Where to draw the line

This one is actually from today.
Unless you are watching Gray’s Anatomy, doctors on TV are presented as calm, cool, and collected. They don’t have outbursts. They discuss issues with their patients quietly behind closed doors. They mask their emotions. But they are just doctors on TV.
At the end of last quarter our ICM small group leader, a real doctor, told us a very funny story about how after much time, she finally let a problem patient have it saying, “I can’t stand you!” While she was saying it, she couldn’t believe she was doing so but, amazingly enough, it was all for the good—it put her in a better position to negotiate with the problem patient who continued to come to see her after all that.
Today I had my first outburst. The clinic in general was a little crazy. Dr. Salvatierra seemed moody and was sending Rosa (the nurse) off for things he could easily do himself. Rosa was mad at Dr. Salvatierra because he told her she couldn’t go to a staff meeting (because there was no replacement for her) so she was slamming doors. They had an argument in front of a patient. Etcetera, etcera…
And after all that, as I was walking to the lab to see if there was anything interesting to see, I started hearing catcalls. “Hola guapa.” I looked over and saw a boy with his arm folded up at the elbow (he had just had blood drawn apparently), smiling, and I wondered if I knew him because surely that must’ve been a joke. There was nothing to see at the lab except the completely overwhelmed lab tech who was left behind while the other 2 were at the meeting so I went back down to Dr. Salvatierra’s office. “Ey guapa,” I heard again, but this time from a different boy, sitting next to the original catcaller, arm folded at the elbow and smiling as well.
I was still processing the fact that I was getting catcalls. At the clinic. While wearing my white coat that identified me as a medical student and, therefore, someone who was obviously at the clinic for educational or work purposes. And I decided that that just was not okay. So I went back out and asked the boys if I knew them. Their jaws dropped. “Oh, you didn’t know that I speak Spanish?” I asked and then went on to tell them, “Well do me the favor of treating me with a little respect while I am working. It is one thing to deal with catcalls while I am walking down the street but to have to deal with that while I’m at work?! It’s people like you who make Peru look bad.”
After my little diatribe and the boys’ immediate apologies, I looked over at the sex workers who I had just examined sitting a little ways down. They looked a little in awe at the unexpected outburst and seeing them made me wonder whether I should’ve asked the boys into the office and let them have without the other patients being present. But then I decided that that is the nice thing about my still being a young and naïve medical student—maybe it was wrong to lose my cool, maybe a bit unprofessional, but it felt damn good.