Malta – Week 2: Panic in Purgatory
MALTA
Week 2: Panic in Purgatory
May 31 to June 6, 2023
PART I
I started my second week in Malta by starting my second job. Going back to medicine had been something I had been wanting to do ever since I had left it, and despite all my doubts and insecurities about my future, the very idea of working in a hospital had me trembling with excitement.
I headed to my new workplace not quite knowing what to expect. I should’ve known better though, as the first thing that hit me was a mountain of paperwork in order to get me registered in the system. Should’ve figured my grand return would feature nothing more than a bureaucratic nightmare. But hey, at least I could now go back to doing what I loved – all the while getting paid.
Redundant Stamping
After I had gotten all the documentation out of the way, I was given a tour of the premises and informed I’d be on ‘medicals’ duty – shadowing another medical officer whilst doing pre-employment checks for foreigners wanting to start their careers off in Malta.
This, turns out, is something even a monkey can do. We’d basically greet the ‘clients’, confirm they have all the necessary prerequisites – mainly vaccinations and no evidence of infectious diseases, and then sign them off. The only medical aspect of this part of the job was checking their chest x-rays to see if they had any lung pathology. That’s it. I was meant to shadow Holly, another medical officer I knew from my previous job, for the entire morning but given the simplicity of the job, I offered my new colleague to split the work and start doing my own thing after seeing some three clients.
A mindless, boring job that could be easily done by a robot. All the same, I kick ass at these kinds of things – my efficiency and speed an asset. Plus, I was being paid a crap ton of money just for sitting down and stamping my name on a bunch of papers. Whilst I can’t quite say a medical degree is useless, it definitely did feel like it doing this job. I couldn’t picture myself doing this long-term – nevertheless it certainly does pay the bills (or another holiday or diving gear).
The Stormtrooper Routine
In between medicals, thankfully, I’d also be seeing a couple of patients coming in for consults. Never having worked as a GP before, I have to admit I felt a bit unprepared for this, especially after a year away from it all.
Luckily I had minor cases, like colds and sore throats, gastroenteritis, or rashes – nothing too worrying. This made me feel like a real doctor once again. I’d have legit patients who sat down in front of me – patients from whom I’d have to take a history and perform an examination before proceeding to manage them. It was refreshing, reinvigorating to some extent. At least I’d get to practice real medicine, if only on occasion.
After we were done with our morning list, we then proceeded to do a ‘ward round’. Whilst back in the public hospital I used to have an average of twenty patients under my care, here we had three patients shared amongst three medical officers. And these patients? Stable ones awaiting long-term care. Meaning I was as redundant as any Stormtrooper in Star Wars. The only ‘easing into medicine’ I’d be doing, it seemed, would be if I were to start studying again during my unnecessarily long breaks. That said, one of the consultants did ambush me with a case discussion which had me realise how rusty I still was. It did feel like a reality check!
Then it was more medicals in the afternoon and just like that, my first day at the hospital was over. All in all, I had fun, earned some good money, and was back at working in a familiar environment I had missed sorely. Plus, my new colleagues seemed like nice people.
PART II
A Deadening Phone Call
Whilst I would’ve preferred this job to be more stimulating and challenging, I am grateful I started off doing medicals. As I was seeing my first client, my phone started buzzing. It was Momma Bear – and Momma Bear never calls unless it’s an urgent matter.
Over the previous month, Momma Bear and Poppa Bear had been thinking about getting pregnant and starting out their family. Regular gynae check-ups, inspired by her sister’s childhood teratoma, had Momma Bear all prepared for this very moment. Yet the routine check-up, the one where she’d be told she’s ready to start trying to conceive, didn’t quite go as planned. They had found a complex cyst on her ultrasound, which, given her family history, could have been something more sinister.
When she told me this, I can’t say I didn’t freak out. You see, Momma Bear is by far one of the unluckiest people in the world. If someone were to be diagnosed with cancer a month after their wedding right when they were planning to start a family, it’d be her. The news had deadened me. I tried to be as supportive as I could, telling her to take everything one step at a time, and that in all likelihood, she had nothing to fear. In the meantime, I started preparing myself for the worst. That way, maybe, just maybe, I could prepare her for the worst – not that she’s incapable of doing that on her own. A lifetime of ill faith and misfortune was enough for that.
Over the previous week she had consulted with her gynae and had taken some blood samples – mostly for reassurance. When she called me sobbing, I immediately knew it wasn’t the good news we were hoping for. One of her tumour marker levels was off the charts. I was this close to breaking down. Worst part is, I couldn’t. Not only did I need to be her rock, I also had a waiting room full of clients to be seen and I was swamped with work. I reiterated that tumour markers are not diagnostic, and that again, we should take it step-by-step, before having to hang up and continue my work.
Processing the Five Stages in Purgatory
Throughout the day, it felt as if I was a ghost. Had I been at home, I would’ve completely broken down, taking in all the grief and letting myself feel it all. Once again, I’d allow myself to go through the five stages of grief:
Denial: It can’t be. Tumour markers are NOT diagnostic. We could very well be facing a benign tumour or a different cause for its elevated levels altogether. She’s too young for this crap to happen to her and she just got married – the universe can’t be that screwed up. In all likelihood, this would be just a fluke…
Anger: Why her? Why not me? Why not the guy who’s lived his best life? Why not the guy who’s all alone and whose loved ones could easily cope with his loss given how relatively distanced he is from everyone else? Screw the universe, screw luck, and screw everything. Why the hell do bad things happen to good people? Why the hell is it that good people can’t have their friggin’ happily ever afters?
Bargaining: It might be benign, or it might be cancer. If it’s the former, it’ll still be tough, with her wanting to get pregnant and losing an ovary. But that we can get over. And, if it is indeed a malignancy, it’s not the end of the line either. There’s a million treatment options nowadays. Cancer, today, is much like any other chronic illness.
Depression: No matter what it is, this could shatter her. This could shatter the life she’s envisioned for herself, for her husband, for her family. Not to mention, if she were to need chemo and radiation, she’ll end up a shell of what she once was. What the hell is the point of all of this?
Acceptance: Time and time again, her resilience has been an inspiration to me. The universe has thrown her so many friggin’ curveballs, more than anyone would deem fair, and every time, she stands up stronger than ever. If it truly is the worst-case scenario, I’m sure she’s strong enough to face it, and we’ll be there for her through it all.
Isolated Reflections
While I was busy at work, the Dame (Momma Bear’s other bridesmaid) lent her ears and a shoulder for her to cry on. She spoke to one of her closest friends, a gynaecologist in training, who provided some reassuring information and statistics about her ultrasound findings and elevated tumour markers. He was, in fact, rather optimistic about it. When I called her again later that evening, I could already tell she felt way better about it all. Me? I didn’t want to tempt fate. I’d keep the faith, sure, but I didn’t wanna get my hopes up either. One step at a time.
In the refuge and comfort of my room, I then had a chance to feel it all. As selfish as it may be, as much of a jackass as this might make me, there was also a tiny part of me that wondered “what about me?”. Apart from everything else, there was also the part that I could be losing my best friend. And if that were to happen, what the hell would I do? It took me the better part of my life to find someone with whom I could confide in completely, with whom I could be my true self, with whom I felt loved and cherished. And now, that someone could be dying on me.
I would’ve gladly taken her place. The way I saw it, I didn’t stand much to lose. I had made my peace with death. I had much to live for, sure, but I feel as if I’ve lived my life to the full ever since my dad died and gave me the best reason to do so. Plus, for some reason, I’d always prophesied I’d die at the age of 54, meaning my loved ones would outlive me and I wouldn’t have to deal with their deaths. And now this? I would’ve gladly taken her place.
But I couldn’t. And, worst of all, I had no one to freak out with. She’d be the one I’d usually freak out with. As many friends as I have, as close as I might be to them, I just couldn’t blurt out what up until then was a secret to just anyone. I felt all alone, isolated, with no one to talk to. That night, I texted the Dame. I thanked her for being there for Momma Bear when I couldn’t. We poured our hearts out and confided all our fears and insecurities. At that point, Poppa Bear, her, and I were in the same boat – a seemingly sinking one. We’d have to rely on each other whatever the outcome.