NEWS 3
ausdoc. com. au 13 FEBRUARY 2026
NEWS 3
The oldest intern on the ward?
ABC journalist’ s long journey to becoming a doctor.
Carmel Sparke AS thousands of new medical graduates took up their internships last month, Dr Ben Collins admits he could have been one of the oldest.
In fact, the 51-year-old says he is already being mistaken for a consultant.
“ I’ m getting used to it, but yes, everyone is younger than me,” he says, having just completed his second week at Broome Hospital in WA’ s Kimberley region.
“ That was really hard when I first became a medical student. I felt very self-conscious about being old. Then I slowly learned that no-one else cared, and now I’ m not so bothered.”
He admits his first intern day on the psychiatric ward was daunting.“ I had a ward call when the nurses ask you to urgently review a patient. There were no other doctors around.
“ I felt my heart rate go up, and nausea in the pit of my stomach, because although I’ ve been trained for years, it’ s still scary,” he says.
“ I went in to find a patient in significant distress, and initially my brain froze and I felt panicked.
“ Slowly, I came back to myself and worked through what we’ d been taught over years of training, going through the processes.
“ Everything was fine and no-one was harmed, but I’ d done so much preparation and still it was terrifying.
“ My friend [ who ] had done the previous placement, said,‘ Wow, I didn’ t have one ward call in 11 weeks.’ I was a bit unlucky there.”
Dr Collins says his workplace has been hugely supportive and friendly, and the person he most fears is himself, a feeling that will resonate with many doctors, no doubt, whatever their level.
“ The scariest person on the ward is me— my self-doubt and the
self-criticism that I should already be functioning at a higher level.”
Around 5 % of the estimated 4000 interns who come through the rite of passage each year are aged 40 or older, with a report from a few years ago mentioning one intern aged 63.
Given the enormous challenges of making it as a doctor, particularly as a later-career doctor, it is worth asking Dr Collins why he has taken on the task.
For now, he is sitting on the bottom rung of the medical ladder at a time of life when most doctors are in
77 % senior roles, with some thinking of retirement.
Dr Collins says he completed a science degree at Queensland’ s James Cook University straight out of school,
I had a moment there where I felt rising panic and thought,‘ I don’ t think I can do this.’
16 %
Intern by age( 2025)
while holding various jobs, including disability support worker, bus driver, truck driver— and even a clown.
Then came a move to Broome when his wife became pregnant.
5 % 2 %
20-29 |
30-39 |
40 + |
Prefer |
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not to say |
Dr Ben Collins.
There he secured a job with the ABC, covering stories across the Kimberley.
Over time, Dr Collins became the station’ s longest-serving journalist, but even though he loved the job, it started to feel like groundhog day after about 15 years.
It was his wife, a teacher, who first suggested medicine. He says he initially scoffed at the idea, but gradually came around.
So in his 40s, after some committed study, he took the Graduate Medical School Admissions Test. He succeeded and ended up at the University of WA.
The dramatic career shift meant the family had to leave their home in Broome and move to Perth— at least for the first two years.
He was then accepted into the Rural Clinical School of WA, which allowed him to complete his training back in his home town.
But that initial exposure to medical school was tough, he admits. Within a fortnight of starting, he thought he had made a terrible mistake.
“ I was still really stressed about the move. The kids were at their new schools, or just about to start, and they were having their challenges,” he says.
“ Then my first two weeks of lectures were just extreme. I felt like it wasn’ t possible to learn all this stuff.“ I had a moment there where I felt rising panic and thought,‘ I don’ t think I can do this.’
“ I just managed to sort of squash that panic down and kept going.”
He faced the familiar challenges common to all medical students— from financial difficulties to confronting cadavers to carrying out his first digital rectal exam.
But he says:“ I found being at medical school amazing and fascinating.”
One big advantage to entering medicine later in life is that he knows the steep learning curve will flatten, and he will come to understand what he is struggling with now.
He also rejects the notion, which is sometimes raised, that training a doctor later in life represents poor value for the public purse. He says he plans to work for at least 20 years.
“ I’ m also finding that my younger colleagues have just left school and studied for six years— and they’ re hungry for a bit of life experience,” he says.
“ It’ s common for junior doctors to want to travel or work part-time after the internship,” he says.
“ Whereas I’ ve done travel, I’ ve done that stage of life. My plan is to work continuously through postgraduate training. My contribution will be significant.”
His goal is to be a rural generalist, hopefully staying in the region that he loves and has been home for 20 years.
“ It’ s been a long path to get here, and I still pinch myself and think,‘ Is this real?’
“ I never saw my life going this way. It’ s so exciting and rewarding.“ I feel very, very fortunate.”
On call 24 / 7 with no reprieve
PAGE 1 I have five Territory babies left to deliver, after which I will be taking a break from clinical practice,” Dr Vemuri says.
She will then be moving to Canberra, she adds.
Amid the lack of facilities in Darwin, Dr Vemuri was on call 24 / 7 while managing about 27 births a month on top of other antenatal and gynaecological care.
She said she had tried working out of the public Royal Darwin Hospital as a private doctor, but the unorthodox set-up had intrinsic problems.
“ Private obstetrics in a private
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hospital setting involved a consultant-led approach, where the needs of the patient were understood by the consultant and, in turn, the consultant can ask for access to hospital midwives, operating theatres, delivery suites and ward beds based on the clinical needs of the patient.
“ The private hospital is driven by a desire to provide midwives, nurses and infrastructure to minimise the indemnity risk being transferred to the hospital.
“ But private obstetrics in a public hospital is affected by hospital triage— which is to be expected— and in Darwin, the public hospital cares for some of the sickest and
most vulnerable obstetric patients.”
She was left feeling she could not provide what her patients needed. It is bittersweet.
“ One of the loveliest moments was delivering the two babies of a woman whom I had babysat in my adolescence.
‘ I have only five Territory babies left to deliver.’
“ I am not sure you could get more continuity of care than that.”
But with the private ward closed, Dr Vemuri said some patients were choosing C-sections because of their fear that midwives may not be available when labour started.
Others were presenting later than they should have because they were worried they were
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overburdening the public hospital. Some of Dr Vemuri’ s patients instead travelled interstate to give birth in private wards.
“ It is heartbreaking that there is
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Dr Alia Vemuri.
such a demand for private obstetric services that people in advanced stages of pregnancy are traversing significant geographical distances to access care,” she said.
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