Running on autopilot is what doctor burnout often looks like from the inside, and this is my story of one night shift when I almost forgot why I do this work.
The whitewashed walls of the ward stared back, equally pale and as lifeless as me. It was 2 a.m., maybe 4 but I had lost track of any semblance of the concept of time an eternity ago; the days bled into nights as I roamed back, forth and then again, shoes squeaking against shiny floors, echoing through the hollow hall.
The sharp, sanitized smell was a stark contrast to my movements, more methodical than precise, dulled down my tiredness that seeps into your bones and makes each step feel heavier than it should.
I thought it was just stress until things started feeling wrong.
There was a force that tugged at me; it was dull but frequent and wholly irritating but I could not afford to respond to its plea because it would be acknowledging the storm swirling inside that I had so carefully jarred up and set aside.
But the body can only fight the mind for so long.
“The patient in 402 needs to have their drip changed”
The white fluorescent lights were suddenly feeling a bit too bright, like the rays of the late morning sun slanting straight into bleary eyes. But that is a feeling much to foreign because sleep is a faraway fantasy when I haven’t been spared a moment to doze off.
“Ayla called in sick. Can you cover her rounds?”
My eyelids drooped against my greatest efforts to keep them open, succumbing to the weight of hours at stretch spent awake. It was not until I nearly tripped over my own feet that I realized I had been swaying as I walked, feet running entirely on autopilot as they dragged against the pristine marble floors.
“He is crashing! All available staff please report to the 210”
Frantic, hurried steps echoed throughout the empty hallway, the tug nonexistent, overcome by the sudden rush of adrenaline flooding each inch of my body. The room was suffocating as if the walls would collapse at any moment. Hands scrambled to reach for equipment, fighting against the receding sound of the monitor, against time itself.
The patient was stable.
But is it selfish of me to say that I am not?
That tears pricked my dried out eyes as I rested my back against the adjacent wall, nauseous even when surviving on a single slice of bread eaten who knows how long ago.
Is it wrong? Am I weak for wanting to sit down, for wanting to rest?
As I traipsed the halls that reeked of disinfectant cleaner, staring back at my obscured reflection in the clean marble, I startled at the touch of a hand on my wrist.
“Thank you”
Confusion is etched on my features as I turn around to meet her eyes. There is a glimmer in them, a life I had not witnessed in a long while.
“I’m feeling better today, stronger”
It wasn’t a cure for the tiredness that had set into my bones, adamant in its resolve.
But it was hope, reassurance and a reminder of why I do it all.
