Thank you, for calling out my bullshit…

Truth is, I am not a person of compassion.

There was a time I chose my career as a doctor, thinking that what I do matters, and I have the liberty to do it the way I want. Overcoming the treacherous days of being a House Officer gave me the authority to decide my patient’s fate, to choose my treating regime as I see fit.

“As long as I am on a course of justice and to save lives, what’s wrong with that? I want to stay true to my patients, to help them in any way possible!”

At least, that’s what I held on to, because I am jealous of Dr. House, who can enjoy his work by not giving a damn about what others think, as long as he got his fix of saving the person who is under his care.

I chose to pursue in the field of psychiatry because my passion has always been to crack the mysteries of the human mind and to know my next step before the one sitting opposite of me makes a move. Maybe it was my childhood, maybe it was my military influence, or maybe, it’s just my ego of always trying to assume control of whatever the situation thrown at me, to be the smartest person n the room, I am good at certain things.

But I suck, at understanding others.

I attempted twice to tackle my final MRCPsych CASC exam, and I failed miserably. I kept blaming the circumstances whereby I was too occupied with my side jobs thus not performing well. I kept wondering why is it so hard for me to pass the exam.

And today, actually, for the past 4 weeks, I was struck with a realization so shocking, it plundered me to days of sleepless nights.

Let’s review an incident today with a patient: I was tending to a middle-aged man in his 50s, struggling with his alcohol dependence, came into my clinic for help. He is sobbing, saying that he has succumbed to the temptation of his past alcohol use, and chose to drink for the past 1 week despite his effort of being abstinent for a month. He suggested the idea of keeping himself in our ward for proper monitoring so that he will be saved from his own disturbing cravings.

I came to pity the old guy, hoping I can do him a favor. Because I saw the helplessness in his eyes, begging me to help.

Just when I was contemplating my management plan, my boss, an addiction consultant, walked into my room. He was so calm and composed, unlike myself, who was so excited and troubled at the same time. He gave a definite plan within minutes after a brief understanding of the patient’s difficulty. We too sat together and discussed our management plan, and so by a blessing, he agreed with my plan to admit the patient for proper care.

“Get the Admission forms done. Explain to the patient what you have in mind,” he said.

I was excited. Too excited, that I made a so so stupid mistake, by explaining my admission plan to the patient quickly. Just about halfway through explaining, I was tapped on my shoulder strongly by my specialist, who was full of concern.

“STOP, can’t you see your patient is crying?” he said, with a frown so deep I almost couldn’t recognize his usual cheerful self.

Almost like a reflex, I muttered, “Sorry,” and I looked at my patient- his sadness has been there the whole time, but I chose to continue with my explanation despite his helplessness.

“Empathy.” My specialist commands. Then with a sigh, he took over the interview, helping me to explain my treatment plans.

I sat frozen. Terrified- not towards anyone else, but myself. How could I miss that obvious of a plea from my patient, who I was so eager to help?

Truth is, I know for a long time that I lack the one thing required to be a psychiatrist, which is “empathy”. I have struggled, again and again, hearing multiple trainers and colleagues alike telling me that I should give more compassion to others. I have tried many ways to change myself, looking for a way to overcome this obstacles of mine.

The past 4 weeks have been a disaster, where my trainers keep reminding me of the one weakness I have, telling me that it will be that one thing that will stop me from being who I wish to be. They have helped me to explore my psyche, to look for the reason behind the weakness. Without effort, they found it- my thirst for superiority and control, driven by pride.

Maybe, being a doctor is not that hard, as long as you truly care? And allow yourself to be humble?

Another sleepless night. I wish to overcome this side of me, who allows my patients to cry. Hopefully, so help me God, that I will find the way.

Thank you, my colleagues, for telling me that I need to change.