from Beyond The Wailing Siren By Rogelio F. Varela Jr.
The journey through medical school was a grueling marathon, a test of both intellect and endurance. Each year seemed more demanding than the last, a crucible that pushed aspiring doctors to their limits. The four-year odyssey was an unending battle, an incessant war waged against sleepless nights, relentless exams, and the constant fear of failure.
In those hallowed halls of medical academia, exams were a relentless adversary. They lurked around every corner, a perpetual source of stress and anxiety. Passing was a triumph earned through sleepless nights and exhaustive study sessions. Failing was a brutal blow, a reminder of the harsh reality that success in this field demanded nothing less than absolute dedication.
As if the academic rigors weren’t enough, the fourth year of medical school brought forth an entirely new battlefield. We were called medical clerks, assigned to different hospitals for specialty rotations. We were thrusted into a world where they expected us to adapt quickly, absorbing knowledge and honing skills under the stern gaze of seasoned professionals.
It was a tumultuous journey. The nurses sometimes treated the fledgling medical students as if they were the lowest form of life in the hospital hierarchy. Perhaps it was a rite of passage, a way to toughen the aspiring doctors for the harsh realities that lay ahead. But the humiliation and the derogatory remarks often felt like an extra burden to bear.
Mental health, an aspect often overlooked in the medical world, struggled to find a fair footing amidst this relentless academic and clinical pressure. The stress was palpable, a heavy cloud that hung over the corridors of medical school. Many students grappled with anxiety and depression, dealing with the immense expectations and the ever-present fear of disappointing not only themselves but also their families and mentors.
The residents, perched on a slightly higher rung of the ladder, sometimes viewed the medical students as personal assistants, assigning menial tasks such as fetching food and drinks. The hierarchy was clear, and the demands were relentless. It was a trial by fire, a test of humility and obedience.
One day, a group of beautiful young medical representatives ventured into the surgery office at Quezon City General Hospital, where I was on my surgery rotation. They were aiming to present their pharmaceutical products. The surgery residents, ever eager to seize a moment of respite, decided to flirt with these representatives, indulging in casual banter.
In the midst of their exchanges, the surgical residents requested that I purchase canned sodas for them. It wasn’t an uncommon request, but on this particular day, I felt a surge of defiance. The audacity of the representatives to also ask me to fetch their drinks fueled my annoyance. So, with a sly smile, I shook the soda cans with great vigor, silently vowing to unleash a small act of rebellion.
As the unsuspecting representatives popped open their cans, the carbonated contents exploded, dousing their blouses. Their startled cries echoed through the room as I watched with a twisted sense of satisfaction. It was a fleeting moment of triumph, a small act of defiance in a world that often seemed to demand too much.
Reflecting on that incident later, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. It was a memory that reminded me of the need to stand up, even in the smallest of ways, when faced with circumstances that tested my limits. In the harsh world of medical education, sometimes, a bit of mischief was necessary to preserve one’s sanity.
Beyond the Wailing Siren 