I had been hearing so much about burnout in medicine; and one day, I realized it had crept up on me. It began at my mother’s funeral, when an acquaintance, a former family friend, approached me asking me to examine her painful toe. I tried to avoid her, yet I could not say no. Through my grief and exhaustion, conditioned by years of striving to live a life of purpose, I examined her and offered advice. That moment left me traumatized, the final straw in a lifetime of failing to set clear boundaries.
A few days later, another visitor came to offer condolences and, without hesitation, handed me their medical report for review. People, unable to give me space to grieve, placing their needs above mine, treating me like a machine meant to serve. These moments left me feeling disillusioned.
Two years later, the daily struggles continue: endless battles with insurance companies to get my patients what they need, unwieldy electronic medical record systems, overbooked clinics, and a couple of harsh reviews.
Some nights, I lie awake dreading the day ahead, dreading the clinics where I sit in front of patients, numb and exhausted, feeling my capacity to care slowly eroding.
Even on my worst days, I am still honest, caring, and empathetic. I still guide my patients down the right path, uninfluenced by pharmaceutical lobbies or insurance pressures. I read about burnout and self-care. I take time off. I know I could reduce my working hours, but I fear how overbooked and overwhelmed my existing clinics would become. Many days, I contemplate quitting altogether.
Then there are days like today, when I see patient after patient whose lives I have changed, relieving them of crippling pain, listening to their hopes and fears. And in those moments, I ask myself: How can I walk away? And so, I stay.
Am I making the right choice? Will my health and mental well-being endure?
I am still struggling to find the right balance, the medium between overextending myself and walking away from everything. But for now, I am not giving up. I continue to fight the good fight for my patients.
Because at the end of the day, the lives I touch are still worth every sleepless night, every aching day; and that is why I keep going. Still.
Humeira Badsha is a rheumatologist.
