A New Routine
A NEW ROUTINE
I knew diving right back into the system would be challenging. First off, there was the nature of this new job. I’d work way harder, for way longer hours, and I’d have way more responsibility on my hands. Then there was my personal life – the same one I had rehauled over the previous year and the very same one I swore I’d uphold. Somehow, both pieces had to fit. There was no other choice. That would be the hard part – making them fit.
I knew how easy it would be for things to fall through the cracks, or for work to take over everything else. Apart from the hours I’d spend at work, I’d also have to dedicate a good portion of my me-time to other extracurricular stuff like studying for exams, beefing up my portfolio, and working on studies and audits. There would also be days where I’d be too tired to move a muscle after a particularly hectic shift where I wouldn’t even stop for a single second. Something would have to give, and I knew work wouldn’t be it.
I guess that’s where my mad Microsoft Excel skills come into play. The old planner had to go, and an upgrade was inevitable. Now a fanatic of balance, I made sure to allow plenty of time for work, play, and rest. Out of 168 hours in a week, I’d be spending some 56 of them asleep and another 45 at work – meaning I’d have 67 hours that would be unaccounted for and completely up for grabs. Old me would’ve spent 12 of those working out, the rest either watching TV, drinking, or sleeping. Like hell I’d waste my precious time doing that now. Screw that!
Every week promised 67 hours of freedom. Freedom to do whatever I chose, whatever I felt like doing. Old hobbies like reading, writing, and working out. New hobbies like climbing, diving, and doing yoga. Going for a hike, a swim, or a ride. Learning how to ride a scooter, play the guitar, or speak Chinese. Visiting a temple, a museum, or a cultural site. And also watching TV, drinking, or sleeping – whatever I’d feel like. Come exam season, I’d probably have to shave those 67 hours down to 50, but even so, I could have a life and a job.
Glorious, Glorious Medicine
The job part was easy enough to enjoy. I was doing something I loved and had terribly missed.
Every day promised new things I could see or do. From the mundane pneumonias and heart failures to the cool polytraumas and peri-arrests, from reducing all kinds of fractures to cardioverting unstable arrhythmias, all kinds of fun was to be had. I had missed medicine so, so much. From taking a history and trying to uncover the diagnosis, to examining the patient and performing investigations, from starting treatment to seeing how patients responded – I had missed all of it so damn much.
And how humbling it all is. How the same medical condition presents differently in different patients. How unpredictable medicine is. And how you’re constantly forced to push yourself to learn more because it’s never enough.
And you kinda have to – especially when you’re thrown in the deep end. Like when I was covering paediatrics for the first time and my first patient turned out to be a six-day-old baby with malrotation of the gut. Or when I was covering the minor care clinic and ended up having to intubate (with the help of the anaesthetist, of course) a thirty-year-old because his asthma was so severe. Talk about minor friggin; care, huh?
It wasn’t only the medical aspect of the job that was pleasant – it didn’t take long to reacquaint myself with old colleagues and to make friends with those I had never worked with before. Pretty soon, it wasn’t just a workplace, but a second home – much like it used to be before I left.
It was nice to see that that part hadn’t changed. That despite the ED being a sinking ship, everyone was still willing to go down together. And that was something we’d do on a daily basis – with cases piling up on the racks like there’s no tomorrow, day after day after day. Bonding through the futility and hopelessness of it all, with the darkest humour and an inexplicable will to go on.
Fabulous, Fabulous Life
And then there was life outside of work. Given my previous history with workaholism, this was my biggest worry. Having said that, the first few weeks proved easier than expected when it came to striking a balance between work and life.
I think it’s because by then I knew how important everything else was, and that no matter how much I loved medicine, I was very wary about it taking over my life once more. In fact, I was kind of doing it all. I not only managed to keep up with my hobbies, I also got a new dog (well, technically she’s my brother’s – but hey, I’m her favourite), and a new… boyfriend? Enter Klaus – a new diving instructor who had just started working at my dive shop.
As he would always (proudly) introduce himself, Klaus is a German thirty-something-year-old FTM body-modification artist slash psychologist who had recently gotten a divorce, after which he flew to Raja Ampat where he did his divemaster and instructor courses. Now he’d have a few months teaching courses and leading fun dives here in Malta. And that’s where I come in.
On my off day, my fun dive with Yanika was this close to turning into “assisting Yanika with a boring DSD.” As fate would have it, Klaus offered his services and invited me along on a fun dive he was going to lead. As if that didn’t earn him enough points already, he offered to drive the damn truck (the last time I had driven it, it broke down on me in the middle of a main road, causing a huge traffic jam and many a driver to curse me for the rest of eternity). Then we got to the dive site (one I had been to plenty of times already), and as he started undressing, the first thing I noticed were a dozen penis tattoos all over his body and piercings everywhere. Intriguing. Then he put on his bunny-eared diving hood, his pink mask, and pink fins. Amusing. Then we jumped into the sea and proceeded to have one of the best dives I’ve ever had. Enticing. Then we bid each other adieu, matched on Tinder a few hours later, and the rest was history.
I hadn’t dated anyone since… Boris? That jerk (for lack of a more politically correct term) I had only gone out with for two weeks, who told me what we had was special and we should remain exclusive while he went on a two-week holiday to Spain – which then turned into a month after his father had a stroke. And when he came back? He told me he needed time. That time, it turned out, was exactly what he needed to fall back in love with his ex. Oh, men…
A Perfect Fling
That had been about three years before. I swore off dating for a few months after that. Then my gap year came along, so it didn’t make sense to start anything serious. And then there was Klaus.
When we first started going out, I was kind of riddled with anxiety. First, I hadn’t been with anyone in ages. Second, I had no idea how to kiss him with his split tongue and multiple piercings around his lips. And third, I had never really had been with an FTM person. I had been with men and women before, but never trans people. I had no issue with it, but I’ll admit I felt a bit clueless. Luckily, Klaus made it all feel easy. Our communication was top notch, meaning we could talk about everything – including what felt good and what didn’t.
With him, I did things I’d always wanted to do but never got around to. I started diving and exploring more of Malta’s coast, I started showing him around important sites, and we did all kinds of things that had been on my to-do list for ages – like going to the aquarium or parasailing. Plus, we’d hang out with Yanika all the time at their apartment – their super messy, super dirty apartment. I swear, I still have nightmares about that place sometimes. God only knows how many times I ended up tidying it compulsively. The Monica in me would have never stood by and let such horrors persist.
It wasn’t just the apartment that bugged me, mind you. There were a few other things. Like that occasional forced nasal exhale. Or that shrug tic he’d repeat over and over. Or how much he’d sweat. Okay, four things. Maybe a fifth? The fact that he’d be leaving too, eventually. I don’t think I ever allowed myself to fall for him completely just for that reason, but looking back, it was one of the best relationships I’ve ever had. And when he left? Nothing but amazing memories. Yet another shiny, happy bubble to add to my collection of mini-relationships.
Oh Klaus… No wonder Yanika always insisted she loves him more than me… Why wouldn’t she? Why wouldn’t anyone?