Every day the clinic feels different, yet somehow the same.
Patients walk in carrying pain you can see…and pain you can’t..
Some came with wounds that need cleaning, suturing or minor surgery.
Some leave with scars;physical reminders that their fingers may never move the same way again.
Others arrive with burns that have already changed how they look at themselves in the mirror.
There are patients who have lived with skin problems for years, trying treatment after treatment,
hoping this time something will finally work.
There are couples who have waited years for a child, carrying quiet disappointment that no medicine can
immediately heal.
As a doctor, I stand in between hope and reality.
There are problems I can solve quickly, confidently , clearly.
And then there are problems I cannot fix, no matter how much I wish I could.
That truth is heavy.
In the clinic, everything has a budget.Patients want quality treatment, but quality medicine often costs
more than they can afford.I see their hesitation at the counter, their silent calculations, their worry
about choosing health over other necessities.
Sometimes it backfires. It makes me feel like I’m not a good doctor.
Sometimes I reduce charges.
Sometimes I adjust prescriptions.
Sometimes I quietly try to help in small ways that no one else notices.
Yet deep inside, there is a tiredness that builds slowly.
Not the tiredness of long hours but the tiredness of caring.
Caring when you know you cannot save everyone.
Caring when you know your best is still not enough.
Caring when you go home and replay faces, wounds, conversations in your mind.
Deep inside,I know that I'm always replaceable .Within the organisation and in patients'
memories.
They will move on to another clinic or a new doctor.That is the irony of human nature.
I understand this bitter truth and I have made peace with it.At the end of the day,if they feel better,I can sleep
peacefully at night.
There are days I ask myself difficult questions.
Should I stay here?
Should I move to Johor?
Should I continue in this place, or is it time to start somewhere new?
or should I go back to KKM and join the pathway to become a Surgeon?
Still, the next morning, I open the clinic door again.
Because even on the hardest days, there are moments that remind me why I chose this path.
a wound that heals,
a patient who smiles in relief,
a quiet “thank you, doctor” that carries more meaning than words.
GP life is not glamorous.
It is not perfect.
But it is real.
And for now, I stay.
