Choosing this hospital was no accident - it's the same hospital my parents met before embarking on their journey to Australia. Dad worked as a perfusionist for a few years before moving to becoming a scrub nurse in Cardiothoracic Surgery for eight years, then moving onto Neurosurgery for four years. Mum graduated from the Faculty of Nursing here and worked in both the Emergency Department and in the Orthopaedic, Traumatology and Reconstructive Surgery operating theatres for ten years. My uncle lives quite close to the hospital and he's been kind enough to put a roof over my head during my stay here.
He explained the route to the hospital and I made my way to there with mum. Despite being sick, she insisted on coming to show me around, but I was sure the hospital had changed from thirty years ago. It was only a few kilometres and took us about half an hour to get there.
The suburb was a complex made up of a few hospitals each with their respective Faculty of Medicine. Walking towards the hospital I was assigned, the sheer number of people running around made it perfectly clear how busy the place was. I was trying to work out which hospital was busier but then it seemed obvious: every hospital is busy. The demand was always out of proportion than the supply.
My parents adored this hospital and it was the best hospital in the capital during their careers. The corridors and stairs were made of marble with silver railings. What a beautiful sight it was. I felt happy the hospital board felt the need to make patients, friends and family feel welcome in the corridors of the unwell. Everybody spoke formally, people paid attention to each other.
As I entered the General Surgical Outpatients Clinic (known as a Polyclinic), the atmosphere of chaos was clearly palpable. People were desperately lining up, pushing in and out with the secretaries rushing to phones, talking to staff and trying to answer people's questions. I decided to wait patiently, but everyone kept pushing in and I didn't blame them; it didn't frustrate me. In Australia, it's the opposite: it won't be busy, you present yourself to the front desk and the receptionist expresses her knowledge of your dependence on her job to ensure you see the correct doctor by making you wait while she finishes her game of solitaire. After this first impression, she asks you if she can help you as if you've irritated her, interrupting her from what she really should be doing. For the record: I haven't encountered a male receptionist thus far, so please don't take the "her" and "she" as derogatory or sexist.
Finally, I was asked to see the receptionist manager on the staff side of the Polyclinic. She took me to the front door of the fellow's office. Doçent Dr. AK was the name of the General Surgical fellow. He was tall, showed little facial expression and had very long arms. "Doçent" is a Turkish word I haven't quite made sense of; it either means "Fellow", or equates to PhD. When I asked my father what it meant, he said the only way I know you receive the title is by performing an operation asked by an assessment committee made of up senior specialists and they watch your technique, ask you questions while you operate and intervene if you are incompetent. Either way, I knew it was a senior title, which didn't help my anxiety.
He asked me my name, where I studied and what year I was in. When I explained I was in final year, he said:
Here in Turkey, the final year students are in fact Interns. So you will start on Monday with the senior resident. Make sure you buy yourself a white coat. Your assigned resident will give you a pager, locker key and doctor's ID. Do you have any questions for me?
I thought this would be an appropriate time to mention the difference in meaning of the word "Intern" between Turkey and Australia.
You'll be fine. Oh and you do know how to scrub in right?
"Yes sir, I do."
Good. You'll be expected to attend everyday. Rounds start at 0730 in the Burns Unit on the third floor. I cannot guarantee your finishing time. There will be operating lists every second day in the elective theatre. I'm very glad you're here, we are need of assistants.
We walked up to the Burns Unit and I briefly met the senior resident. We exchanged nods and a quick word. After the quick encounter, the fellow and resident left to discuss other matters. I spent the next hour working out where the hell everything was with mum was my guide. I was grateful for her help but her eagerness to explain past times was not reassuring!
It didn't sink in - on Monday, I was adopting the equivalent position of a Junior Medical Officer (JMO) in Australia, which is another phrase for Intern. I'm not sure if it has sunk in at all. After we left the hospital, I bought myself a white coat.
I've spent the last couple of days wondering how it's all going to go. It's funny isn't it? In my last entry, I wrote that being in final year doesn't mean I was anywhere near ready and now all of a sudden, I'm expected to be.
A different type of pressure is also exerting itself on my shoulders. I'm not only a guest to this hospital, I also am a representative of my Medical School back at home. I can only hope I don't look too much like a moron. And I pray I end up spending most of my time in theatre - in that setting, at least I won't have to speak or answer too many questions. If there are questions in theatre, it's almost always anatomy anyway. That sort of reminds me: maybe I should brush up!
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