“When you become a doctor next time, know that I won’t really care about all the things you know. I want you to tell me what is wrong with me, and show me that you can help me get better.”

“Please, whatever you do, my friend, don’t forget why you wanted to be a doctor.”

I felt relieved when my eyes welled up a little during the closure ceremony for our anatomy sessions, and when I had to go to the toilet to stop myself from crying as I said my (probably the last) goodbyes to my uncle today.

I was afraid that I had lost a part of myself over the course of the year. Humanity. I was afraid that seeing the cadavers repeatedly would have made me insensitive. I saw how my brothers muttered complex clinical terms to my parents sometimes as they stared in confusion, and I wondered if I’d become like that in the future.

This week has been especially significant because it gave me the timely reminder that I’m in medicine for a purpose that’s beyond myself.

It’s a privilege to practise this art, not something I deserved. I should not feel the slightest sense of pride when I tell people (who ask) that I am studying medicine, but a great sense of humility, because I’ve been endowed with the golden gift - to learn about our body. And along with that came an important duty: to care for fellow beings in pain.

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