There is little to no pride in practising medicine.
It is a profession where you are constantly surrounded by hope and despair, life and death, joy and grief. You carry burdens that few truly understand, yet the world often sees you as a heroโa savior. The truth, however, is far less glamorous. We have nothing miraculous to offer; no divine powers, no magic. Only science, experience, a few capsules, a careful examination, and a measure of hope.
Sometimes the science works. Sometimes it doesn't. And when it fails, the healer can quickly become the villain. Years of dedication and countless successes can be overshadowed by a single unfavorable outcome, like a splash of black paint on a pristine white canvas.
There is always a calm before the storm, and more often than not, your instincts sense it. Yet despite the uncertainty, the setbacks, and the emotional weight, nothing compares to the privilege of saving a life.
In those moments, it feels almost as though you have called someone back from the brink, defied the odds, and witnessed the extraordinary resilience of the human spirit. Life is sacred, and the responsibility of preserving it is both humbling and profound. It is this responsibility that gives medicine its true meaning and places those entrusted with it in a uniquely privileged position.
As a Senior Consultant, the reason I haven't raised my voice is simple:
When the interns are gone, I will gladly show up at 5AM, clerk 80 patients, draw the blood, and run the night calls myself.
I am superhuman. Obviously.
As a Senior Nursing Officer, the reason I am silent is obvious:
I have no problem running three wards alone, fixing lines, tracking vitals, delivering babies, doing the paperwork.
I don't need hands. I have dedication.
As a Policymaker, the reason I haven't spoken is elegant:
The interns are a budget problem I solved by terming the students.
My children are not doing internship in Uganda, after all.
As a Patient, the reason I haven't complained is clear:
Even if the doctor cutting me open has worked 36 hours without food, just cut me open and take the baby out.
Hunger sharpens the hands. Everyone knows this.
As a Citizen, the reason I am unbothered is rational:
None of my children is a medic.
I have my pastor.
The system runs on miracles. Always has.
This policy is brilliant.
Let's all stay quiet and watch the magic happen.