2021 Was My First Year As a Doctor — It Was Also The Year My Love for Music Turned Into Fear
But even then, I can never leave music
“One more job and I’m done”
“One more job, and we’re straight”
The first line was by Ansel Elgort, alias, Baby.
The second one was the response by Kevin Spacey, AKA, Doc.
The movie? Baby Driver.
Baby loved music.
He always had a pair of headphones even during heists. But now, the heists were getting crazier, bigger, and more dangerous.
Baby wanted out.
I did not know I would find myself in the same situation four years after the release of the movie.
I love music. I always had a pair of headphones on campus.
More importantly, I did not think my love for music would get entangled in early career confusion. But it did.
Jamie Foxx stated it clearly in the movie.
Would your favourite song still be your favourite if played in the background when tragedy struck?
What if it continues to play and you witness someone lose a life?
2021 was the year I asked myself this question because it was the year I started my career as a doctor.
From a young age, my brother and sisters introduced me to all forms of music.
My sisters to Dancehall and RnB. My brother to Rock and Hip Hop.
I remember my second campus year, I had a laptop teeming with all sorts of music. Rick Dees Top Forty throughout the months wound its way into my rackety machine. As long as the music played, the machine was anything but rackety.
I also remember making the decision to delete all my music. Why, you ask? Rather than read, I would open a page and move from song to song rather than paragraph to paragraph.
I was awake but not reading.
Listening but not comprehending.
Seeing but not internalizing.
Then I made the call.
I deleted all my music. With one button. Ctr+A. Then another — Delete.
For the next 24 hours, I couldn’t function.
I needed music. I retrieved it all the following day from my recycle bin. Life without music was tragic. I had to get them back.
Sorry if you were expecting an inspirational story. I had to get my songs.
Years pass and I am almost done with my medical degree. Music is still my mistress. My hostel mates attest to this. If there was a J. Cole song blasting in the background, chances are it came from my room.
Weeks after completion of the final exam, the pass list is pinned on the notice board. We celebrate. Take photos and share videos.
But one question hung in the background.
What if I am in theatre and I lose a life with my favourite song playing in the background?
Would it still love the song?
The idea shook me.
I pictured the best operating room.
I could see it because my former supervisor, Dr. Fawzia Butt, told me how she liked listening to house music when operating.
I loved sessions with her. She shared practical experiences during her lectures.
Very serious. Very straightforward.
But share a cup of coffee with her, and see the other side of the leading maxillofacial surgeon in the region. She is lively. And she loves music.
I also loved music, but the question still remained.
What if I am in theatre and I lose a life with my favourite song playing in the background?
She used to talk of the two anacondas of the face — the facial artery and facial vein. One windy, the other straighter. You have to clip these before going further with your surgery.
Otherwise, you would have a blood bath.
But what if you forget to clip them because you lifted your head to chant to the best part of your favourite song?
Would you still play music in your operating room? Would the same music be your favourite one?
Weeks pass and I start my internship.
My first department is Maternity — Obstetrics and Gynecology.
The hospital block of screams, cries and ultimately smiles.
I started with night shifts.
My duty was to identify emergency cases and update the theatre list. You have learn on the job. It is all you can do as an intern doctor.
On the same night, I get a chance to go to the maternity theatre. The senior intern advised me to hop in on one of the operations because the resident was a good teacher.
He was wrong.
He was a great teacher.
That night, he ran me through the theoretical steps before our first operation. I learned to perform a Caesarian Section on the first night.
On subsequent nights, he would let me suture different layers to build confidence.
Conversations were the highlight of such nights. The anesthetist always cracked jokes.
My back would silently scream. The perks of being the tall one in an operating room were I would have to slouch for a great part of the surgery.
Because surgeries in maternity can be bloody. Nobody wants a bloody operating room.
One of the other residents would bring his mini-speaker and play Rhumba. Another loved playing Amapiano music and Afro Beats.
In the first few days, it was clear. A level 5 hospital can be hectic. But lively characters make life worthwhile in the department.
They made me forget about my dreadful music-entangled scenario.
One time, a classmate and friend commented on one of our WhatsApp groups
Personally, I thought Kenyatta (Hospital) ‘prepared’ me but when I lost my first patient, I was so traumatized…I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
Others then began to comment:
I lost three patients last weekend as I covered the weekend alone. One each day. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
Then another:
I lost 5 babies in NBU this week.
And another:
I lost three babies in a span of 10 minutes
Plus another:
Every patient is different, every death is different. It honestly gets to you.
I never lost a patient during maternity. I was lucky.
I have however seen a patient’s life fade in front of me while trying to resuscitate her life, but not in an operating theatre.
I remember attuning my actions to saving the patient. I can imagine tuning out the music if it ever happens because so far, I have never gotten the chance to experience this dreadful picture.
One more job and I’m done.
These were the words Baby said in the movie.
One more job and we’re straight. That is what Doc told him.
It is what the profession tells many doctors.
But does it ever get straight? As far as I can tell, we can never tell.
We can only remain hopeful.
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