Medicine is a Noble Profession.

Dimeji Padonu
Jul 22, 2017 · 14 min read
Gynae clinic with Drs. Balogun and Moshood (Circa. 2017)

It’s been a couple of days since I officially completed my mandatory 12 month marathon internship at a very large teaching hospital in the fascinating city of Lagos, Nigeria. As usual, after a protracted phase of my life, I usually take some time to reminisce about the entire experience. Why? For two reasons mostly. First, I like to analyse and understand the string of motives and decisions that led me to begin such a journey in the first place. Second, I consider it important to my personal development that I try to take stock of the things I must have gained — and probably lost — by pursuing that particular interest.


“Reflection turns experience into insight” — John C. Maxwell


If I remember correctly, I was never pressured into becoming a medical doctor. I just found myself gravitating towards it from a very young age. It could have been because I observed a lot of hype around it. You know, people making statements like:

“Medicine is difficult to study”

“You have to be really smart to become a doctor.”

Looking back, maybe I wanted to prove that I was smart enough, that I could take on something really tough and become really good at it. I remember being fascinated by the combination of intelligence and narcissism portrayed by Dr. House. Maybe I was trying to become as smart as the guy — not necessarily as cocky. I remember when my mom bought me Ben Carson’s legendary book, ‘Gifted Hands’, on one of my birthdays. I remember gleefully scanning the book from cover to cover on several occasions. I remember spending significant amounts of late nights and weekends searching the internet for verified opinions about textbooks and other reading material considered to be the best for medical students world over. In my young and beautifully naive mind, I was going to become the best medical doctor in the world. I was going to become the go-to specialist for solutions to the most difficult, mind-boggling, scientifically-impossible disease conditions there would ever be in my lifetime. I was going to break records that had endured the pain of centuries. I was going to carve my name on the stone wall of the most revered and most successful in the history of the profession. I was going to become very, very rich. I was going to become very, very famous. And most of all, I was going to become very, very

Reality Check

Even though I eventually succeeded in achieving the glorified feat of becoming a physician, my perspective on most of the grand ambitions I had back then has dramatically changed over the years. I was never motivated by a passion for saving lives, neither was I ever driven by a need to rid the world of its many diseases. I simply wanted to be the best — whatever that meant. The best! Dazall. It’s quite amusing to just look back and think: “If only I’d been offered a fraction of some proper orientation before I sat in for my first ever lecture in med school”. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t take me that long to figure out the painful but liberating truth as I progressed in the course of my study.

“There’s no such thing as the best medical doctor in the world.”

My misguided purpose was probably rooted in the ridiculously insane levels of competitiveness I witnessed and participated in especially at high school. Perhaps, looping DJ Khaled’s gangster anthems on most of my playlists back then also contributed to the visions I had of myself. Sigh.

But when I quickly discovered that trying to become the best doctor on the planet was like trying to become the best tree in the forest, I became confused. My interest in academic excellence began to wane and I soon found myself consistently zoning out of lectures. Most learning activities began to appear overly long and unbearably annoying. I couldn’t wait to get out. And I did, eventually.

The Great Escape

I couldn’t wait to get out because I wanted to start afresh. From my sophomore year, I remember contemplating several times whether or not to drop out of school so I could save myself time and just get into something more entrepreneurial and “exciting”. I no longer had any interest in becoming the best at anything. I was disappointed. The world was too damn big to claim ownership of such a title: “The Best.” Chances are, if you honestly declare yourself to be the best in the world at anything, you haven’t travelled much. Except you’re an athlete, which is understandable because performance here is measured by standards agreed upon by international associations. But even then, don’t we still see bitter controversies everywhere about who the best really is from soccer to basketball, tennis, track sports and so on? Don’t we, in the process of these arguments, exclude those who have been demonstrating phenomenal skill, however, in obscurity — specifically, unknown talent who aren’t being mentored, scouted, and haven’t been fortunate enough to make it into the big leagues? Of course it’s hard for an exceptional player not to get noticed, pulled out of the gutters and be quickly catapulted into super mega stardom. But do they all get pulled out?

Anyway, I got out. I finished medical school. I wasn’t the best graduating student in any category. But I was satisfied. My parents were proud. I did good. And by God, I swore that I was done with ward rounds, scrubs, heavily worded PowerPoint slides and complex medical jargon. It was finally time for me to pursue all the business interests I once could only daydream about.

Medical students’ call room, Labour ward, LUTH. (Circa. 2016)

I was dead serious. By now, my desire to pursue a career as a medical practitioner was decomposing somewhere in the trash. There was no hope for its recovery. Even though most of what I knew now had nothing to do with what I wanted to do at this point, I was still determined to forge a new direction for myself. I remember visiting my grandparents on a certain weekend. After exchanging many jokes in the middle of an interesting discussion, I decided to take a long walk down the street by myself. Little did I know, it was going to be a very long and quiet walk reaching as far as our local church — a journey I would’ve normally taken a bus to complete. On the way, I found myself observing different things, appreciating life, and trying to enjoy the moments only for this voice in my head to relentlessly continue to nag me:

“Now that you’re done with school, what are you going to do with your life?”

I began to wonder why I had waited so long to finish medical school, why I hadn’t just dropped out earlier. Was it too late for me to quit Medicine? To turn the wheels around on my entire life? Had I gone too far down the road already?

Fuck that!

I finished because it didn’t make sense to me abandoning something I could easily see to a reasonable conclusion. I didn’t hate Medicine, but given my varied interests and untapped skill, the problem was that I never exactly understood what my role and impact in clinical practice would be. I remember saying to myself: “Sure, there’s lots of wonderful things to be done here, you know, problems to be solved and all. But Dimeji, you can’t force yourself to do work that you don’t share a deep personal connection with.” That very night, in the solitude of my own thoughts, I burned my bridges. I was done. Never to return to anything medical again.

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it.” — Steve Jobs

Children’s Emergency, LUTH. (Circa. 2015)

I took a job at an accounting firm. It was about a month after the results of my final exams were released. The story of how I landed the job without any prior academic or work experience in Accounting, Finance or Business Administration is for another day. Perhaps I should save it for my autobiography. But I’ll continue to remain grateful to Abimbola Bamigboye for giving me the opportunity. This simple, seemingly mundane job as a bookkeeper was going to be my formal initiation into the cult I’d been aching to get into. The cult of business. Real business with highly organized legal and financial structures. The cult of money. Real money being made in Lagos, my home city, the heart and pulse of all economic activity in Western Africa. The cult of creative entrepreneurs. Young businessmen and women breaking grounds from tech to beauty, food, design, logistics, construction and so on and on and on.

I don’t remember ever caring to negotiate the terms of my employment. I just wanted to be in the cult. I honestly prepared to forego monetary compensation for my work. After all, what did I know around here that I’d be trying to dictate the upper limit of a salary. But in her graciousness and utmost regard for her own personal principles, Bimbo wouldn’t accept my service without offering to pay for it. Her offer was just perfect for me as an entry level intern. The year was 2016. I signed the contract and received my first employment letter from Audeo Nigeria. It was the 18th day of April — a day that I, and only I, would go on to celebrate annually as “Job day.”

I can’t begin to detail my experience in the 8 weeks I spent at Audeo. Again, let’s just save that for a bigger book. I can say, however, that it was the best crash course in business I’d ever taken. It felt like I was suddenly in the driver’s seat of my life; my hands on the wheels, feet on the pedals. I was already charting a new career path, one I could personally resonate with. It really didn’t feel like work.

I copied Bimbo’s practice of outlining her goals on a spreadsheet. As far as she was concerned, a personal plan and a business plan were one and the same. Deadlines looked like they were set in real stone. They were cold, unforgiving numbers representing due dates. The devil was really in the detail. It made me look at my former practice of goal-setting and realize that I was busy shooting rubber bullets where people like her were quietly launching nukes. I was extremely challenged. Her system would now become one that I myself couldn’t imagine living without.

Why Not Practice Medicine For A Bit? At least, Do Your Housejob.

Ring Ring

About seven weeks old on the job and I was busy enjoying the company of hilarious people at the office, tidying up the sales and expense records of clients assigned to me, forwarding finished work to my direct supervisors, and slowly clearing my desk so I could call it a day. Then, my phone rang. It wasn’t anyone calling me. It was a text message.

At first glance, I was almost laughing when I saw this. I really didn’t know how to feel about it. It felt like a ghost from the past was trying to interrupt my new life. Meanwhile my probationary phase at Audeo was almost complete and I was already busy laying the groundwork for the extension of my contract. I was already on track as I had demonstrated the level of aptitude and work ethic required to stay on the job. I mean, in my mind, I had literally burned any bridges back to medical practice. There was no way I was going back. To get to where I was at the time, I had to practically survive an unending series of passive-aggressive arguments with my parents and loved ones who were privy to the incoherent mess my life had suddenly become to them. I couldn’t throw all that progress away and start heading towards the same path I was successfully veering away from.

I had to talk to myself again. Refusing this offer to resume duty as a medical intern in LUTH would undoubtedly be the most defining moment of my career at the time and I knew it. I had taken the decision already. But I was like 99% there.

It’s the 1% that fucked me.

I told my mom about the offer even though I didn’t want to. She had been supportive — in retrospect, my dad too. But I really just wanted to continue with my job, pivot from there, and pretend like I never heard anything from LUTH. I can’t exactly recall if she was the one who convinced me to take the job, but it strangely began to make sense for me to just do it. The logic followed that since I had spent such a long time working hard to become a medical doctor, why don’t I just give myself a shot at experiencing the actual practice? After all, I had nothing to lose at this point. If I didn’t like it, I could opt out and go back to where I was coming from. If I liked it — which, as expected, didn’t happen — I could begin to consider options for further practice. Moreover, I was going to be adequately compensated for my perceived level of skill in the profession should I decide to take the offer.

The Housejob Experience

At this point, I’m realizing that this essay is actually taking longer to finish than expected. As a result, I’ll be expanding on this section via Adepero Ajayi’s blog. Look out for it on perrystots.com. But then, there’s one thing I’d like to share that I gained from this year long hustle.

Empathy

Not that I didn’t already have it, but prior to my experience as a house officer, I don’t recall having reasonable amounts of it. My life had always been about me. I had always been the centre of my own attraction. I never offered any apologies for this. I still don’t. Because it’s not easy routing your own attention away from yourself. After all, no one is busy trying to live your life for you. Each one of us is directly responsible for his or her own fate. Right?

Well, yes but…

Honestly, there’s nothing more fundamentally fulfilling than contributing to make a difference in someone else’s life. Medicine, particularly the genuine and prolonged practice of it, commands a profound appreciation for the pain and suffering of a fellow human being. A human being just like you. A human being who could have been you. A human being who just wants to be free and healthy enough to chase a dream, like you. A human being who agonizes every day to know what it feels like to live without infirmity, like you.

Modular Theatre, LUTH. (Circa. 2017)

I did have my ups and downs with patients — and of course, staff of the hospital. It made me remember someone who had finished housejob just before I started. He was a real and constant source of encouragement to me and still is. At some point in one of our many conversations, he said:

“For me, this housejob thing is just a lesson in empathy. You’re going to meet all kinds of people. Nice people. Great people. Shitty people. Really nasty people. They’re all there. Patients and doctors alike, you’ll meet them there. You’re just going to learn how to get along with them. How to understand them, their motivations, their frustrations, and how to quietly or forcefully negotiate your way through them or away from them.” — Olisa Ezegwu [paraphrased]

He was right. It really was, for me, mostly a simple lesson in empathy. Of course, I could go on and on in shocking detail about how the healthcare system of the country had failed us, about how I realized that poverty and patient mismanagement can be responsible for more preventable deaths than actual disease, about how I stood alongside other doctors to confront the messengers of death when they kept coming to request the souls we were striving to preserve. The stories abound. But for now, I think this will suffice.

I need to acknowledge that writing this was therapeutic for me. It has helped me gather some clarity — and by extension, sanity — from the haziness and confusion I’ve struggled with for such a long time. Even though I’ll now be veering back off into the unknown, I now have a better understanding of what my ultimate purpose in life should be. I no longer dream about breaking the notorious billion dollar ceiling and being featured on the front cover of a Forbes. I now dream about social equality and financial inclusion for every human being on the planet. I no longer dream about lavish parties on expensive boats whilst cracking jokes with political and financial juggernauts. I now dream about sipping evening tea on my grandmother’s porch as I watch my kids play in reckless abandon on the front yard lawn. Calm things.

Perhaps I could create a life that captures both realities. It actually is possible. But if I were to choose where my preoccupations would be, where my energies and powers of concentration would be directed to, it would be towards the latter. And why is that? It’s because at the very core, I am, and will always continue to be, a Medical Doctor. It’s because Medicine is a noble profession, one that seeks not to plunder the world, but to heal it. And even though it’s clinical application may not have satisfied my burning desires, I still consider myself privileged to have been among those who swore the oath.

I will, therefore, to the best of my ability, ensure I fulfill that promise I made to devote myself — my life’s work — to the service of humanity.


After a long and laborious piece like this, I’d normally just stop here. It’s easy to wrap it up with an orgasmic conclusion like: “I will, therefore…

to the best of my ability, ensure I fulfill that promise I made to devote myself — my life’s work — to the service of humanity.

But I’d like to also offer this writing as a tribute of sorts to all my colleagues in the profession. Specifically, to those I started the journey with.

I salute and sincerely respect those who have decided to pursue a career in clinical practice — be it at home or abroad. It is my hope that your decision is purely yours and that you’re wholeheartedly content with it.

To those who plan to hang the stethoscope for a very long time to come. But have, however, made their own decision concerning the alternate path they’re going to take to reach personal fulfillment. Indeed, the world is yours for the taking.

To those who aren’t sure whether to hang the stethoscope. The ones who are at serious crossroads with themselves. The ones with dreams no one is giving them permission to pursue. I have only one thing to say to you.

Pursue.

To those who aren’t even sure they have anything to pursue. Those who feel like, by default, they’re forced to pursue a career in clinical practice because no other option is apparent. I have a few suggestions for you. Try having a honest conversation about yourself with someone you confide in. If there’s no such person in your life at the moment, then try journaling. Journaling has helped me a lot, which is why I recommend it. In the short time I’ve lived, I’ve learned that anything requiring you to give up uncomfortable details about your own personal experience usually, and in very uncanny ways, also enables you to capture some of the most elusive truths about yourself.

Deus inhabitare facit unius moris sit omnibus. Amen.

Seminar Room, Department of Surgery, CMUL. (Circa. 2015)

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