Let's talk about health

I knew I wanted to be a doctor by the time I was five. A therapist colleague of mine insists this was the loyal child in me making it up to my mum for the tragic loss of her young brother a few years back. Whatever the reason behind it, I nursed that dream jealously through my adolescence and the political turbulence of the 1980s with the Kwiksave point system, the fall of the Mintoffian Empire and the rise and rise of Eddie Fenech Adami.

Going through medical school, however, was more like a nightmare filled with over-inflated egos, dead boring lectures and hair-raising exam experiences very much akin to the encounter of a lamb and a slaughterhouse. But there was also a lot of sunshine made up of good company, funny anecdotes and beautiful friendships woven close to the soul, many of which I still cherish to this day. When I finally woke up to reality five years later it was with a lot of relief that the ordeal was over, fear mixed with excitement for the unknown that was yet to come and pride in my heart that my dream had actually come true.

I got a massive heart attack coupled with a hormonal storm the first time the bleep went off during my first hospital duty, but after getting around the first emergencies I started to take things more in my stride. The first two compulsory years in hospital were very tough, the duty hours were very long and very busy and we were always short of staff. But it was a steep learning curve that prepared me well for the years ahead. I learned that being a medic wasn't about parading around with a white coat, a stethoscope and a know-it-all stance. It was about really being there for the patient even if it was just with a smile, a kind word or a gentle touch. It was about keeping my eyes and ears open for any symptom, any sign, any aberrant blood test and taking any advice when necessary, even if it had to be from a nurse with years and years of experience under his belt.

After the two years of in-house training were over, I decided that hospital work wasn't for me and took up general practice in both the public and the private sectors. My own practice lasted for two years and even though I was doing very well I could not stand the constant invasion by my patients at all hours of the day and night 24/7. So I just kept my work as a general practitioner in the public health clinics in the south where even though the shift was crazy, I could at least have my time and my life.

My 12 years at the Paola and Cospicua health centres, which I fondly came to call the Bronx, were so eventful that I could easily dub them a general practitioner's delight. I was exposed to all sorts of ailments, emergencies, social situations and tragedies; you name it, be it child abuse, domestic violence, a common cold, a traffic accident, a drug overdose, an injury at work, a blood pressure check, a birth in the clinic lavatory, I've seen it and done it, time and time again. However, through the myriad of events there are always those, both amusing and tragic, that stick out.

I mean, how can one ever forget a young mother's plea that she is getting her "perial" every two weeks and hoping that the people at the "gyning" department will find the cause when they will do after doing the ultrasound to check her "luteru"? Or an elderly man's concern that his blood sugar is still out of control even though he's going to the "profissur Dr Granc", Dr Shranz to the rest of the Maltese populace. Or a request to see if there is any other medication better than Dean-shit to soothe one lady's anxiety.

But it is the tragedies I have witnessed, some more than others, that have left an indelible mark in my memory. I know I can never forget that 17-year-old girl who was left lifeless on her parents' stairs after being given an overdose. Or those two men in their 40s who both died in front of us in separate incidents of sudden cardiac death. And I know that even if I forget who I am, I will never forget that three-month-old child who died in my arms after being starved to death by his parents. These were the hardest tests in my career, the ones that really made me look into myself, to see if I really had what it takes to be the doctor I needed to be and the ones that made me realise that however good I was, I was just a human being and there were some things I could never change or ameliorate.

After 12 years I realised I had given enough and that I could not possibly give any more. What tired me out the most were not the patients and their social situation but the ridiculous system in which I worked, run by the selfish anarchy of some of my colleagues and by people who were more keen on ameliorating their position than to ameliorate our dire working conditions. So I closed the door on my dream to open another where I was much more respected for my abilities and my profession.

I am now the medical affairs officer for one of the leading pharmaceutical companies worldwide and one of the medics at a top cosmetic clinic. I am also doing a post-graduate diploma in Gestalt psychotherapy with the intention of furthering my studies in this field.

An American sage once said that "dreams are wishes your heart makes". We work hard and most of the time they do come true. But there also comes a time when some of our dreams come to an end and pave the way for others with new challenges, new satisfactions and new knowledge. That is what, after all, makes life a colourful journey worth embarking on.

• Dr Mizzi is medical affairs officer for one of the leading pharmaceutical companies and one of the medics at a top cosmetic clinic.