Skip to main content

Dear Doctor

I am very lucky to have an amazing GP. He is holistic. He cares for our whole family. I feel awful for taking up so much of his time, and obviously his thoughts too. Here is what I would like him to know. Dear Dr, When I was first told to make an appointment after seeing a locum doctor I didn't know how lucky I was to be booked in with you. Your gentle, calming manner. The mild obscenities to sympathise with how awful depression is. The way you never accepted OK as an answer and never hurried me out of your surgery. Your ability to look further than a forced smile, which is more than most people have been able to do. I read your comment on my notes "deceptively smiley". The obvious concern in your face made me feel awful but that perhaps I was important to someone. The way you have cared for my husband, chased appointments for my daughter, fought our corner with social services are things I am particularly grateful for. I am sorry that you lost some sleep over me. I know first hand some days you can't switch the compassion for a client off. Thank you for going above and beyond. Phoning every other day. Phoning my husband when I did not answer. I'm sorry I ran. It can't have been easy for you to have to warn my husband you would have to call the police if I did not comply. I'm sorry I can't come to you now with a big smile saying "We have cracked it. I no longer want to die". Truly I hope one day I can do that, and let you know what a real difference having you as our GP has made to mine and my husband's experiences the last few months. Thank you for thinking outside the box. For referring me into the therapy garden, and for art therapy. Thank you for always squeezing me in, for sharing in our pain, for remaining hopeful when I couldn't be. Thank you for telling my husband to protect my precious life. Now I hear that and try to believe it's true even though at the time I was angry you couldn't see what I see. Thank you for your patience to manage within primary care, and your wisdom and decision when the time came to say enough was enough. With the warmest regards Me

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Elusive Recovery

How do you get better? How do you recover? Do you suddenly wake with hope? Do you feel differently? Do you just notice after it has happened? What is recovery? Is recovery real?  How long does recovery take? Is it even possible? How will I know what recovery looks like? Why does it take so long? So long I gave up hope. What do I need to do now? To end this nightmare forever. I don't know how much longer I can bear this. How can I continue? To face another day. It feels like this will never end. They say it happens slowly. That recovery is possible for me. Do they really know that? Can it really be true? Is recovery possible? Is there a flicker of hope? Or is it just a fairy tale that's not truth? Each day that passes by, Hope slips further away. I feel this is life forever. The tunnel light seems dimmer. No hope, no light, just darkness forever more. I cannot see past this. The pain overwhelms me. I'm deep in a pit of despair. Recovery is a ...

A bed day

Today is a bed day. It's one of those days when I know I am safe if I sleep. It's a day when the energy to unload the washing I started 2 days ago evades me despite knowing there are no clean jumpers for school tomorrow. It's a day when the pyjamas are spread round the lounge, last night's washing up remains littered around the kitchen. The curtains are closed. It's a day when I hide under the covers wishing I had never made a stupid contract not to harm myself with my therapist. It's a day where bed really is the only thing I can manage. Where I would love a friend to come and hold my hand but I can't reach out to anyone to do so. Today is a day when I realise why my mother spent so much of my childhood in bed and fear my children will grow up with the same feeling of abandonment that I did. Where I feel both pain, shame and loss all at once. Today is a day my husband will carefully check I am still breathing when he comes in. Just in case. Today is...

Coming home

Pretty much exactly 5 months after my last church attendance I returned today. Since my last time I had only seen 3 people from the congregation face to face. People who live in my town. Who I've seen at least twice a week for years, I'd seen so few of them. Children had grown. Newborn babies now starting to move. Barely bumps now earth side. There were a few new faces too. We decided to go today because we had been invited for Sunday lunch by a couple from church. The sweet, kind hearted, godly doctor who was on duty the weekend I was first taken to hospital. I didn't give myself a choice this morning. I'd set up an excuse not to go for lunch already. Our car was broken. It was true, it was, but I knew it would be fixed in time to go. So I got up and we went. I'd spoken with my counsellor about not feeling it was my home any longer. That I wasn't part of the fellowship anymore. That physically I didn't know where to sit. Our usual seats, middle,front, with ...