The morning
As I’m writing this article, I’m running. Running to the Pediatric Clinic where I am supposed to spend my morning seeing patients. I run because the first appointment is at 9am, it is currently 8.52am, and the clinic is a 5-minute run away. I run because I’m counting at the back of my head, realizing that 3 patients are scheduled and fully aware that a fourth or fifth may decide to “walk-in”. I run because I know the nurses get irritated if patients are there and I am not. I also run, because, my field supervisor will be there. THE HORROR! Run, run, run.
Nearing the clinic, I slow down to scan the MySejahtera* QR code, sanitize my hands, say a loud “Good Morning” to the nurses and head to the clinic room allocated for psychological services. Then, I wait. I wait for my field supervisor who may or may not drop by. I wait for the 9am appointment who usually comes at 10.30am, alongside the 10am appointment, AND the 11am appointment. I wait for the medical folder that contains the patients’ entire medical history with the hospital. I wait for the kids to get weighed and measured in the “Measuring Room”. I wait for the nurse to announce herself (multiple times, in fact) to the room with the folder and patient clinic order sequence to call. Oh wait, did I say that it’s just 9.13am now? Wait, wait, wait.
More articles on being a clinical psychology trainee:
- What is a clinical psychology trainee
- A day in the life of a clinical psychology trainee
- Supervisory relationship of a clinical psychology trainee
- Lessons from the life of a clinical psychology trainee
The “lunch”
It’s 1.30pm and my next appointment online is 2pm. Not to mention the fact that my stomach has been growling for the past 1 ½ hours. Time to run! I run, to the nearby kopitiam* to pick up lunch (anything that’s easy to carry will do!). I run, to the psychology clinic trainee’s room to unload my heavy pack of tools brought to the Pediatric clinic. I run, to my table and wolf down the food, while referring to notes for the next appointment content. I run, to brush my teeth and appear “presentable”. I run, to the clinic room booked to set up my WiFi modem, laptop, earphones, and Zoom/Google Meet platform. I run, to pick up some paperwork to update the medical folder. Run, run, run.
And then I wait.
The afternoon
2pm and the stage is set. The orchestra is ready to play, the lights are on, and with a loud whoosh-and-bump, the spotlight centers on the stage. Time to wait! I wait, for the lead actor/actress (in case it’s too figurative: it’s the patient) to enter the room. I wait, for the online connection to clear up and the audio to be heard. I wait, for the patient seated at the table (please, don’t let it be the couch again today). I wait, for them. I wait, they speak. And I run again.
1 hour later and the next patient has arrived early. He’s a face-to-face patient and only 7-years-old. Of course he’s whizzing around the hospital corridors and jumping excitedly by now. Run, kid! Run, me! To say hi to the parent, to offload my Internet equipment, to set up the playroom, and to ensure that the family filled up all appropriate forms for safe entry into the clinic. Run, kid! Who is still happily hopping from one corner of the corridor to the other (how do they even do that?). Run, me! To hop alongside the kid and say “hey! You ready? Let’s see who gets to the playroom faster…jom*!”. Run, us.
The afters
4.30pm and the psychology clinic is running (pun intended) to a close. Running is hopefully, slower now. Grabbing some serviettes, I take some sanitizer shots to wind down the day. Brisk walking to the playroom, the “shots” I carefully balanced are poured ceremoniously across every single surface the patient was in contact with. I recall running after him as he tapped each corner of the wall as part of a “routine”. A burst of adrenaline recalling how he popped some wooden blocks into his mouth for stimulation. Last but not least, he placed at least 8 different kinds of trucks into the play tent “for keepings”. The inaudible sound of wiping accompanies the end of my day. I briskly make my way back to the office and start on my notes. The end.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
Or not?
The after-afters
This has the beginnings of K-drama where the nights are endless and the cast engage in a million activities (shopping, wine-and-dine, desserts, karaoke session, AND after drinks, AND another round of drinking at home?!). But in real life, it’s only 5.30pm.
I end my day running. In the literal and physical sense, at the hospital grounds containing a huge field. The run-wait-run-wait continues in the form of a physical detox of every emotion and heaviness I accumulated in the day. Being out in the open and doing goofy moves is such a stress reliever! I run with a faster pace when I’m all wound up and a slower pace if all I wish to do is enjoy creation in its full glory. I run and hop if there’s no one looking. I run with appreciation that I am able to do that. Hence, I speed up again…to wind down.
The night
I am fortunate to be living in a “frat house” with fellow trainees on my current hospital placement. We run, wait, laugh, and cry together and that support has been immensely valuable.
It is 8pm and a collective gathering occurs around the dining table. The wait starts. One trainee may be on the phone with far-flung family, one may be planning tomorrow’s schedule, and one may be on her laptop typing up notes or research work. The wait goes on. A spark as some humour is shared, indignation as gossip mentioned, disappointment when failure discussed, and laughter, loads of laughter. We run as a whole, and wait as a whole. Run-wait-run-wait comrades.
The journey continues.
*MySejahtera — an app exclusively used in Malaysia to track locations as part of the COVID pandemic precautions. Except, no one ever gets tracked when positive cases are identified.
*kopitiam — Malay word meaning local coffeeshop that I can never differentiate with mamak*
*mamak — local stall that typically sells Indian Muslim food, or you can also refer to it as a “lifestyle”
*jom — Malay word for “ let’s go”