I experienced something new in my career as a clinician today: that of an examiner. For the first time since I started my journey in health care 15 years ago, first as a dental student and then a medical student, I found myself on the other side of the table.
It brought a mixed bag of emotions, including nerves, disbelief, and even gratitude that I stayed the course when, more times than not since I began this journey, I wanted to throw in the towel and call it quits.
And then the students started arriving. I found myself acutely conscious of my own expressions. The rules were quite clear: try not to nod, try not to shake your head, and do not inadvertently signal to the student whether they are on the right track or not. I failed rather miserably. Apparently, as a Malaysian, it is almost impossible to refrain from nodding in encouragement or as a gesture of solidarity.
While attempting to police my own facial expressions, I also found myself observing the students closely, and their expressions made me wistful.
One student openly expressed disappointment at not having given the correct answer until a later part of the examination when additional information became available. Another giggled nervously after delivering a well-thought-out answer in a slightly rambling manner.
Another wiped his face every time he answered before breaking into a grin, as though pleased he had successfully retrieved yet another piece of information from the vast repository of knowledge stored somewhere in his mind.
There was a time when I was any one of those students, young, naive, and very innocent. Back then, life was all about getting through the end of the OSCE station, the next examination, or the next hurdle. Little did I know what awaited ahead of me.
Life as a house officer was tougher than I expected, filled with late nights, tears, taunts, and mornings when I could barely bring myself to go to work. Then came Covid-19 and life as a medical officer, when suddenly everyone found themselves re-learning the basics of survival at a moment’s notice.
Along the way, there were doctors with excellent bedside manners, but perhaps not always the same regard for their colleagues. There were doctors whose humanity was so profound that you learnt simply by watching them. There were patients, health care professionals, and lessons waiting in unexpected corridors at unexpected times, some tear-inducing and some nerve-wracking.
I found myself reflecting on these thoughts at the end of the morning session, four hours later. The last group of students had left the examination hall when an invigilator standing near my station cheerfully called after them, “Go have yourselves some ice cream and a well-deserved break.”
Given the unprecedented heatwave sweeping across Europe, it seemed entirely reasonable advice. She caught me smiling and laughed, saying, “You can’t help but notice the difference in their faces when they are walking in compared to when they are leaving.” I could not help but agree.
The students I examined did well, at least in my station. One day they will become physicians, surgeons, psychiatrists, dermatologists, and every other specialty imaginable. They will care for patients, make mistakes and learn from them, celebrate successes, and mourn losses.
They will complain about workloads, policies, and financial constraints. Some will stay in medicine their entire lives, while others will leave in search of different paths, much like our own medical students back home in Malaysia. Dreams, hopes, and ambitions remain remarkably similar no matter which country or culture one belongs to.
And I realised something as I sat there at the end of the examination. Life as a clinician goes on. One day you are the nervous student trying desperately to survive the next station. Then somehow, without quite noticing when it happened, you find yourself sitting on the other side of the table.
To those reading this, if you are a medical student or just beginning your journey, there is no promise that things will get easier. Medicine has a habit of humbling all of us. But sometimes it is worth hanging in there. Make a promise to yourself that you will see it through.
One day, just maybe, you might find yourself on the other side of the table too, and be amazed at how far this journey in medicine has brought you.
The author is a psychiatrist.
- This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of CodeBlue.
