The two years that changed my life-By Dr Nihal D Amerasekera

The two years that changed my life

Source:Island

In 1958 my father moved to Kolonnawa. We could see the Government Factory from our verandah. The factory chimneys spewed smoke all day and all night. We lived constantly under this cloud of pollutants. At the edge of our property was a tall perimeter fence of the Kolonnawa Oil Installation. For three years we lived next to this ‘time bomb’ which could ignite any minute with devastating consequences. In those days we believed the Government was trustworthy and worked for the benefit of the people. We’ve been let down so many times.

After 10 long years at Wesley College I had reached the top of the pile. Now I was a sixth former and a prefect with all its trappings of prestige and privileges. The science laboratories were my domain for a formidable and forbidding two years.

The time between 1960 and 1962 was a crucial period in my life when I was engulfed by darkness and despair. It is a weird experience to allow those years to flash before my eyes once again. Then I was a pimple faced, self-conscious teenager with raging hormones chasing my dream to become a doctor. Soon after I had overcome the challenges of a plethora of subjects at the GCE O-levels, I was thrust into the sixth form to sit for the most competitive exam of my life. During those two years all I saw were the laboratories, classrooms and the fragile landscape of the four walls of my bedroom which was also my study. I have often worked deep into the night going on until I heard a lone cockerel heralding the dawn.

I grew up in a loving family. In the best traditions of good parenthood, they made me eminently aware of the struggles of life. They also impressed on me that my future lay in my own hands. There was no huge inheritance to receive. I recall their advice with genuine and touching affection. I embarked on my perilous journey with the acquired stoicism of my father’s tough upbringing and the inherited steely competitiveness of my mother’s Kandyan ancestry. The great and the good persuaded me that the hardships endured to pursue a career in medicine was a worthwhile goal with rich rewards.

I began my journey mindful of the tough times ahead. On looking back I couldn’t describe my feelings better than Charles Dickens in his epic ‘A Tale of Two Cities’:

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

I offered Botany, Zoology, Physics and Chemistry for the examination. The syllabuses were huge and the task just monumental. Each of the subjects had a theory paper and a practical examination conducted by the University of Ceylon. The examination was held at the end of the year with the results posted to the candidates around April the following year. The successful candidates were called for a Viva Voce examination held at the University at Reid Avenue. There was a Medical School in Colombo and another at Peradeniya. The total intake was 300 students per year. To say the entry into the medical schools was fiercely competitive is a gross understatement.

The examination papers were the same for all the students. The practical exam however was a lottery when some had an easier time than others. The teaching and the facilities provided by the schools varied immensely. Hence the examination was not on a level playing field. This resulted in a thriving private tuition industry. Tuition soon became regarded as a vital prerequisite for a successful outcome. Teaching students at weekends and evenings, the tutors became widely known, respected and revered. They earned a small fortune on tuition.

Although I would have benefited enormously from private tuition, with my demanding and strenuous regime of study I just couldn’t find the hours in the day to fit them in. This indeed dented my confidence somewhat. I took every opportunity to speak with those who were successful in previous years to learn the shrewd tricks and the essential do’s and don’ts.

My bedroom had a large window. As I pored over my books this was my only contact with the outside world. I could hear the birds sing all day. In the evening the sun came streaming through. The noise of the children playing at the bottom of the road brought some life into my soul. Buxom ladies gossiped and sang while having a bath at the communal well. I was loathed to shut the window even as the monsoon rains lashed the glass pane, not wanting to lose my world beyond.

Meanwhile, outside my bubble, there was a vibrant world of teenage fun. It was indeed the swinging sixties. There were parties at weekends with the luxury of drinks and dancing. Mini-skirts were the craze and we all craved for the company of the opposite sex. Some went on trips to the beach and visited the cinema. The fun continued at a furious pace by those studying the arts and sciences and also by a few bold aspiring medics.

I’ve always been an avid follower of school cricket but sadly this wasn’t possible now. I loved music and listened to the radio in short bursts while my collection of 45 RPM vinyl records gathered dust. These pleasures were sacrificed hoping for better times ahead. I was eminently aware of the wisdom of the age-old proverb “There is many a slip between the cup and the lip”.

I worked tremendously hard in those two years to give it my best shot. The examination came and went like a tornado. I was never one to be satisfied of my performance at examinations, but was delighted that it was all over at least for now. I slowly slipped back in to the calm and lazy life I was used to enjoying school cricket at weekends, visiting family and friends and going to the cinema. Once again loud music filled our home.

Time soon passed. I was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from the University asking me to present myself for the Viva Voce examination. This was held at the Senate Room of the University at Reid Avenue. It was a nerve-wracking experience. Seated around a polished wooden table in a poorly lit room were half a dozen grumpy elderly academics. As I walked in they observed me intently and fired a barrage of questions. They were polite but poker faced all through my ordeal. I was so pleased to be released into the afternoon sun.

My debut performance was a success. By the end of the challenge I was physically and mentally exhausted. I found this a most remarkable achievement against all the odds. I thank my parents for their encouragement, love and wise counsel. This wouldn’t have been ever possible without the dedication of my teachers and the inclusive all-round education at Wesley College, Colombo.I recall most vividly the euphoria on being a doctor in 1967. I dreamed it was a passport to fame and fortune. There was such a great sense of myopic optimism, I lost myself in the adulation. Life always has ways to bring us back to reality!!

Tempus fugit. Time passed swiftly and relentlessly. I spent a marathon of 40 years in medicine. Then, I looked forward to retirement with the same excitement and euphoria as to the beginning of my career. It is devastating to give up the profession knowing how hard I’ve worked to achieve my youthful aspirations. I left the medical profession with a heavy heart but also happy to be free again. Life is better without the night calls and the onerous routines of a hospital doctor. The long years of toil has taken its toll, but I have emerged more philosophical, having witnessed the spectrum of human life from cradle to grave.

In the calm of my retirement, I continue to embrace all that life has to offer: family, my passion for sport, music and support for my burgeoning interest in technology. Still there is a part of me that harks back to the times passed. Despite the good life I’ve enjoyed thus far, there is a vague sense of yearning for those two teenage years lost when I was in solitary confinement. I became a prisoner of conscience to those grandiose and extravagant ambitions of my youth. As I convey my sense of disillusion of those years, I now wonder how on earth I coped with it all so young. It also gives me a tremendous sense of achievement and accomplishment.