The past summer, I got to do my practicals in the surgical department of a major government hospital in my hometown, Sabah, for 3 weeks and 2 days. (of which I, truthfully, bailed on about 4 of em due to food poisoning and a dysfunctional alarm clock)
It was very interesting, at first, since it was my first time doing my summer practicals in Malaysia. The past years, our summer practicals were local (as in, they were done in Volgograd.. as in, yeah, in the average 39 degrees of baking summer heat.)
Let's save the stories about right mastectomies with axillary clearance and the boring ol' lumps of inguinal hernia to my practicals examiner. During those 3 weeks and 2 days, I saw and met people, and the way they shone light upon themselves, made me wonder...
Scenario 1:
A specialist, who is also one of the main surgeons in the department, does an average of 4 operations on every other day. He's late 30-ish/ early 40-ish and married. Seems like he's always busy. I tagged along with him sometimes. He asks a lot of questions to the H.Os but his laid back personality made them feel at ease with him and made him close to the M.Os. I didn't expect him to crack jokes with 18SX implications, though, which he did. And I was surprised that he had no problem with patting some female H.Os' shoulders and, when I asked for permission to palpate the 3x4 lump of carcinoma in an unconscious patient's right breast ( she was on anest and on the OT table), with pushing me forward by putting his hand on my back. =.="
Scenario 2:
On some floors of the hospital, there are clinics owned by a private medical organization. One day, I went to their blood test clinic to get, well, my blood tested. It was a self request. I asked for a full blood count, hormone level test, Calcium level test, Glucose level test, and lipid level test.
The results are confidential. >.<
Well, when my name was called, I went into the examining room and was greeted by an older man in his mid/late forties. I told him I had problems with blood-drawing before since it seems like in the past 5 years doctors and nurses alike had problem finding my veins since they, as my paediatrician described it, are small, fine but numerous. So, each blood-drawing session for me involves the syringe needle insertion of more than once (the paed tried 4 times on my left arm, twice on my right, and gave up. He drew the blood from a vein on the back of my hand, which takes like almost forever just to get a tube of blood. But that's an old story)
He reassured me that what I needed was an expert (hoho.), that I needed my tourniquet to be knotted more tightly and that, insyaAllah, it's gonna be okay this time. And he resumed to carry out each step of the procedure with a chain of Basmallahs.
Applying tourniquet on my arm- Bismillah.
Opening a fresh packet of sterile syringe- Bismillah.
Removing the needle cap -Bismillah.
Brushing the injection site with a cotton ball soaked with antiseptic - Bismillah.
Drawing my blood- Bismillah....
It was a touching scene to be watching. I was amazed by this man; by his kindness and by the manner of which he carried out the procedure.
He showed me to the lab so the lab people could tell me when my results would be ready. Apparently, business in the blood drawing department was running a little low because it was Ramadhan, but he said "biasalah tu.."
I remembered the surgeon and thought "What different lives..."
(A few days after that, I saw him hanging out in the reception area, which means business must be kinda dry and slow. I was too shy to greet him. >.<)
Scenario 3:
Early morning at the hospital, I was waiting in front of the lift. I looked out the large glass window at the building in front, which was under construction. There were men, walking around on wooden planks which are actually the basis of the building. An untied shoelace could rip a life away. A sudden dizziness could mean falling down. But they walked like it was their playground. Not really. They walked like it was their work ground, but of course, it was.
They were construction workers. During afternoons, the ones working on the top floor would be working under the heat of the sun.
 |
| See the little Bob the Builders walking around on the planks? |
And I thought " What different lives.
As the rule goes in the world, work done with a high intellectual output, often requires smaller physical labor but it pays a lot. Like businessmen, for example. They don't carry the boxes of goods but they carry the weight of deciding the future steps of the company (Though in the case of doctors, I'm not so sure this applies. The doctors do make the decisions but being a doctor, it seems, take a lot pf physical energy, and time, too)
Work done with a lower intellectual output, and requiring larger physical labor, pays not so much as compared to the pay for the intellectual work.
But that's all according to the standards of the world.
In Allah's eyes, it's a different story, a whole different standard. His standard.
According to His standard, you could be a surgeon, you could be a blood drawing doctor, you could be a construction site worker, you could be a student staring out a large glass window in front of the lift, waiting to start her practicals, you could even be someone who's reading blogs searching for that "oomph" that knocks on your heart and wake you up from your slumber.
He's looking at you not like the world looks at you. Who you are, what you do, why are you doing it, who you're doing it for..He takes them all into account. Is it for Him? To carry out what He ordered you to do? Does it follow His rules? Are you grateful for what He has planned for you?
So, you may as well be the richest person in the world or the poorest beggar, but according to His standard, it's your TAQWA that counts.
Well, ain't that just sweet...and a fair play."
Remember, He gave that money and everything you own to you. Can He not take it back and give it to the next person who walks through the door?
Yes, He can.
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Heeee~~
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