Taken out from my journal entry on 16–06–22
Despite the fact that I have to store extra extraversion, I did enjoy my job. I just realized how people have so many colors, so many stories: Horrors, happiness, sorrow, warmth. People, when treated right, they open up about things you never imagine exists in someone’s life. Today a woman in her 80 came to the clinic with such eagerness. Such energy. She just travelled to Karimun Jawa, even took a snorkelling lesson for elderly people, pretty active in several charity events, all the while still managed to work out almost every single day in her life (at the end of the treatment she said she only took a week off from working out right after her husband passed away) But today, I couldn’t seem to focus on anything. I was everywhere, zoned out minutes to minutes, I keep thinking and thinking. From the sound of the dripping faucet, to the buzzing aircon, my boss who told me I looked pale, to why I lack of everything.
I lack of hospitality (comparing to my boss, my colleagues, coworkers), I lack of smile (this one my dad told me a lot, “smile more to the neighbors. You frown a lot” he grunted once) I lack of knowledge. I should have pay attention more in school back then. My job requires carefulness, focus, patience to which i lack them all. The fear of hurting my patients is truly poking my anxiety like a sharpest needle. What if my medication doesn’t work? Did I just lose their trust? I feel like I don’t know anything. I feel like what I read, what I received in college, all gone into thin air. I literally have to scour to the deepest pit of my brain to diagnose one person. I don’t know about myself, I don’t have the quality of being a dentist, a doctor, medical caregiver. I don’t know if I have ability to heal people. I remember my late aunt, she’s an exceptional ophthalmologist. Her patients loved her. She was not that outgoing of a person in real life, but in front of her patients, she was just like possessed by the goddess of healer herself. She’s becoming all smiley, warm-hearted doctor, who’s intention is not only to heal those who are sick, but also to comfort the raging storm in their heart. I never came from the family of a doctor. I am the only doctor in the family. And I sometimes scared to be reminded of that. The word doctor, the term medical caregiver in this country, has been altered so much so we are seen as Gods. That we’re expected to be smart, and has no flaw, to be sincere, not wanting anything in return because our job is supposedly a ‘pengabdian’. In pre-med dental school, I was always questioning this path, this destiny. Why was I here. Why did God, put me in here, one of the hardest, toughest subject to learn and to endure. I never doubted God. What I always doubted was my own strength, still is now. I’m scared. Scared. Scared all the time. I hope I never hurt my patients. I hope I will always stay through my oath: to never do harm. To always help.
I hate to say this but I hate myself.
Sometimes a little more than I should.
I hate what I lack, what I don’t know, what I don’t have, what will I become if I am not who I am supposed to be. I hope God will forgive me for not being grateful. I hope God will spare me peace.
