The empty chair

There’s an empty chair in the classroom. One month passess. Two. Three… Still empty. I was a teenager, admitted to hospital with an eating disorder. Removed from the real world, I became a patient. An old, imposing French chateau became my ‘home’- a psychiatric hospital about an hour away from where we lived. Wrought iron

She called me ‘doctor’

The consultant introduced herself then gestured towards me. “This is another doctor who’s with me if that’s OK?” Doctor. She called me ‘doctor’. It’s been 3 years since I’ve legitimately used that word to describe myself. Leaving medicine was not an easy decision. It was one that came after months of deliberation and doubt. One

Educational supervision- so much more than just forms

Spotting burnout early As a junior trainee, my educational supervisor was my role model- kind, empathic, an excellent teacher, full of passion and enthusiasm. One of the nurses once commented that I was morphing into him- at work early, walking down the corridor at great haste, leaving late… I was so proud. It turns out,

The windy road to somewhere

I was 7 when I knew I wanted to perform. The stage was my special place. By embodying a character I could become someone else. Confident and carefree, I acted and sang. Full of passion and pride, I loved it.  Circumstances were such that I didn’t continue drama beyond primary school and my acting career

Honesty

People often ask me why I left medicine. I generally mumble something about being unfulfilled in my job as a paediatrician, about the NHS not being what it used to be and about wanting to create long term relationships with children and their families. But somehow I always feel uncomfortable, like I might be found

From doctor to teacher

Exactly one year ago I handed my notice in. I was a paediatric registrar but had had enough. I felt unfulfilled, no longer able to be the doctor that I wanted in a system that failed to value me as an individual. So I left. Not without tears, but I left.  And today, almost a

Covid. This wasn’t in the plan

Every Thursday at 8pm, my neighbours cheer. They bang their saucepans, whistle and shout at the top of their voices. And quite rightly so. Every Thursday at 8pm I burst into tears and run indoors. This week I have made the decision to no longer go out.  People keep asking me if I’m going back

Today I saw a lady crying

Today I saw a lady crying. I noticed her in the woods. She was sitting alone on a rock. I didn’t realise she was upset. She looked up at me. Her eyes were tired and full of sadness. Without uttering a word, she spoke. Tears fell down her cheeks. I sat with her. I listened. 

There is no shame in finding this hard

This week, hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets to applaud the valiant effort of those working in the NHS. A gesture of solidarity, of acknowledgement and thanks. I live in a cul-de-sac. Neighbours stood at their doors, cheering rapturously.  My cheers were filled with guilt. 14th June 2019. My last day in

Forgive me

It was sometime before midnight. My husband was asleep. His breathing was deep and rhythmical. I lay awake. Terrified. Convinced he was going to die. My panicked mind was planning his funeral. How would I access his Will? What would I tell our children? How would I possibly cope without him? It went on and