The sight of blood

I remember almost fainting at the sight of blood. It always began as a form of generalised uneasiness; a feeling I could never pen down. And then there was the distant hearing of voices. And slowly the only image that was on my mind was the sight of blood. The first time it happened was when I had a relentless throat infection when I was 14 and had to be tested for a blood infection.

The second instance was during my medical health check up just prior to my college admissions at CMC Vellore. Yes, quite ironic and at that singular moment I did wonder if I had made a terrible choice of attending an interview to pursue medicine for life, instead of my childhood  passion for physics.

And then I got in and a lot of other things on my mind kept this fear away from me until I broke my toe on the third day of college. The orthopedician after looking at my x ray film gleefully said that I won't need surgery. 

" Oh! So surgery was on option, sir." 

Surgery.  Sharp blades. Blood.

The fear resurfaced. 

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The board said, ' Where the dead teach the living' and  I knew that on either side of hallway lay more than a dozen corpses. These were not just study material. 

Families and loved ones had the resolve and foresight to donate the bodies of those they loved for medical education, knowing very well that we were going to mutilate them, skillfully. 

We were told to treat them with respect. 

It was the first day of anatomy and my seniors had told me that students do get to dissect, after understanding the seemingly confusing instructions mentioned in Cunninghams textbook of Anatomy. 

Some were excited the previous night. I couldn't care less. 

Fear was building inside me. A sense of insecurity that I won't be able to face the reality of medical education.

I spoke to my mom, who is also a doctor.

She told me to give things time. I usually listen to her. This time, I felt otherwise.

The day after when my professor asked if anyone wanted to aid with the dissection , my hand shot up first. I didn't think twice, clearly.  

I walked up to face the greatest challenge of my life till then. A colleague of my mine accompanied me and we started the dissection. 

An hour later, I had done a decent job and I was still standing while another had complained of vertigo. 

I could emphatise with him.

And that was the last of it. The fear never came back. 

The next time I felt sick, I didn't hesitate to give a blood sample and I stared right at my vein as the nurse poked me. No creeping - ant sensation over my back.

I was fine.

 A few years on, I would go on to deal with a lot more blood, tissue, pus and the sight of bone and muscle was a daily thing.

And now when the day is montonous, applying a dressing for a diabetic foot ulcer gives me satisfaction. 

If you are out there worried with the same fear, this is for you. Ask yourself what your passion is. It might be something that you had never considered or given serious thought about. 

I always thought I liked physics and in knowing how things worked in space. Looking back, it was just an infatuation.

What I did really like, was talking to people, comforting those who need comfort and learning about the marvel of the human framework only to try and restore it to normal, as much as I possibly can.

Being a doctor isn't a job. It is a lifestyle.

It is who you are. It shows in how your behave and how you conduct yourself.

It shows in how you respect people.

Being a doctor is everything for me.

What about you?