perhaps, perhaps

On a dark SGH night, with no end of new admissions in sight, while poking the nth febrile patient for the (n+1)th time to get blood for bacterial culture, realising that there would be many other nights like this, I wondered for the 1st time in 4+ years of education if I was meant to do medicine.

And while praying that 1. there would be no more new admissions so I can sleep and 2.every blood I take will be a success (i.e. only hafta poke the patient once), I realised that I haven't been praying for much at all this month, and have missed church 2 weeks running.

Brisk and all-business on morning ward rounds, we hear the patients questions and ignore the implicit pleas for an acceptable explanation; a personalised answer. Tolling the line, singing the same song, expecting that patients will see things our way and follow the orders we write into our hallowed case notes, with hardly a backward glance as we move on from Mdm Ang to Mdm Tan (or is it Mdm Lee?)on the next bed and do the jig all over again.

Well, yesterday I happened to glance back at Mdm Ang, albeit for awhile. And on nights like these, I'm thinking that perhaps, perhaps there is more than this.