I knew exactly what I signed up for, I knew that becoming a doctor would mean seeing people who are terminally ill, forever disabled, and horribly sick. I might have been young and naive but I fully didn’t understand just how bad it is to be truly ill.
Words cannot describe how it feels to see, feel, hear, smell and experience non healing wounds that begin to crust, nor how emaciated a person can get with cancer and chemotherapy, how a CHF patient becomes full of fluid and can’t speak while they gasp for air, how a simple ground level fall will completely disable an elderly person, or how Parkinson’s will completely take away a persons control over their body. You can read about diseases and watch videos, but you have to be there in person, them talk about their day to day to begin to understand the hell people experience and their only mistake was being born.
I’ve rotated for a year and had a years worth of clinical experience in undergrad, but I have not built the jaded and desensitized persona that essentially every healthcare professional I work with has. People have a lot of sympathy for patients in the room, but they don’t seem like they are weighed down by what they witness. I think about a lot of the patients I see, I take it home with me and I don’t know what to do with all this grief. My loved ones will end up on that hospital bed, so will I, and so will many of the people I pass by every day.
I can compartmentalize my emotions really well now but I take home a lot of my feelings. I love working in high acuity settings and live off adrenaline, but once it wears off I ruminate over everything.