Doctors know suffering – at least, we know the kind of pain we witness in our patients. But what happens when the doctor becomes the one who suffers – and worse, when they have to suffer in silence? This is the part we don’t talk about, especially in the medical community. The grief of losing what defined you. The loneliness of pretending you’re okay.
I’ve never shared my story publicly until now. But I think it’s maybe time we started telling the truth about our profession, and speaking from the heart. David Whyte, poet and author, says the courageous conversation is the one you don’t want to have. For me, that conversation begins now. It’s time to speak the truth – from the heart.
As kids, my best friend and I loved riding our BMX bikes in the local ravine. My best friend was always the bravest one there. Jump! The group of boys would yell at him, before he’d propel his bike down a long, treacherous slope and take flight at the top of a hill. We rode side by side, heading home only when the sky turned pink. Safe inside, we’d pass the one game controller we had back and forth, rescuing the damsel-in-distress from the angry gorilla hurling barrels.
I was part of a group of kids that spent a lot of time on their own, with parents more focused on their careers and social lives.
I was especially independent. My mother, a beautiful French teacher, got sad after I was born. She packed up and left before I could ride a bike. I asked why she went, and the response usually involved something about her having to leave to find her joy. Her joy wasn’t me.
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Photo courtesy of Paul W.M. Fedak
