One more week has passed me by, and once again I find that my eyes have been opened even wider still.
The harvest is great but good workers are few. Compassion is lacking, and there is the stench of poorly-disguised indifference, the toleration and normalization of uncharitable behaviour on the wards, the nearly complete disinterest in the passing down of the art of medicine to one's future successors, the stifling sense of hierarchical feudalism, and the logic-defying red tape that runs the entire length of hospital administration - so much so that now I know why one elderly patient tells me that she fears the public hospitals more than anything else.
Seeing how one incapacitated patient's death was treated with such indignant disrespect made me all the more resolved; how some extremely sick patients are treated like bed-occupying lumps of inconvenience; how some nurses and doctors angrily assume their patients to understand in one or two lectures how cancers and pneumonias and nebulizers work.
And the fact that all these have been tolerated - to the extent we accept all these as 'normal'. How come?
One day things will change. Dead wood must burn, in the pits, if possible. Good men must be placed in their rightful places of power, instead of Jekylls and Hydes. We tolerate too much, polish other's boots way too long, and forget that the good man, if he has a clear conscience, should fear nothing.
But on the other hand, it was comforting to know that there are still good men walking the wards, and convincing me that not everything is lost yet. Not everyone sings the same tepid song, and that is what is what still gives me assurance.