My First

He’s going to be my first, but I wish with everything I have for that not to be true.

He’s young. He has a gorgeous family I also care for and take care of.
He is dying of cancer.
I am a GP reg about to fellow, hopefully. If I can survive this.

Because no one talks about how hard it is to get to know a family, to take care of them. How lovely they are. How devastating this is.

In the hospital system I was semi-removed. A cog in the giant wheel of medicine. I hurt, but it was remote. I knew a patient for a week, maybe a month. It was awful, but I could survive.

But when his wife is sat in my room crying huge tears of sadness, asking me about palliative care referrals and how she can explain this to pre-teenage children, it hurts so much more. I want to scream at the universe that it isn’t fair. I want to burn something down in rage and injustice.

As my supervisor says,
This is my first.
It won’t be my last.
Somehow I have to be okay.