Some of my written work was recently published as part of a writing project about Covid-19. The book, titled “Creative Writing for Healthcare Workers”, was produced in order to encourage creative writing as a wellbeing exercise for healthcare workers, to support them with the challenges of working through a pandemic. 

My main contribution, a poem, captured my experience of working in a Covid-19 hospital ward during the pandemic. Initial apprehensions about sharing my written work were quickly replaced by a total sense of vulnerability. Despite knowing that the readers of the book would empathise with my work, I felt as though I lacked the authority to verbalise our collective trauma (as it happened though, the final decision* ended up being out of my hands).

Looking back, it all seems so very unbelievable. Sometimes, I would be the only doctor allocated to the ‘red zone’. Often, I felt out of my depth, and emotionally overwhelmed by the things awaiting me. Periodically, I still hear the beeping of the machines, and the fine hum of my respirator as I would try to regulate my breathing. I think about the conversations we had, mostly over the telephone; surreal and devastating. Breaking bad news over, and over, and over again.

The truth is, I don’t feel I will ever be the same. I have seen a new fragility to life, which makes me want to live even more. I find my comfort zone too comfortable, and my fears are frustrating restraints. I don’t want to spend my days on autopilot. I want to be better, even in a small way, each and every day. 

I don’t yet know what my life will hold, nor am I in a rush for years to pass. What I do know, is that my healing has already begun, and I will do everything I can to continue it. 

*I had asked for some unnecessary modifications to be reversed before I would sign the consent form, but unfortunately, I never received a response. I realised once the book had been published, that they had proceeded to print my (modified) poem. I guess now I know how artists feel!

I’ve been reminiscing about my first year as a doctor recently, perhaps because we have been joined by the graduates who will be taking over from us in the coming days.

An entire year as almost passed; one of the hardest years of my life is almost over. People try to prepare you for the sheer change in calibre that comes with becoming a doctor. I was fortunate enough to have a head start due to the pandemic – but we still had people to shadow and seek advice from. The truth is, my responsibility didn’t feel real until the day that I didn’t have anyone to follow around anymore – until I was the one left standing, trying to decide what to do.

A natural side effect of progression is that many people forget where they came from, or how they felt on the journey. This is classically seen in scenarios where adults are unable to comprehend or empathise with teenagers. Despite my best efforts, I am slowly beginning to forget what it felt like to feel panicked by everyday hospital occurrences. However, this makes me even more determined to provide ample support for the fresh faces that seem to display many of the facial expressions I have ceased to show over the past year.

Being a doctor is hard. Being a doctor in a global pandemic is even harder. I cannot imagine how it feels to have your education compromised, despite the best efforts of your school or university, and then be asked to take over as usual, convincing yourself that Zoom lessons amount to real classroom learning.

I look at our new doctors with a sense of admiration, because I’m not convinced I would be able to embark on such a feat of resilience having had my training turned upside down. However, people often achieve things they thought impossible, simply by taking each day as it comes. Those days add up to weeks, the weeks add up to months, and one day suddenly, you realise that you have not only survived, but thrived, during another turn around the sun.

I would like to think that I’ve always had a grasp on the concept of racism, having been both a bystander, and on the receiving end of it. I have always made an effort to stay informed, but informed is not the same as invested.

The past few days have left me outraged, angry and overwhelmed; the manifestation of grief for a man I will never know. I am suddenly struck by an entirely abstract concept. How is it that we have formed a society where a person can be murdered, in broad daylight, by the very people who are meant to protect him? How is it that a lion can be safely captured and transported, but a human cannot?

Why is it even happening? How have we developed a concept of justice to be so unjust? How can an innocent man have his future taken from him, purely for looking a certain way?

I wish I had the answers to all of these questions, but I don’t. Instead I have to stand and watch, the way those bystanders did. I have to use my words, even though words just don’t feel good enough, because they aren’t working.

I remember somebody once telling me that if I wasn’t acutely aware of white privilege, then I was part of the problem. I struggled to understand this at first – I was upset, as I had always tried to treat people with respect, regardless of their race. However, I think I am finally beginning to understand; if we turn away from the horrors of our world en masse, then nobody will be there to address them.

The sad truth is that we need people of all races to combat this horrible threat. We need to utilise the very problem of race distinction to form a solution – to show that we stand as one, regardless of our faces or where we come from.

White privilege is not just a concept created to appease social correctness. It doesn’t matter what you choose to call it. White privilege is not fearing for your life when you leave your house. White privilege is knowing that a police officer wouldn’t compress your airway with his knee because of the colour of your skin.

It’s no use just being informed anymore. If it’s not alarming, if you’re not outraged, if you’re not willing to challenge these concepts or do something about them: you’re not paying attention.

Recently, I have found myself drawn to reading the obituaries at the back of the British Medical Journal. I’m not exactly sure why this is, but something about it feels important. It feels like a paramount final act, acknowledging the fifteen faces printed in the magazine.

Initially, I thought I was reading them as a force of habit, rather than as a result of any emotional attachment to these strangers. However, the journal had barely made it into my house this morning when I decided it should be opened as a matter of urgency.

I stared at the faces today – many of them sadly predictable. Retired physicians, however valuable, succumbing to long standing illnesses. Perhaps I am flawed for this trait, but I digest expected deaths rather easily, particularly in elderly people. I very much believe in the rationale of a good death versus a lengthened end-of-life.

Having said that, the fallible human in me struggles to apply this logic to unexpected deaths, or deaths that leave devastating holes in the lives of others. Deaths that leave the living alone, deaths that shatter families, deaths that leave holes in children’s hearts. I struggle to process these.

I found one obituary particularly hard to read, and that was of a surgeon, born the same year as my mother, who had died of cancer and left two teenagers behind. It is one of those tragic stories that makes absolutely no sense, and it hits home, because so many of the features are parallel with my own life.

The truth is, sometimes being a medic makes us feel invincible. Sometimes we are lured into the false sense of security that we can see the beasts coming, because we have spent years learning to look for them. This is not true. The cruel irony is that breast surgeons can still get breast cancer, and paediatricians can still lose their children.

These obituaries make me remember why I became a doctor, but they also remind me to keep living; I think that is a wonderful, generous, and selfless parting gift from individuals who spent most of their lives giving to others.

If I am being honest, I don’t always live my life to its maximum potential. Whilst I am cautious to not over-emphasise a concept that is difficult to maintain, I am so very grateful to be alive, and as long as I make the most of my years, perhaps a smiling photograph of me will be shared one day, remembering the life I once lived.

“You cannot lose something you have never had”

This is banded around often. It is on motivational posters, inspirational Instagram posts and chances are, your own family have said it before. Well, I am personally here to dispel the myth – you can definitely mourn the loss of something you have never possessed. However, what you mourn is not the object or goal itself, but perhaps the potential. 

You can certainly mourn how agonisingly close you came to having this one thing you so desperately want. This is further heightened by the phenomenon that some of us (most of us) seem to connect all the facets of life to the ideals we treasure most; the ones we do not have. These coveted assets cause a lot of pain – especially when they are entirely untouchable.

You may be wondering where this story came from, or is going. Well, let me share. My own coveted secret is a desire to have a symmetrical face. I do not mean every hair, wrinkle or spot, but I have always desperately clung to the idea of looking like other people, despite trying to rid myself of this unattainable goal that causes so much grief.

I go through oscillating cycles of trying to feel content about myself, and wanting to wallow in the self pity of what I cannot have. In those troughs, I spend time dreaming, wishing and imagining what that girl would’ve been like. I tell myself that more people would’ve liked her. She would’ve been more successful. She would’ve been happier. She would’ve achieved more. I also tell myself that there is no point trying to reach these goals, because I am not her.

This is false.

The person I am now, with my achievements and my weaknesses – this is me. If I had the face I desperately wanted, it would be at a dear cost. The girl I wanted to be, would’ve lacked understanding and empathy for others. She would’ve made it through life, beautiful, and oblivious to the suffering around her. Would she have even chosen medicine? Probably not.

As indulgent as it may be, to blame my problems on a cruel twist of fate, it will never let me heal. I  will never achieve anything if I give everything up for one dream. The truth is, I HAVE lost something, even if I never knew what it was like. A part of me is missing, but I need to close the system and let it equilibrate. I need to mourn, and let go.

This is a poem I wrote during my first term of fourth year. I really struggled in those first few months, and bizarrely, found a release in writing. I thought it was important to share; perhaps others can resonate with the emotions I was trying to express.

Although I am thankfully feeling much better, I am so grateful that I have a reminder of such a difficult time. If you read this and you’re struggling, reach out. People are here. I am here. We are here to help. 

Run faster! Think faster!
They depend on you
To rise above, be better
Than the pettiness
That crumbles the world around you
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Do not react when faced
With the putrid smell of a fading institution
Do not feel pain when asked
Why, again, you couldn’t help them
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Rise above, be better
Than the sorrow engulfing good people
That sweeps up wholesome comrades
And makes them regret their careful decisions
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Do not react, when faced
With mistruths and twisted words
For your reaction cannot fuel
The raging flames that surround you
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Keep going, keep running
Into the next battle
For you cannot give up your position;
Reinforcement is not present
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Smile! Be kind!
Politeness may just save you
By masking your feelings of loss, and frustration
Or stifling your urge to escape
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Keep moving, stop feeling
You have no other choice
For overwhelmed, you can’t be
But we are

I am very excited to share today’s blogpost with you. I recently struck up a conversation with a lovely girl called Elle, who writes a thought-provoking blog called Medic Elle about life as a medical student with a disability. We decided to interview each other, to learn more about our perspectives as medics and as people. Here are Elle’s insightful answers!

1) How do you think you have changed since starting university?

I think when you finally reach the stage of studying medicine, there is this huge weight off your shoulders. Because you have wanted it for so long and worked so hard there is such a feeling of relief when you finally get there. Having said that, there is a new struggle and worry about not passing exams.

2) What do you enjoy most about studying medicine?

Finally feeling like you can start to connect the dots from the textbooks to real people and having a clear purpose to spending hours studying. I think the social aspect of meeting so many new people and having so much in common is really exciting.

3) How do you feel that disability has impacted your life?

I think it has taught me resilience and made me a stronger person. I think it has forced me to feel confident in my own skin and to accept myself for who I am. I have made wonderful friends through a common connection that we share and that has been so lovely. I also feel like it has given me a huge amount of life experience which will aid my career in medicine – even just simple awareness of common medical treatments/procedures and a deep level of empathy.

4) If you hadn’t studied medicine, what do you think you would be doing right now?

This is such a good question! I think I would have got involved in health politics and public health; I can’t imagine not doing anything health related.

5) Any advice for your 16-year-old-aspiring-medic self?

I would say, just chill! You will find a way to make it work. Go out there and find some doctors/medical students who have disabilities.

Thank you for reading! I thoroughly enjoyed reading Elle’s responses to my questions, and I hope that you enjoyed them too. If you’re interested, my responses are over on her blog.

Since I started my Instagram for Mending the Medic, I have met quite a number of kind, like-minded people. I find it a great source of drive and inspiration, although I still try to use it in moderation.

As some of you may be aware, my rural general practice placement was in south Shropshire. My university placed a group of us there, and provided us with accommodation. Since exams were over, we had ample time to explore the surrounding area and take in what Shropshire had to offer. I thought I would share some of the things I particularly enjoyed whilst I was there.

Fair warning: we spent a lot of time eating – you’ll probably notice a theme! We also spent most of our time in or around the historic market town of Ludlow. If you are looking for some more ideas, the town website is a good place to start.

Number One: Pizza Ten (Ludlow) 

This little pizza restaurant is set inside a courtyard, which really adds to the atmosphere of the experience. I normally can’t eat pizza because something about it makes me feel ill afterwards (I think it might be the cheese), but the food was so good that I was fully prepared to pay the price for eating it. I ordered the pizza with king prawns, which I highly recommend, although they have plenty of options. The waitress was also lovely which was the icing on the cake. Bellissimo!

Number Two: Ludlow Museum (Ludlow) 

Ludlow has a little museum which encapsulates the architectural and cultural history of the town. I personally love learning the history of the places I visit, as I feel it adds to my appreciation of the traditional structures and landmarks I see. If this is something that resonates with you then I highly recommend a visit to the museum.

Number Three: The Charlton Arms (Ludlow)

As a popular gastropub set on the edge of the river Teme, The Charlton Arms provides really delicious food with a wonderful atmosphere, particularly in the summer months. We ended up going there several times, and it did not disappoint!

The only downside to such a beautiful place is that it often requires booking, so spontaneous decisions to dine there may lead to disappointment as they are often full.

Number Four: Ludlow Market (Ludlow)

We went to the market every weekend whilst on placement. The market sells everything from vintage jewellery, to handmade vases and also food. My friend bought a really beautiful ring for herself and I bought my mum a really pretty vase. A perfect place for souvenirs, unique gifts, or treats for yourself!

Number Five: Croft Castle (Herefordshire) 

I am not ashamed to admit that I have National Trust membership because I absolutely love going to national trust estates. It is always such a wonderful day out, and Croft Castle was no different. Surrounded by 1500 acres of parkland and woodland near Leominster, the home originally belonged to the Croft family, who repurchased it in 1923.

The grounds were really beautiful, and there was an exibition about the females of Croft Castle when we went, which I found extremely interesting.

Number Six: Chang Thai (Ludlow) 

Our farewell dinner was at Chang Thai, a beautiful restaurant in the town centre. I was a little apprehensive about going, having had a bad experience with several Thai restaurants in the past. However, I will be the first to admit that I was wrong, because the food was amazing. One of my friends and I were both stuck over two dishes, so we decided to order one each and share. We also all shared the starter platter together, which I highly recommend.

Sadly, I forgot to photograph the food, because I was too busy being delighted at how delicious it was. However, I do have a very blurry photograph of my friend’s drink, complete with a decorative flower. How fancy.

Number Seven: Dugan’s Patisserie (Ludlow)

If you are looking for a sweet treat in a sweet little cafe, look no further than Dugan’s. I went for a little tea break with my friend, and we shared a tart with some real, freshly made hot chocolate. They really do have some delicious desserts!

Number Eight: Berrington Hall (Herefordshire) 

Berrington Hall was the second National Trust estate we visited. It is close to Croft Castle, near Leominster.

Berrington Hall is a grade I listed Georgian mansion. It was one of Henry Holland’s first houses, and boasts some exceptional interiors. The gardens were also amazing, so many wonderful photo opportunities. They also had a nice coffee shop on the grounds, although it was rather busy when we went.

Number Nine: The Rose and Crown (Ludlow

The Rose and Crown is another lovely pub set in the heart of Ludlow. We ate there several times, and I really enjoyed the food. I personally don’t drink, but my friends really enjoyed the variety of drinks on offer. If you’re looking for a casual place to eat some nice food, I would really recommend.

Number Ten: Ludlow Castle (Ludlow)

Last but absolutely not least, Ludlow Castle and its surrounding areas are wonderful for walking. I was lucky enough that my placement coincided with the Ludlow Food Festival, which is held at the castle. If you have the opportunity to attend, I highly recommend it! The food was delicious and the atmosphere was incredible.

Otherwise, walks towards Dinham bridge, particularly at sunrise or sunset, are beautiful.   The landscape is phenomenal – my photo absolutely does not do it justice.

So that’s it! There were many more enjoyable moments that didn’t make it onto this list, but Shropshire really has a lot to offer. I’m going to be living there for a year from September and I’m really looking forward to it! Let me know if you would be interested in more posts about recommended places.

When I started this blog, I never imagined how much writing would help me so vastly develop as a person. Writing this title has made me proud of myself; it shows me just how far I have come on my journey of self acceptance. Although I hasten to add, I am definitely not fully there, yet.

Some of you reading this may have found this blog post confusing so far, especially those who don’t know me in person. Let me give you a little bit of context: I was born with congenital microphthalmia in my right eye. As a consequence, I am blind on that side, and have been since birth.

This is not a topic that was ever readily discussed in my family – through no fault of their own, they all brushed it under the carpet when they realised that I would grow up to have a fairly ‘normal’ life (I put that quotation marks because what the hell is a normal life these days?). However, as I grew up, it became increasingly apparent that my appearance would become a perpetual point of frustration and self-doubt.

You see, people are cruel. I used to believe that age played a role in a person’s ability to filter their words, but I now understand how naive that was. I was badly bullied by children, but some of the worst encounters I have had regarding my ‘impairment’ (again, I don’t really feel very impaired?) have been with fully grown, fully educated men and women. Never had I experienced more judgement or unwanted opinions, than I did at the start of medical school.

My coping mechanisms as a hormonal teenager were poor, to put things politely. I was fundamentally unable to deflect the negativity radiating off the Negative Nancys in my life. I hated the way I looked, and I also hated the limitations that people would place in front of me.

“You surely can’t DRIVE in your condition?!”

“Medical school? Will they accept you with only one eye?”

“Do you really think you can sit those exams without extra time?”

I settled into the destructive idea that if nobody expected anything of me, then why should I expect anything of myself? I was fed up of being treated differently, and I tried to hide my eye as much as possible, because I thought I could ‘blend in with normal people’ (I can’t even justify that one…what is a ‘normal person’?!)

I have a feeling I would’ve stayed that way, had it not been for a few individuals who made it their mission to show me that the judgements I was facing where not from a place of genuine credibility.

I slowly began developing my self-belief, and despite it wavering often, I convinced myself I could achieve the things I wanted in life. I still get comments, even from professionals, about how different I am, and “what a pity it is” that I have this condition. People still treat me as if being blind is a novelty, or a party trick. But increasingly, I am learning to accept that I would not be me, without all the parts that make up me.

In the wise words of the Sugababes: People are all the same, and we only get judged by what we do. Personality reflects name, and if I’m ugly, then so are you.

I think that this blog, as little or as large as it is or becomes, should reflect my honest thoughts. I am no poster girl, nor do I think that a page full of illusions about my life would help anyone reading this who resonates with my current emotions.

Anyone who has ever applied for anything prestigious will know that you almost always get asked that dreaded question; “Why do you want to be a doctor/chef/circus-stunt-performer?”. It seems like such an inconvenience – what a stupid question to ask?! It feels like you have to explain every little detail about the life decisions you’ve made to a total stranger.

For some reason (that I ironically can’t yet explain) I’ve been having a crisis of identity over the past few weeks. I’ve really been struggling with medicine, and I can’t seem to find a way to fix my problems, like I’ve been doing for the past 20 years.

I am doubting myself, and doubting my ability to actually fulfil my dream of being a doctor. It’s not that I’ve decided I don’t like medicine – in fact, being a clinical student has made me like it even more. I’m just exhausted, unable to concentrate, and finding it difficult to stay on top of things. I guess you could say that I’ve lost my balance/mojo/[insert keyword for success].

My latest defeat came in the form of Pastest, an online question bank for clinical years. I just can’t seem to answer the questions without second guessing myself or making the wrong choice. It feels defeating, I’m not going to lie to you; it feels like a great big wall in my way that I can’t seem to knock down (BTW – Pastest you are great, it’s me, not you).

During one of my ice-cream-destroying-whilst-wallowing-in-self-pity sessions, I was thinking about when I got into medical school. How passionate I was, and how proud I was to have an answer to the bloody question that everyone kept asking.

Then, I realised the importance of the dreaded question, the reason why everyone asks you the same thing; If you can explain to them why you’re so desperate and adamant to follow that life path, then you can explain to yourself why you are so desperate and adamant to follow that life path.

When you start asking yourself why on earth you decided an emotional, working-class girl of average intelligence would be a good fit for medical school, you can answer yourself.

The point isn’t that we doubt ourselves, the point is how well we can use that to fuel us during hard times. To take negative thoughts and negative comments and turn those into emotional fuel. The point is to celebrate strength and weakness, not revel in one and fear the other.

As Rudyard Kipling wrote, “If you can dream, and not make dreams your master; If you can think and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with triumph and disaster, and treat those two imposters just the same”.

Maybe it’s okay that I’m a little weak. After all, you know what they say – “When the going gets tough, the tough get going”.

So in that case, maybe I’m here to stay?