Gen Y Speaks: I was recently hospitalised for the first time. It taught me the importance of empathy and preparedness

As someone who has been through medical school and currently working as a doctor, I thought I fully understood the importance of being empathetic to those going through a hard time because of their medical conditions.
But it was my first-hand experience being a patient that drove home the necessity of empathy. 
For a spell last month, I was admitted into a public hospital for six days, which was the first time in my life that I needed to be hospitalised. 
I became one of six female patients warded in a C-class ward at Sengkang General Hospital due to a skin infection on my legs, which required intravenous antibiotics.
This was the same sterile, starch-white environment that my brain naturally associated with work, examining patients and communicating with their families.
As I watched healthcare workers shuffle around pushing wheelchairs, beds and “cows” (or Computer on Wheels, a term we use to identify the mobile trolley containing medical equipment), I couldn’t help but wonder at the organised chaos that seems to keep the healthcare system chugging away. 
It is no surprise that my experience with the hospital staff and the medical side of things was nothing short of excellent.
That said, the familiar buzz of a hospital ward did little to distract me from the itch and pain of my own plight, and reading or surfing the internet did not work either. 
For one, I began to feel that I was a liability to my other doctor co-workers, who had to do the heavy lifting in my absence.
Perhaps it was the contrast of me lying helplessly in a bed while other hospital staff busied themselves in the ward that made me feel this way.
Falling sick, being admitted and subsequently requiring follow-up appointments meant time taken away from work, the inability to follow up on my usual projects and other work. 
As someone who has not really fallen so ill to such an extent before, I had not known how much time was needed to travel to the various medical appointments, and the energy needed to wait in a clinic lounge or a hospital food court while suffering from the symptoms of my condition.
I also hadn’t realised how challenging it was trying to change the dates of follow-up appointments to fit my own work schedule. Instead, it was easier to simply take a leave of absence from work.
It also meant scrambling to readjust my work schedules because I needed time away for hospitalisation.  
To be clear, nobody at my workplace blamed me for being on hospitalisation or sick leave. 
But I still felt a degree of guilt towards my administrative staff, who had to go through the trouble of finding someone else to take over my work. 
I also felt apologetic towards my patients, who saw me as their regular doctor and were not keen on alternatives that might inconvenience them.
I know it is an irrational thought, but at the time I felt like I was an unproductive member of society and a burden to the people around me.
Sharing this episode with my friends led to a conversation on similar feelings of internal guilt in unexpected circumstances such as illness, bereavement, caregiving issues and even pregnancy.
Any small gesture was greatly appreciated while I was warded. 
I recall how my clinic manager came all the way to visit me in the hospital, bringing along a sponge cake to wish me well. She also updated me on what’s been going on at work and gave me words of encouragement.
She wasn’t the only one to check in on me. My other co-workers stepped in to follow up on my patients and also took the effort to ask about my condition from time to time, reassuring me that there was nothing to worry about.
I was moved by what they did for me, at a time when I was feeling like I was being a burden to them. Their kind words of empathy assuaged my anxieties and allowed me to focus on healing.
This is why I firmly believe that we should build an empathetic society where people are mindful, tactful and cognizant of others’ circumstances and needs, especially those with invisible struggles. 
And it starts by being kind to each other because you never know if someone is going through a rough patch.
I must confess that even though I am a recently turned 30-year-old doctor, I’ve not internalised the idea of memento mori (Latin for “remember you must die”), until now.
Everyone will meet their maker at some point, but for most millennials like myself, I suspect our own mortality is not something we think about. 
Even my years of medical education and working in healthcare didn’t stop me from neglecting to make early plans for accidents and serious illnesses.
As such, I only realised that my hospitalisation insurance is woefully inadequate and that I am only seeking to upgrade it now. 
I was shocked to find out that my hospitalisation bill had to be paid for through Medisave and Medishield Life at this point, because my integrated shield plan is an old policy of the lowest tier without a co-pay rider.
When I shared my hospital stay experience on social media, some friends reached out to me and shared their unexpected diagnoses with illnesses including cancer and diabetes even at a young age. 
Some expressed regret at not having made plans earlier, as they became uninsurable after a major diagnosis.
It is my hope that others and myself will find the right amount of insurance, safety nets and planning to meet their needs, as being under or over-insured can have costly outcomes. 
In the end, no matter how physically active, accomplished or emotionally strong one is, nobody is invincible. 
Everyone, even healthcare workers like myself, is vulnerable at the doors of death and disease.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alvona Loh Zi Hui is a medical doctor who works in Singapore.