Friday on the Ward 

During my second Friday on the ward as a doctor, I randomly burst into tears in front of one of my patients’ wives.  

I think it would be prudent to wind back and explain the penultimate events. This is being written retrospectively, months on even, so some of my memories of this day have gone a bit blurry around the edges. I remember it was relentless. It always starts off with the gut-sinking introduction to board round “phlebotomists can’t make it today”, adding an hour of jobs to my day before we even hit 9:15am. We chug through ward round, which accumulates a few specialty referrals and various other jobs. We finished around 1pm. I attend a second daily board round which brought me to 1:30pm. For some reason that day, the microbiologist had asked to me attend an endocarditis MDT on teams which as a new doctor, I thought was a mandatory part of my job (although it is a good learning experience). The prospect of lunch briefly drifts and swiftly leaves my brain as I think about the bloods I need to take. I launch myself into my own phlebotomist round, my pockets full with bags of blood, praying the results return before the end of the day. Then, and just then, I was able to crack onto my jobs – some of which include figuring out why exactly the consultant wanted a specific referral (I should have asked), prescribing some scary big boy antibiotics for endocarditis and answering bleeps, all lengthened by the general inexperience of being a very new doctor.  

I remember struggling to complete my jobs due to constant distraction from the ward; including my nursing colleagues asking me questions about my patients, and informing me three different families wanted updates. I was drowning. My head ached from my unintentional fast (I was not a breakfast person). And I was becoming acutely aware that one of the families had been waiting nearly two hours, the wife who had been prefaced by the ward sister to be notorious for “sending PALS complaints” against several other wards. As a twenty-three year old girl who still has her lunch made by her Mother, one and a half weeks into her first full time job, I was petrified. Each minute that went by where I did not go to update this lady was like a ticking time bomb shadowing my every move. Where will I find the time to talk to her when I have so much work to do? I’m reminded by my nursing colleague that she is still waiting and I shoot up to my feet instantly. I walk over to this lady without thinking and start to apologise profusely, reassuring her that I have not forgotten to come and update her just that I am drowning. As the words leave me, my body decides to enact my dialogue. The well bursts and I am raining on this lady whom I have just met for the first time. Immediately, the thought dawns on me – what if she thinks I’m crying so she does not complain – a thought which should sober me up but only does the opposite. This lady who had been so sharp and insensitive in my mind had her arms around me in seconds, reassuring me that it was okay, she understands, she can come back on Monday. Tissues were thrust in my hand, and she would not let go until my tears had started to dry, only to pull me to her husband, who hugged me from the bed, an extremely unwell man that I was so worried about – yet here he was, comforting me? The tears restarted and shock that I was crying, actually crying, in the middle of a bay of sick patients, washed over me. As soon as I pulled away from them, promising to come back, I leave the ward and try to collect myself in the toilets.  

I’m back on the ward within minutes because the thought “I have so much to do” continued to ricochet in my brain. I force a banana down and it was like a sticking a plaster on a deep gushing laceration. I had tried my best to ensure I did not look like I had been crying but to no avail. From one look at my face, the SHO (quick shoutout to DP) was onto me and demanded I offload some of jobs to him. 

He went to update that family on my behalf (without telling me may I add), and kindly stayed behind to help me finish my jobs. So for the soon-to-be F1s, please take the following into account; One, you are allowed to leave the ward when you are overwhelmed. Your mental health ALWAYS comes first. Two, your colleagues are the best. They will help you if they can. But they will not know to do so unless you ask! And finally – relatives are usually not as scary as you think! If you are worried about speaking to certain relatives, or safeguarding concerns have been flagged up in the past, please, please, please take someone with you. This can be anyone – another doctor, the ward sister or even one of the nurses. However, if you feel it is beyond your limits to chat to a certain relative for whatever reason, then you are also allowed to escalate to a senior – whether this be your SHO, registrar or even consultant. 

Dr Marrya Ben-Gharbia

F1, North West of England Foundation School

All previous HOFP articles can be found on on our HOFP webpage