Today marks the last day of our community immersion experience in Alfonso, Cavite. It was a typical day, with work still piling up and patients still lining up, but I was finally able to join the Municipal Health Officer, Dr. Elie Sargento, on one of her field duties. I was tasked to shadow Midwife Teth during her rounds. We first hosted a thank-you lunch for the staff, then proceeded to join Dr. Elie in visiting evacuation areas.
I was initially stationed with Midwife Teth, who was scheduled to administer vaccines at the RHU. It was routine in nature—record-keeping, vaccination, and health education. But one encounter stayed with me: a Muslim woman, with a 13-month-old child due for one last vaccine, was already six months pregnant again. Ma’am Teth expressed concern because the woman had not returned for her maternal check-ups, and her child’s vaccinations had been delayed.
We only learned the backstory when the patient explained her situation. Apparently, she was caring for six more children because her husband had children with other wives. Ma’am Teth explained that most Muslims living in her assigned barangays do not believe in family planning, as they feel Allah did not direct it as part of their teachings. This belief often results in having many children.
I asked how she managed to convince them to consider family planning. She said she had to slowly build trust and relationships with them, helping them understand the importance of family planning in a respectful way. That moment made me realize that becoming a doctor means facing dilemmas tied to religious and cultural boundaries. All I can do is help future patients understand the value of health by connecting with them—talking, building relationships, and having the heart and patience to explain. That, to me, is the essence of service as a doctor.
After lunch, I joined Dr. Elie to check on the remaining evacuees from last week’s typhoon. They had initially stayed in elementary schools but were relocated to Barangay Health Stations and Barangay Halls so classes could resume. We visited four locations and were able to meet evacuees in three barangays. Dr. Elie checked on them, asked about their well-being, prescribed medicines, and even referred one patient to the BHW for financial assistance. Our fieldwork lasted almost two hours, and it left a strong impression on me.
Many people believe that becoming a doctor is an elite position—something to be proud of, something to brag about, often linked to wealth and prestige. But when one serves in the public health sector, service must be at the forefront. We do not choose our patients. Instead, we mold ourselves into people who can help patients understand their health, who earn their trust, and who guide them toward making informed decisions.
We are servants, not bosses. We lead by serving in the field. Being a municipal health doctor means we are not above everyone else—we lead by showing how service should be done: with no discrimination, by overcoming inconveniences and distances, and by providing care at any time of the day.
This is what I have learned from Dr. Elie. She doesn’t just stay in her office; she goes out, meets the people of the municipality, and makes sure they are truly seen.
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