Earlier this afternoon, a blockmate and friend showed me an article from the Manila BUlletin that his dad wrote. It was noteworthy because surprise, surprise... it was about him.
Entitled "Our Son, The Graduate", the article virtually published the reflection paper Miguel wrote on his Palawan elective prior to clerkship year. It details much of his thoughts on public health, the misgivings of our current system, and what we, as young physicians in training, can do for the improvement of the entire nation's health care delivery system.
Funny thing. I was in that elective, too.
I told Miguel that the article almost reduced me to tears, and I was not exaggerating when I said that. I almost cried, not because the article was so gut-wrenchingly touching (although it is great), but because it triggered something in me that I thought I had long forgotten.
You see, way before I had managed to convince myself (at least I thought I had) that I wanted to become just another one of your typical white-coated doctors roaming the hospital halls, I actually wanted to become a community physician. Way back when I still had my ideals, my principles, and my convictions, I wanted to become something more than just your average clinician welcoming patients in well-lit, airconditioned rooms, getting paid big bucks for every word I say and every glitch I solve.
There was a time in my medical education when I wanted to change the world.
I really do not know what happened. I remember my third year in med proper when I was going crazy over the fact that I wanted to get involved in something public health-related and I absolutely had no idea how to begin. There were times when I purposely went to the COME office just to talk to Dr. Portia Marcelo and ask her about possible researches and projects I can do (all of which, sadly, by the way, did not yield any output). I was 100% convinced that hospital work was not for me... I was ready to kiss PGH goodbye as soon as I got my license.
Somewhere along the way, I got scared. Spending days and days in a less-than-ideal government hospital, where the most desperate of all people come expecting to receive the best treatment possible, the disappointment on their faces upon finding out the harsh reality of health care in PGH soon got to me. It didn't take long before I became jaded and discouraged by the sheer vastness of problems to be taken care of. The immensity of it all, compared to how helpless and small a single person like me seems to be, overwhelmed me. I lost faith in the power of passion. It just was not enough.
So I took the easy way out. I hardened myself to every voice crying out for help, and started to look out for myself. I cannot, CAN NOT, lay my life down for them at the risk of that amounting to nothing. I had to protect myself and the life I thought I wanted. It's a dog-eat-dog world, and the prize does not always go to the person who has the most noble intentions... the prize, more often than not, goes to the most cunning and deceitful minds. It's flawed, true, but it works. And I wanted a chance at that prize. At least, I thought I did. The easiest thing to do would be to cling to what seems to be "life-giving" and hold on tight, no matter how much it suffocates me. The problems of my country are not mine to solve. I may never see the changes in my lifetime anyway, so why bother? I wanted to see results, and I wanted them immediately. I decided to leave these things to my colleagues who know more about it and who appear to be more into it than I ever was, and turned my back completely on what I thought I could stand on.
But, no matter how much we try to bury it in our soul, our hearts' cry will always shout out.
The road less travelled is still an option, after all.
Most likely, I will still go into residency. Most likely, in a few years, I will probably even take up a subspecialty. Most likely, I will hold clinics in many private hospitals and make a very comfortable living off that. Most likely, I will have a stable job and all the comforts of life that that entails. Most likely, I will proudly wear my white coat and become your friendly neighborhood clinician.
Most likely.
But sometimes, the least likely happens.
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Dear, I know you have so many plans for the future, and I know sometimes you think I don't approve. But I do. I will support you in whatever you decide to do. I will always be here for you. We may have our differences and our paths may not always appear to cross, but just know that wherever your passion in life may take you, you'll always have me to come home to.
Besides, no matter what you say, I still take credit for why you fell in love with community medicine in the first place (think back to third year deawie...mwahahahaha!). You will never convince me otherwise. So when you begin to take big steps for the Philippines, the Philippines will have to thank me. And when the world honors you, then it honors me, too. Mwahahaha!
Kidding dear.
I love you Homi ko.
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