Diary of a doctor-mum

Today I came home feeling defeated.

Yesterday I came home exhausted.

And the day before… well, I came home feeling like I wasn’t enough.

But all of those days, coming home isn’t the refuge I had hoped for. Instead, I see the chores that had piled up and the daughter I wasn’t there for, and I drown in guilt.

————————————————————————————

Medicine is a thankless job; much like motherhood…

I start my day trying to stealthily escape out of my daughter’s bed – I wear my apple watch to bed so that nobody hears my alarm, and I creep out of the room like a thief trying not to be seen.  I find a way to get ready for work in under 15 mins, so not to make an unnecessary racket and wake anybody up.

No coffee.

No breakfast.

It’s a good day if I simply remember my ID badge.

The ride to work serves as a sort of psych-up for the day ahead.

I know what awaits me through those doors, so that hour is my reminder that there is a world outside of the hospital.

That there is uplifting poetry, motivational leaders and spiritual nourishment all living to combat the suppression and belittling within my four work walls. I soak in the positivity of the words and the music and pray for a good day ahead.

My day consists of difficult conversations with patients and their family members, and of course a buttload of criticism and complaints.

I make decisions nobody ever wants to make.

I have to tell people news that nobody ever wants to hear.

I have to be the person that a family will always remember and for all the wrong reasons.

But in the end, people don’t see the heart behind the brave face.

A heart that prays over every agonising decision.

A heart that aches with each hard conversation.

A heart that longs to be remembered for my heart.

This heart carries the problems of everyone I meet throughout the day. Not just the patients and their families, but my seniors, my juniors and my colleagues. There’s always something for it to carry and there are always ways to improve. Rest rarely comes to this heart, and when it does, I’m instantly weary and reminded of the pain that might be looming around the corner.

Today, a patient told me how anxious she was about her cancer coming back and right after spilling her fears she asked me, “are you a mum?”. I choked back my tears as I answered, “yes. Yes, I am. And I can’t imagine how hard it would be trying to live your life carrying the burden of fear on your shoulder, all the while trying to put on a brave face for them.” She nodded, lowing her head down, “so you see why I am worried?”

I am a mum.

I am a mum who spends most of my day tending to the vulnerable, to the sick, to the worried.

But I am a mum.

A mum who comes home to my little girl every night trying my very best not to drag the burdens of others through the door with me. Most of the time I am unsuccessful. And instead of leaving them at the door, they are just added to those that await me on my entry home.

The chores.

The cries.

The worries.

The guilt.

Oh, the guilt.

I’m constantly plagued by my own fear of having a daughter who will only remember me being away and coming home late. But that’s all it is – fear. Somehow, I need to find ways not to let the fear rule. Not to let the fear cripple me.

I do wonder what my daughter thinks of me, and whether my working life will ever have an impact on her. But then I think of my own mother.

A mother who worked hard for us.

A mother who sacrificed her own free time and her own joys.

A mother who loved us more than we could ever imagine.

I don’t remember her absence.

I remember her heart.

So, maybe that’s the key to beating fear.

Heart.

A heart that prays fervently and loves harder.

She has my heart. And daily I will make sure she knows that.

I will choose to show her grace.

I will choose to show her love.

And I will pray for a heart she remembers.