Resigned or Face a Formal Hearing
I was verbally informed by my department head that if I didn’t resign, I would have to face a formal hearing and a series of interviews regarding the management of a patient case. The issue stemmed from an alleged failure to follow protocol in managing the patient, which later became the subject of discussion during our department’s Morbidity and Mortality (M&M) conference.
However, the discussion lacked the presence of a specialist consultant who could have provided a comprehensive analysis of the case, offering clarity on whether there was actual culpability or if it was a matter of clinical judgment in a complex situation.
Additionally, input from other personnel involved in the patient’s care—such as the radiologist, other medical officers, ward staff, ICU team, and so on—was not sought. Their perspectives and insights could have shed light on the overall management of the patient.
This absence of critical expertise and broader input left important questions unanswered, adding to the ambiguity of the case. As a result, it became increasingly difficult to fully evaluate the situation or present a robust defense for my actions.
After much thought, I chose to resign. The challenges I’d faced over the years—collectively traumatic—made the idea of going through such a process unbearable. The emotional toll, coupled with the stress of it all, was more than I could handle.
Also Read: Challenges and Accusations Faced by Healthcare Professionals
I discussed my decision with my wife back home, weighing the trauma and stress against the implications of resigning. While I’ve come to terms with my decision, a lingering question remains: was I afforded due process?
Informal Conversations vs. Formal Process
Looking back, I wonder whether the manner in which my resignation was sought was fair or formal. My department head’s verbal request to resign came without any written notice from higher administration or HR. Without formal documentation outlining the allegations or convening an official investigation, can such a conversation truly constitute a legitimate process?
This question recently resurfaced when I heard news about Department of Education personnel in the Philippines being verbally told to resign. It struck a chord with my own experience. According to labor rights experts, if an employee is pressured to resign without official documentation of allegations or a formal investigation, it may violate their rights as an employee.
In Brunei, like many countries, labor laws emphasize the importance of due process. Employers must:
- Notify employees in writing of any allegations or complaints against them.
- Provide an opportunity to respond, often through a formal hearing or inquiry.
- Ensure that termination or resignation is not coerced, particularly for foreign workers, who may face additional vulnerabilities.
Losing Benefits by Resigning
Another factor I had to consider was the loss of benefits tied to resignation. By resigning in the middle of my contract, I forfeited entitlements such as:
- Severance pay: In many employment contracts, severance pay is provided only if the termination is initiated by the employer.
- Return airfare: As an OFW in Brunei, my contract stipulated that my employer would cover my return ticket at the end of my service. Resignation voided this benefit.
These financial losses added to the emotional weight of my decision. However, at that moment, I was willing to accept the consequences just to find relief.
A Difficult Relationship with the New HOD
The situation was further complicated by my strained relationship with my new Head of Department (HOD). I’m not certain if she harbored ill feelings toward me, but there were moments that made me wonder.
Early on, when she was newly appointed to the department as a Medical Officer, I offered feedback on patient management based on my internal medicine training. However, it seemed that my input may not have been well-received.
Later, she insisted that I complete the department roster at the hospital instead of at home, despite the fact that I worked on it during off-hours—often sacrificing sleep to ensure it was done.
Adding to the strain, she reduced my entitled days off when preparing the roster—from three days to two. This reduction was unreasonable, as it was nearly impossible to complete such a complex task within the two allotted days, even if one worked straight for 48 hours. I wondered if this decision stemmed from the fact that I frequently explained and rebutted her comments about the roster. Having handled the roster for eight years, I was familiar with the system’s challenges and potential pitfalls.
In contrast, she had only been in the department for a few months and was still learning the complexities involved in creating the department roster. Shortly after she became the Head of the Department (HOD), she began phasing me out of the role of roster maker. Gradually, after I trained my replacement and shared my detailed templates, she ultimately removed me from the position entirely.
Whether these actions were isolated management decisions or signs of personal dislike, I’ll never know. Perhaps I was simply overthinking the situation, but these actions left me feeling increasingly unwelcome and unsupported in the workplace.
Paranoia and Isolation
Toward the end of my time in the department, I began to feel paranoid. I suspected colleagues and nurses were talking about me behind my back, speculating about the real reason for my resignation. While I didn’t share the details of my situation with anyone, the secrecy surrounding my resignation meeting only heightened my suspicions.
Two weeks before my resignation date, she removed me from the department’s WhatsApp group, effectively cutting me off from the day-to-day instructions and announcements. This left me blind and vulnerable to any updates or critical information about the Emergency Room operations. The decision felt premature—why was I removed so early? Was she concerned that I might post something in the group? It’s difficult to say, but the move only deepened my sense of isolation and unease.
My HOD had assured me our conversation was confidential, but she invited a consultant and the head nurse to attend. It left me feeling uneasy, as though the narrative of my departure was being controlled.
Some colleagues were genuinely unaware of the circumstances and expressed surprise at my resignation. Others told me I was one of the department’s better doctors and urged me to stay. Their words were kind, but they only deepened my feelings of isolation.
Processing My Decision- time to let go and move on
Ultimately, I chose to prioritize my well-being. Resigning spared me the emotional and mental strain of enduring formal interviews and hearings. It allowed me to step back from the trauma of my experiences and begin to heal.
However, my last few shifts felt like an emotional rollercoaster—an agony marked by constant second-guessing and tiptoeing around my decisions in patient management. I asked myself why I felt this way when I had only a few days left to serve. Was it separation anxiety from an institution I had grown to love? Or was it the realization that my service was no longer valued?
I couldn’t help but reflect on the camaraderie we once shared during the pandemic. Back then, as a department, we worked tirelessly and hand-in-hand, standing tall to provide care for the people of Brunei when everything outside was shutting down. Those moments defined teamwork and dedication. But she wasn’t our department head then. Things felt different now.
Acknowledging the trauma and disappointment has been essential for my healing. It’s important to validate the challenges that led to my decision, even if it meant walking away from something I had devoted so many years to. I don’t need to justify my choice beyond what feels right for me—it was the right decision.
During one of our final conversations, I mustered the courage to ask her a question that had been weighing heavily on my mind: when the administration or HR instructed her to convey the message for me to resign, did she at least defend me? Did she advocate for my years of service, my dedication, or my contributions to the department? Her response was devastatingly simple. She couldn’t give a clear answer. All she could say was, “I’m sorry, Richel.”
That moment stung deeply. Her words—or rather, the lack of them—spoke volumes. It was not just the absence of advocacy that hurt, but the realization that she hadn’t fought for me, or perhaps didn’t even try. For someone in a leadership position, someone who had worked alongside me and witnessed my commitment firsthand, the silence in her response felt like a betrayal.
I searched her eyes, hoping to find some glimmer of support, some indication that she believed in me or the passion I had poured into my work over the years. I wanted to see a hint of regret, perhaps a sign that this decision was weighing on her as well. But I saw none of that. What I found instead was detachment—an unwillingness to stand in my corner when it mattered most.
At that moment, I realized a harsh truth: even if I had summoned every ounce of strength to fight until my last breath, it would have been a battle fought alone. What purpose would there be in staying, in trying to prove my worth, when the very person who should have been my strongest ally—the head of my department—no longer believed in me? If she couldn’t defend me to the administration, if she couldn’t even affirm my value in private, what hope was there for me to hold onto?
That realization was my breaking point. It wasn’t just about the challenges I faced or the mistakes I made—it was about the absence of trust and support from someone who should have been my advocate. Leadership isn’t just about giving directives; it’s about standing up for your team, especially in moments of adversity. And in that moment, it was clear I no longer had her support. That was the final confirmation I needed: it was time to let go and move on.
Documentation and Closure
I ensured that all the necessary paperwork for a proper exit was completed—something many expats often overlook, assuming they won’t return to the country. I took the extra step of formally submitting my resignation and requesting written acknowledgment from HR to maintain a clear and official record of my departure.
However, my HOD stated they couldn’t provide a Certificate of Employment or a document affirming my good moral standing because of my resignation. While disappointing, I still believe they could have issued at least a certificate confirming my position, duration of service, and the fact that I resigned voluntarily—not terminated. I also kept copies of all correspondence related to my resignation for my personal records.
Legal and Ethical Reflection
Even though I’ve moved on, this experience has stayed with me. Revisiting it has made me question whether my rights were fully respected, and I hope sharing my story can help others understand theirs.
As an OFW in Brunei, navigating workplace dynamics in a foreign country presented unique challenges. Cultural differences and power imbalances can make it difficult for expatriates to assert their rights, especially in high-stakes professions like healthcare.
Conclusion
Resigning was a difficult but necessary choice. It freed me from a cycle of stress and allowed me to focus on my well-being. However, my experience underscores the importance of fair workplace processes and the need for employees to understand their rights.
To my fellow OFWs and healthcare professionals, know that you’re not alone. If you find yourself in a similar position, take the time to understand your rights and seek support. Together, we can work toward creating workplaces that respect and value the people who dedicate their lives to helping others.
Legal References
- Employment Order 2009 (Brunei) – Outlines the rights and obligations of employees and employers in Brunei.
- Labor Code of the Philippines (Articles 279-284) – Highlights due process for employees, particularly those working abroad under Philippine government deployment.
