New job in familiar place. I'm adapting, and I feel good. Not the kind that'd get me excitedly wake up in the morning to go to work, but enough to make me want to read, with plenty of hands-on, and eyes-on @@ (peeking through microscope feels new after more than half a decade leaving it)
Anyway, looking back which conveniently coincides with so many tragic events recently, I'd like to tell 2 stories of mine about depression. Or adjustment disorder which escalated to almost full-blown depression or whatever I don't know I don't care honestly but it definitely warranted antidepressant had I gone to visit psychiatrist for a long MC.
1st: New life, working, entering hell called housemanship doing dirty job literally, bathed in pus and whatnots.
It was ortho. I didn't have enough exposure (not regretting even the tiniest bit, hate that stuff really) and off I leaped into the posting empty-minded. I was shocked. The long working hour (6am-11pm everyday for 30 straight days plus because I sucked), standing most of the time, skipped meal sometimes up to 24 hours, being called unpleasant names I managed to forget now, doing things I hate.
I lost 9-10kg in a month. Had to buy new pants the moment I got my first day off the following month.
I woke up multiple times at night/early morning with a jerk, thinking I was late, or I forgot to trace a result, or forgot to take blood etc.
I cried everyday. Sometimes I even cried at work place, at that thinking chair in W3.
I thought of escaping everyday.
I regretted every inch of my bones for taking medicine.
I had trouble to concentrate on my work because all I think was how to escape, when it will end.
My future felt bleak at that time.
In retrospective, it fits depression criteria.
But I managed to climb out of the hole. Alhamdulillah I had great support from my family, mom dropped me meals on/off and did my laundry the entire time, I had great friends to commiserate with, and without me realizing, I actually adapted to the job and it became easier. It also helped that I was (and still am) less sharp at getting what people think of me, I didn't know and didn't care what they think of me, as long as they didn't shout at me then it's enough already. And despite the multiple explanation letters and losing my logbook and my bad reputation after getting MC (for cellulitis) for 1 week just after 1 day started working, I passed the posting without extension. It was the viva that helped I guess, I drew the coagulation cascade out of my subconscious memory, and some part of complement system. (Don't ask me why ortho surgeon asked me this, he asked these sorts of questions to everyone)
And it helped that the posting was only 4 month so I knew it will pass, eventually.
No more feeling depressed, until...
2: the start of MO
I was O&G MO. I hated it so much, and working there almost destroyed me. I was oncall 8-12 times per month, and it's 8am until 5pm the next day at least, I (and all the other MO too) was (were) blamed for every single things even though we didn't play any freaking role in those shits, we were shouted at most of the time of the days, we were taught wrong things and shouted at again for hours if we tried to argue with our superficial knowledge.
I experienced back all of the above symptoms.
I was too tired. There were days I slept with my work clothes on complete with the oncall bag in my arm, and only woke up the next morning. Facial wash, beauty regime? forget about it, I washed my face once in 3 days sometimes. Toothbrush was a staple item in my work bag, next to my pen and name stamp. I fell asleep while referring cases to gynae oncologist/ ID physician, I fell asleep while standing-it's possible people!. The microsleep while driving people talked about on Facebook--my routine.
(I felt compelled to mention here that my oncall mostly were eventful that some nights, the only times I could sit were when I fixed whatever tear district sent. Sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford, until the 4th month there, when my oncalls were more peaceful)
Then, I started having passive death wishes. I started to think, I'd be forever grateful if someone can knock me over until I fractured something, so that I can finally get to rest. I hoped for the elevator to stuck with me trapped inside until I KO, at least once people discover me they'd send me to casualty and I'd get at least a day of MC. I hoped monkeys attack me in my home until I got big wounds. I hoped I could collapse at work place preferably during the morning round so everyone will know I was tired, but my body didn't fail me. Sometimes I drove aimlessly, recklessly hoping I'd "accidentally" lose control, hoping again for a fractured leg so I could get some rest. If someone killed me, I'd forgive him because then I don't have to go again to that hell on earth.
It was bad.
I didn't have suicidal intention or self-harm behaviour because it is sinful and I'm scared of pain but who knows what would be if I didn't get my transfer.
That was why I accepted to go to psychiatry even though I knew I'd be wasting my time there- I never like psychiatry and I knew my communication skills sucked big time- but I also knew I couldn't stay in O&G any second longer. I was scared I might do the unthinkable.
One of the reasons why it was so bad, was because I didn't know how to escape. At least in ortho, I knew it would pass eventually, but as an MO, I'd only get out from the department if I request for transfer, and that was a huge problem in my previous damned hospital. They don't entertain request. They threatened me that if I don't accept my transfer to psychiatry, they can't promise how much longer I will stay in O&G. What? Depressed you say? No, you work, you are an MO, deal with it, that's how they treat me.
I knew I was not right, I felt I was going crazy, but I didn't know how to seek help. How to go to psychiatry clinic when I couldn't even eat or sleep in peace? And goodness I don't want to even imagine how would those inhumane creatures treat me if they knew I had gone to psychiatry. And what about my future?
I hate being in psychiatry, but I never regret not staying any longer in that hell waiting for my dream department. I take it as it's just not my rezeki.
I only realized all these while I was in psychiatry. But I was coping well in psychiatry, so I didn't seek professional help there, and never diagnosed anything. But I was positive I was depressed before.
My point is, depressed people most of the time don't know they are depressed. Even when they do know, they don't know there is a way out. While antidepressant MAY help, what most important is great support from family and friends. Be sensitive to your close ones, cheer them up.What they need most of the time, is someone (or some ears) to talk it all out and shoulders and pillows to cry on.
And to the depressed ones, YOU can control YOUR OWN LIVES. You are responsible for your own happiness, find it. Don't be selfish and only think about yourself. The world is larger than that. There is always a way out. Move your ass, take charge. Find the foci of your problem, solve it, change it. It's hard, but it will pass. This too shall pass, the magic words--it's true.
Anyway, looking back which conveniently coincides with so many tragic events recently, I'd like to tell 2 stories of mine about depression. Or adjustment disorder which escalated to almost full-blown depression or whatever I don't know I don't care honestly but it definitely warranted antidepressant had I gone to visit psychiatrist for a long MC.
1st: New life, working, entering hell called housemanship doing dirty job literally, bathed in pus and whatnots.
It was ortho. I didn't have enough exposure (not regretting even the tiniest bit, hate that stuff really) and off I leaped into the posting empty-minded. I was shocked. The long working hour (6am-11pm everyday for 30 straight days plus because I sucked), standing most of the time, skipped meal sometimes up to 24 hours, being called unpleasant names I managed to forget now, doing things I hate.
I lost 9-10kg in a month. Had to buy new pants the moment I got my first day off the following month.
I woke up multiple times at night/early morning with a jerk, thinking I was late, or I forgot to trace a result, or forgot to take blood etc.
I cried everyday. Sometimes I even cried at work place, at that thinking chair in W3.
I thought of escaping everyday.
I regretted every inch of my bones for taking medicine.
I had trouble to concentrate on my work because all I think was how to escape, when it will end.
My future felt bleak at that time.
In retrospective, it fits depression criteria.
But I managed to climb out of the hole. Alhamdulillah I had great support from my family, mom dropped me meals on/off and did my laundry the entire time, I had great friends to commiserate with, and without me realizing, I actually adapted to the job and it became easier. It also helped that I was (and still am) less sharp at getting what people think of me, I didn't know and didn't care what they think of me, as long as they didn't shout at me then it's enough already. And despite the multiple explanation letters and losing my logbook and my bad reputation after getting MC (for cellulitis) for 1 week just after 1 day started working, I passed the posting without extension. It was the viva that helped I guess, I drew the coagulation cascade out of my subconscious memory, and some part of complement system. (Don't ask me why ortho surgeon asked me this, he asked these sorts of questions to everyone)
And it helped that the posting was only 4 month so I knew it will pass, eventually.
No more feeling depressed, until...
2: the start of MO
I was O&G MO. I hated it so much, and working there almost destroyed me. I was oncall 8-12 times per month, and it's 8am until 5pm the next day at least, I (and all the other MO too) was (were) blamed for every single things even though we didn't play any freaking role in those shits, we were shouted at most of the time of the days, we were taught wrong things and shouted at again for hours if we tried to argue with our superficial knowledge.
I experienced back all of the above symptoms.
I was too tired. There were days I slept with my work clothes on complete with the oncall bag in my arm, and only woke up the next morning. Facial wash, beauty regime? forget about it, I washed my face once in 3 days sometimes. Toothbrush was a staple item in my work bag, next to my pen and name stamp. I fell asleep while referring cases to gynae oncologist/ ID physician, I fell asleep while standing-it's possible people!. The microsleep while driving people talked about on Facebook--my routine.
(I felt compelled to mention here that my oncall mostly were eventful that some nights, the only times I could sit were when I fixed whatever tear district sent. Sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford, until the 4th month there, when my oncalls were more peaceful)
Then, I started having passive death wishes. I started to think, I'd be forever grateful if someone can knock me over until I fractured something, so that I can finally get to rest. I hoped for the elevator to stuck with me trapped inside until I KO, at least once people discover me they'd send me to casualty and I'd get at least a day of MC. I hoped monkeys attack me in my home until I got big wounds. I hoped I could collapse at work place preferably during the morning round so everyone will know I was tired, but my body didn't fail me. Sometimes I drove aimlessly, recklessly hoping I'd "accidentally" lose control, hoping again for a fractured leg so I could get some rest. If someone killed me, I'd forgive him because then I don't have to go again to that hell on earth.
It was bad.
I didn't have suicidal intention or self-harm behaviour because it is sinful and I'm scared of pain but who knows what would be if I didn't get my transfer.
That was why I accepted to go to psychiatry even though I knew I'd be wasting my time there- I never like psychiatry and I knew my communication skills sucked big time- but I also knew I couldn't stay in O&G any second longer. I was scared I might do the unthinkable.
One of the reasons why it was so bad, was because I didn't know how to escape. At least in ortho, I knew it would pass eventually, but as an MO, I'd only get out from the department if I request for transfer, and that was a huge problem in my previous damned hospital. They don't entertain request. They threatened me that if I don't accept my transfer to psychiatry, they can't promise how much longer I will stay in O&G. What? Depressed you say? No, you work, you are an MO, deal with it, that's how they treat me.
I knew I was not right, I felt I was going crazy, but I didn't know how to seek help. How to go to psychiatry clinic when I couldn't even eat or sleep in peace? And goodness I don't want to even imagine how would those inhumane creatures treat me if they knew I had gone to psychiatry. And what about my future?
I hate being in psychiatry, but I never regret not staying any longer in that hell waiting for my dream department. I take it as it's just not my rezeki.
I only realized all these while I was in psychiatry. But I was coping well in psychiatry, so I didn't seek professional help there, and never diagnosed anything. But I was positive I was depressed before.
My point is, depressed people most of the time don't know they are depressed. Even when they do know, they don't know there is a way out. While antidepressant MAY help, what most important is great support from family and friends. Be sensitive to your close ones, cheer them up.What they need most of the time, is someone (or some ears) to talk it all out and shoulders and pillows to cry on.
And to the depressed ones, YOU can control YOUR OWN LIVES. You are responsible for your own happiness, find it. Don't be selfish and only think about yourself. The world is larger than that. There is always a way out. Move your ass, take charge. Find the foci of your problem, solve it, change it. It's hard, but it will pass. This too shall pass, the magic words--it's true.
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