A patient of mine died this morning. I was thinking about him the whole evening, and watching him deteriorate suddenly yesterday in the acute admissions unit made an impact on me. I am a doctor, wearing a stethoscope around my neck, and to patients, they expect me to be able to do something for them.

Before my uncle passed away years ago, he told me the night before that he isn't feeling well, having some chest discomfort and breathlessness, and being only in 2nd yr, I thought it must be the alcohol he's drinking which is causing it. I wasn't at the level to think about whether there was something serious going on, and a day or 2 later, he died of a heart attack. It's been so many years, but each time I think about it, I blame myself for being incompetent, because if I was more knowledgeable, I would have taken a history from my uncle, and sent him to hospital. He probably wouldn't have died then. Honestly, till today, there is still a feeling of guilt in me.

And throughout my years in medical school, each time I knew someone was ill, I want so badly to do something for them, but because I was only a pathetic student, I couldn't do anything.

Years went by, and I finally graduated from Uni, and become a full fledged doctor. But despite this, the feeling of helplessness remains, and it hit me hard when I watched my patient went downhill yesterday. I was only in contact with him for a day, but when he was going downhill and was very seriously ill, feeling drowsy, in pain with an oxygen mask on him, he still smiled at me.

I felt like a complete idiot standing there, listening to the instructions from the surgeons, watching them do various procedures on him. The patient was in a critical situation, and he needed to be catheterised to help him pass urine. The nurses were supposed to do it, but because I felt so helpless and because the nurses were busy, I decided to do it for my patient. Catheterisation wasn't nice, and it can be quite uncomfortable, and it did make me feel sorry when my patient struggled as I was trying to put the tube in. All I wanted to do was anything that will benefit him. I was going "Please don't die on me..." the entire time I was with him.

The doctors and nurses knew we were going to lose him, but deep down, I wished for a miracle to happen, and I was telling Dearie abt him last night and about me doing a catheter for him. Apparently, Dearie got a bit pissed knowing that I did catheterisation for a male patient, because he didn't like the thought that I've got my hands on the male's private area. We almost got into an argument, which I know sounds damn silly, because it's my job to catheterise patients when they need it...and not because I'm some sick pervert who's obsessed with dicks, and apparently, Dearie doesn't like it.

I was thinking about my patient at night, wondering several times if I should just get out of my bed, change into my jeans and rush to the admissions unit to see him. I hate myself for not going down, because this morning, the nurses told me that my patient died in the middle of the night.

I filled in his death cert and cremation form today.

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I stayed till really late in the hospital today again, and one of the coronary care unit nurses came and ask me how come I'm always around, and wondered if I'm on call again. She thinks I love my wards too much, because she has seen me numerous times coming into the wards in my jeans, even during the weekends.

My fellow houseman who graduated from Uni with me, thinks I'm working myself too hard too. Samya thinks I'm putting too much pressure on myself, and has so kindly volunteered to bring me to the mountains to relax for the weekend. But the weird thing is, I don't even think I'm under too much pressure that I find it tough to cope. In fact, I'm loving what I do, and I'm always finding jobs to do just to keep myself busy. I guess these few weeks, I have been working too hard, because my body is starting to ache and I know I am lacking rest.

I get really engrossed with my job when I'm at work, and like today, I have worked 11 hours straight without a rest, and I didn't even realise it. If it weren't because there was no outstanding jobs to do and a mini presentation to do tomorrow, I wouldn't think I'll be going home too.

I started wondering if I'm simply a workaholic, or is it because apart from work, there is nothing else that is distracting me and making me go home. I mean, going back to my room...for me would be just to sit in front of my computer and watch dramas, or do some reading. Dearie isn't here, and perhaps because of that, there isn't a very very good reason to rush back. Anyway, I've been telling Dearie a lot about my wards, and I told him I'll show him around when he comes back to stay with me. Maybe I can even ask him to help me do some jobs too..haha...

Really in need of some good sleep. Good thing it's Friday tmr...at least I'll be able to sleep till later hrs during the weekend.