Almost three years ago, I was the chief resident of our training program. The chief resident was primarily responsible for designing curricular activities in collaboration with the faculty, attending and representing the department and the residency program at the majority of hospital and administrative meetings, providing regular updates on resident performance, designing the on-call schedule and rotations, and supervising juniors.
It was the most difficult job for me. I found it more difficult than my residency. I don’t want to go into specifics, but there came a point in my life when the pressure and stress became overwhelming. Despite my best efforts, I started having disagreements with my coworkers. I was also dealing with some medical issues at the time, and the toxic politics in the department, combined with the constant bullying and criticism from the seniors, drove me insane. It was a thankless job with no incentives from either the hospital administration or the department. The chief residents from other departments in the hospital were paid a proper stipend for their work, but our department had no such policy. I used to think of myself as the “cheap resident” rather than the “chief resident.”
Our department hires one resident per year. Most of them are unmarried girls who have no additional responsibilities or plans to manage homes or children, except for one male resident throughout history. He was sharp and survived, even though the environment and job were toxic and nerve-racking.
When I was in my third year of training (and I was the chief resident), our department hired a male resident. He came from a community where people are shy and not very proficient in Urdu or English because they prefer to speak their native language in school and college. However, this boy was bright, with the exception of language skills. Furthermore, he was reckless and irresponsible. He was far too young and junior for me. He had just graduated from medical school and had never worked before being accepted into the residency, so he was not only a new and inexperienced doctor, but he was also adjusting to a new environment and city.
I always believed he was innocent. I’m not sure why, but I’ve always considered him a younger brother. I’m not sure why, no matter what he did, I could never feel malice, hatred, or ill will toward him. I’ve always felt that his heart was pure. He was simply under too much pressure. Our consultants had unrealistic expectations of the residents, but fortunately, they always found female residents who were extremely hard-working and intelligent.
For the first time in history, they have a boy who messes up everything he does. Everything, literally. He was extremely irresponsible. Everyone had problems with him. But I’ve always felt he was under a lot of stress. If I had been in his position, I would have been extremely discouraged. I always thought he was great, bright, and had a lot of potential. He only needed time and the proper guidance from seniors. I am not sure why they couldn’t understand it. I’ve heard so many negative and painful remarks from my seniors, some in front of him and some behind his back, and they’ve always hurt me.
My junior colleagues were constantly gossiping about him, but I always treated him like an elder sister. I used to address him as “mera piyara bhai” (my sweet brother). I’m not sure why he was so dear to me. Over time, everyone began to believe that I was constantly trying to protect him, which was wrong.
I admit he was irresponsible, but I knew he could improve with some effort. He required encouragement and supervision. He was a wonderful person with a heart of gold. When he visited his hometown, he would bring something for all of his colleagues without discrimination. Even for those who opposed him. When he married, he invited every one of us and was overjoyed to see every one of us.
Later, he had to leave our institute due to some issues, but he became a resident at another institution. I recently visited that institute and the oncology department, and I was surprised by how many people there praised him. According to the junior residents, he was the best of them. I was delighted to see him working confidently there. I was overjoyed for him because he had found the perfect place where his skills and talents would not only be polished but also appreciated.
He was and still is an innocent child to me, who did not deserve constant criticism and negative comments, but instead required the love, encouragement, and support of his teachers and seniors. He was like a diamond, which can only shine when polished by the hands of a skilled jeweler.
The famous inspirational speaker Alexander Den Heijer said, “When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment in which it grows, not the flower.”
I pray for his success, health, and happiness. After all, he was, is, and will forever be “my sweet little brother.”
Damane Zehra is a radiation oncology resident in Pakistan.
