Captain

Reflection

This poem was written in my FY1 year, after the first time I saw a patient die, which was on my very first nightshift. It was a sudden death, unexpected, and I was so overwhelmed with the responsibility. Even now a year later, I vividly remember standing next to the patient with 2 nurses looking at me for an answer, my bleep going off in my pocket, and a disturbing number on the blood pressure machine. I remember the feeling of panic, realising I was in charge, and then regrettably later, realising I didn’t call his family. For weeks after, I was preoccupied with the idea of his family missing his death, even with the reassurances of my registrar who said it all happened too quickly to do this. Writing this poem helped me process the weight of that responsibility, reflect on the profound impact of death in a patient’s life, and share what it feels like to carry these moments as a doctor. 

Poem

Knee deep, need sleep 

I saw someone’s breath leave 

I look for the captain — 

But the captain is me. 

Flatline, no sign, 

I’m choking on unspoken lines 

I step out just to cry 

And that was the first time I saw someone die. 

His name was Irwin 

and I, 

I didn’t call his family in time 

they say I’m learning, but sometimes 

it feels like I’m practicing on people’s lives. 

And how do you shake that feeling? 

Answering the next call, when you’re still reeling? 

“Doc, I think he’s leaving…” 

Strike now, fallout, 

This is more than burnout, 

They took my love 

and turned it inside out. 

His silent wrist, his open lips 

And his phone was still plugged in — 

While I sign — 

I sign away his life. 

And how do you shake that feeling? 

Answering the next call, when you’re still reeling? 

“Doc, I think he’s leaving…” 

Tell me, if the captain goes down with the ship 

then why do they keep me swimming on throughout the wreckage, 

on to the next ship 

on with the voyage 

driftwood in the current, 

While screaming to the sky: 

“Let me sink inside” 

“Doc, I think he’s leaving…” 

And what about me then? 

And what about grieving? 

Some nights I fear I left a part of me back in the North. 

It’s my girlhood — 

that’s the part that never saw: 

a last breath quivering 

or heard death rattles ringing 

or felt ribs cracking. 

The girl that doesn’t remember that night with Irwin: 

“Doc, I think he’s leaving” 

“Doc, I think he’s seizing” 

“Doc, you need to listen” 

“Doc” — oh, it just won’t stop — 

I’m drowning in my thoughts 

reaching for the shore 

The ship searching for the doc — 

But the captain’s come and gone 

They didn’t call his love — 

I didn’t call his love. 

Saltwater fills my lungs 

There are sand prints where I run 

This shipwreck was all I’ve got 

And now, I flee 

His last goodbye unsung 

I didn’t call his love 

“I didn’t call his love” 

I splutter 

yet I breathe 

His soul has gone above 

I take in the mountaintop 

I look how far I’ve come — 

This shipwreck and me. 

There’s nothing quite like it in this world, 

this sacred scarring. 

I hope I’ll be brave when it’s my turn 

Brave like Irwin. 

Dr Hina Hafiz

F2, Wessex Foundation School

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