Here, in Solapur an epidemic of water born diseases- cholera, gastroenteritis and also the hepatitis is going on. They need more doctors… at least to look ‘at’ the crowd of patients. My previous classmates now interns, are attending them… or are trying to avoid. My hands are tied, by the three F’s on my mark sheet, indicating that I’ve failed in one subject… for they think that I have no sufficient knowledge or skill to handle the patients of obstetrics and gynecology. I can’t act an intern till I prove it on the mark sheet. I can’t help them to look after the patients. I can’t even look at the patients.
My skills and knowledge are under revaluation; they’re verifying it by recounting my marks. And they’re doing it since more than one month. They might be employing one full person for counting one mark and in this way they might need to employ a staff of around 140 people to count marks of me alone… I guess. Don’t they think this is too much? Don’t they think they’re harming themselves along with me? Do they think… ever?
What about my two months if the marks are increased? And what about my time spent in waiting for the results of revaluation, if my marks are not increased? I might not be supposed to wait, to take it this seriously… to value my six months. Or I should think the negative, should expect that my marks won’t increase… and study, or do something to pass in next exams. I should expect to pass in the next exams… or should I not?
I’ll manage my feelings… somehow. But what if I wish to go and to serve the outburst of patients… as an intern? No, I can’t think like a doctor, for I’m not a doctor, yet. I can’t think of the patients, yet, for I myself am on a way to become one… a psychiatry patient. I wish… I carve… I die to escape from this… but nothing happens. As if I’m frozen in time. And I can’t do anything, other than the waiting. And I wait; I still wait for the results of the exams… the impotent exams unable to test my abilities and my desires… And have to fight with my mind as it gets attracted to the frustration.
My classmates keep on thinking that I’m lucky to escape the donkey work of handling the huge lines of patients and I keep on envying them for they’ve got a chance to serve the patients… no one is happy… this’ the destiny. Is it? Probably I must feel thankful of my university that I got a chance to escape the work and to get time to sit before the computer and to type this in daytime… and to spend nights without any work, without any sleep, in worrying… in craving… or in sleeping, getting lost in irrelevant bad dreams.
But what… if I’m not thankful?