Not everything was bad about North Staffordshire NHS Trust. The Clinical Guidelines was always an excellent booklet, the men were always devilishly handsome and the canteen food was fantastic. The hot morning toast made by the nurses was always wonderful and chocolate was always available at each nurses station.
As a final year medical student there, I often felt much like a small fish in a large sea. The man to the rescue was the wonderfully charming Dr John Gregan. John and I met at a coke machine that we both ended up kicking. We managed to get one can - which he gave me.
John offered to take me under his wing. As an extremely shy medical student who was effectively lost, I took him up on his offer. John wasn't classically or anatomically handsome but he had amazing appeal. His character was in his eyes. Over that year, John and I were to meet a few times, sometimes over cardiac arrests, sometimes at the canteen and sometimes in the corridor. As a student, I always found it amusing that he used to run to the cardiac arrest, get his clinical guidelines out, swot up on what he was supposed to do and then be superb on the clinical dance floor. That was a habit I picked up. We learned that even toilet time was reading time because you never knew what emergency would come up. Dr John Gregan taught me all about general medicine as a student then as a doctor. He always told me I was quick on the uptake and soon catching up with him. Of course, I looked up to John. Not only did he have the most wonderful sparkling irish eyes but he was the closest I had to a mentor or direction. John was kind to me and I learned to recognise his footsteps walking behind me, the swish of his white coat and his wonderful irish accent.
John was with me on the first day at North Staffordshire NHS Trust and on the last day there. He felt a kind of fatherly responsibility for me. Through the cardiac arrests we did together, I often wondered what he was like out of his white coat! Then I always think observational studies are a good thing and there was no doubt that an SHO much more senior than me who was 6ft2 naturally drew my attention. Of course, I never saw him out of his white coat but the thought always lived in my mind and amused me somewhat. It possibly still does. Then there is always something sexy about irish men. He took me to a dinner to a local diner on the first night I was there and told me that the place was besieged with medical politics and that no one got on with anyone else. He also told me to keep my head down and work hard. I listened to John. I admired John and in a large, cold and lonely place John was the only friend I had at the start. As we develop in life, we often discover all the people who remain in our memories with affection. John though influenced me a great deal. He also cared what happened to me.
Through the 120 hour weeks, the hard work and the world of medicine, my breaks were taken in poetry. In the first few months, I had written the Minds Eye, a collection of poetry that was sold for Heal, a children's charity. John liked poetry. He insisted that he have a copy of my poems. He was irish afterall. John though had made the mistake to accidentally leave the poetry book in his accomodation's living room. It was read by those who probably didn't understand it and nor did they appreciate it. These few doctors used my poetry against me then and then later in life on a doctors only web site as apparent evidence of my so called mental instability. That is of course the issue with whistleblowers, there is a sort of frenzy around them where each fragment of their life is analysed as an oddity. The fact was that I had won a few prizes for my poetry and I was fairly good at it. The Minds Eye despite being self published had sold out that year. John Gregan adored the poetry. I think it fascinated him that someone who appeared so straight laced was able to swirl emotion into words.
Poetry analyses emotion and for some reason many people assume that doctors should not have emotions nor are they supposed to be human. Doctors are often very human. It is simply a sad fact that the profession does not consist of more flamboyant and colourful characters. Straight lace is always the visual image of the doctor. I probably fell somewhere in the middle as did John. Trapped between the expectation of us and our flamboyant personalities.
The other problem with busy doctors and students is that they are fairly bad at relationships.In a arena of heightened emotion as hospitals are, there is always an excess of many things such as affairs or even sex. For me, the distinct problem was that John Gregan made me nervous. He made me so nervous that I dropped most things while I was with him. Each embarrassing clumsy behaviour made him smile more in my direction. Tripping was always a problem of mine. There was a time where I tripped an fell over a medical notes trolley in front of Dr John Green. The same problem often happened with John Gregan. John though was always there to hold me and prevent me from falling down completely. The problem was though that when John was around, I froze. This happened to be regularly. I knew I cared about John intensely but the problem was that I could never tell him. We were in a sitting room once where he had made me coffee. We discussed many things. John though looked straight at me, placed his tea down, walked up to me, knelt on the floor on his knees while his white coat sprawled around him. He held my hands in his while I sat frozen on the chair. He said many things but I wasn't concentrating. The sweat dropped down the back of my neck, I flinched, nervously whipped my hands from his then walked into the kitchen and carried on as normal. This I believe was my problem, I had no idea what to do regarding John. I could not believe for a minute that he would find me remotely attractive - afterall he was all grown up and I wasn't - not just yet anyway. While in the kitchen, I gathered my composure and didn't quite know what John had intended but I was far too nervous to even find out. Essentially, I had blown it.
I always thought about John, during oncalls, during our meetings at the canteen or the corridors, during work, during my dates with other men. I though never knew how to tell John how I felt and on each practise session in my mind, it always went all wrong. For a poet, I wasn't much good at this. In John's eyes, I was the little girl he took care of on occasion. Time went by fairly fast in the first three months. Just before the time on Ward 87, I was oncall one night and completing some drug charts etc when I heard two nurses speaking. John Gregan was to be married to my then raven haired Senior House Officer who was Irish. John had never told me about this. Their words made me break slowly while I wrote the medical notes up. It was at that point that I felt myself breaking and the tears flowed through onto the drug charts. Infact, there was that claustrophobic feeling of imprisonment in my own secret.
John and I were to meet one last time - he had come to my room as news had flown about my resignation. He was there sitting on my mattress in my half packed room telling me that what I needed to do. As always he was watching out for me. He also told me that he knew that Ward 87 was a problem. He was the only kind face I trusted at the time. I had forgiven John for never telling me about his girlfriend or his impending marriage. At that point, if that made him happy, I would never stop him. During the Ward 87, I had nothing more to offer, I was at the lowest point and I knew that all losses come in threes.
As usual I listened to John. As he sat on my bed, I looked into his eyes and smiled and knew that I was a very lucky girl to have him cross my path albeit for a short while. I asked him whether he was getting married. He told me that it was all planned and I smiled lightly at him and told him she was a wonderful woman to have. I had a certain admiration for his raven haired wife to be because I knew she would keep his roving eye under control. She was the right woman for him - because essentially he needed to be controlled from his wild ideas and wild ways. I also realised that I needed to let him go to her with my blessing. I also understood that I loved him enough to let him go - because it was his happiness that mattered most of all.
John was my oasis in the desert at the hospital. While the dark vultures flew around me in November 1998, John was often like a breeze that made me realise that there were far more important things in life that the whirlwind I found myself in. He meant many things to me but most of all his happiness was the most important thing for me. For sometime, I cried the tears that no one knew of. Some say it was unrequited but we will never know. There is though a finality about marriage, a crucifixion for those who are left behind. Marriage is sacred and my belief in that has often left me shattered, running in the other direction in the face of love for one that essentially belongs to another. People marry for many reasons, one of them may well be love and the other is loneliness. I have never understood why people have to get married because it isn't the certificate that binds them but their love for each other. Even in the sacred bond of marriage, many people can exist in lonely lives because those who make compromises and never wait for their soulmates are always alone. As the history books have always said, the purest forms of love are unobtainable and imprisoned for another.
I wrote this poem for John many years ago [ he doesn't know about it but I am sure he would approve of it]. After a decade, the poem is the only reminder that he existed at a time in the past.
As a final year medical student there, I often felt much like a small fish in a large sea. The man to the rescue was the wonderfully charming Dr John Gregan. John and I met at a coke machine that we both ended up kicking. We managed to get one can - which he gave me.
John offered to take me under his wing. As an extremely shy medical student who was effectively lost, I took him up on his offer. John wasn't classically or anatomically handsome but he had amazing appeal. His character was in his eyes. Over that year, John and I were to meet a few times, sometimes over cardiac arrests, sometimes at the canteen and sometimes in the corridor. As a student, I always found it amusing that he used to run to the cardiac arrest, get his clinical guidelines out, swot up on what he was supposed to do and then be superb on the clinical dance floor. That was a habit I picked up. We learned that even toilet time was reading time because you never knew what emergency would come up. Dr John Gregan taught me all about general medicine as a student then as a doctor. He always told me I was quick on the uptake and soon catching up with him. Of course, I looked up to John. Not only did he have the most wonderful sparkling irish eyes but he was the closest I had to a mentor or direction. John was kind to me and I learned to recognise his footsteps walking behind me, the swish of his white coat and his wonderful irish accent.
John was with me on the first day at North Staffordshire NHS Trust and on the last day there. He felt a kind of fatherly responsibility for me. Through the cardiac arrests we did together, I often wondered what he was like out of his white coat! Then I always think observational studies are a good thing and there was no doubt that an SHO much more senior than me who was 6ft2 naturally drew my attention. Of course, I never saw him out of his white coat but the thought always lived in my mind and amused me somewhat. It possibly still does. Then there is always something sexy about irish men. He took me to a dinner to a local diner on the first night I was there and told me that the place was besieged with medical politics and that no one got on with anyone else. He also told me to keep my head down and work hard. I listened to John. I admired John and in a large, cold and lonely place John was the only friend I had at the start. As we develop in life, we often discover all the people who remain in our memories with affection. John though influenced me a great deal. He also cared what happened to me.
Through the 120 hour weeks, the hard work and the world of medicine, my breaks were taken in poetry. In the first few months, I had written the Minds Eye, a collection of poetry that was sold for Heal, a children's charity. John liked poetry. He insisted that he have a copy of my poems. He was irish afterall. John though had made the mistake to accidentally leave the poetry book in his accomodation's living room. It was read by those who probably didn't understand it and nor did they appreciate it. These few doctors used my poetry against me then and then later in life on a doctors only web site as apparent evidence of my so called mental instability. That is of course the issue with whistleblowers, there is a sort of frenzy around them where each fragment of their life is analysed as an oddity. The fact was that I had won a few prizes for my poetry and I was fairly good at it. The Minds Eye despite being self published had sold out that year. John Gregan adored the poetry. I think it fascinated him that someone who appeared so straight laced was able to swirl emotion into words.
Poetry analyses emotion and for some reason many people assume that doctors should not have emotions nor are they supposed to be human. Doctors are often very human. It is simply a sad fact that the profession does not consist of more flamboyant and colourful characters. Straight lace is always the visual image of the doctor. I probably fell somewhere in the middle as did John. Trapped between the expectation of us and our flamboyant personalities.
The other problem with busy doctors and students is that they are fairly bad at relationships.In a arena of heightened emotion as hospitals are, there is always an excess of many things such as affairs or even sex. For me, the distinct problem was that John Gregan made me nervous. He made me so nervous that I dropped most things while I was with him. Each embarrassing clumsy behaviour made him smile more in my direction. Tripping was always a problem of mine. There was a time where I tripped an fell over a medical notes trolley in front of Dr John Green. The same problem often happened with John Gregan. John though was always there to hold me and prevent me from falling down completely. The problem was though that when John was around, I froze. This happened to be regularly. I knew I cared about John intensely but the problem was that I could never tell him. We were in a sitting room once where he had made me coffee. We discussed many things. John though looked straight at me, placed his tea down, walked up to me, knelt on the floor on his knees while his white coat sprawled around him. He held my hands in his while I sat frozen on the chair. He said many things but I wasn't concentrating. The sweat dropped down the back of my neck, I flinched, nervously whipped my hands from his then walked into the kitchen and carried on as normal. This I believe was my problem, I had no idea what to do regarding John. I could not believe for a minute that he would find me remotely attractive - afterall he was all grown up and I wasn't - not just yet anyway. While in the kitchen, I gathered my composure and didn't quite know what John had intended but I was far too nervous to even find out. Essentially, I had blown it.
I always thought about John, during oncalls, during our meetings at the canteen or the corridors, during work, during my dates with other men. I though never knew how to tell John how I felt and on each practise session in my mind, it always went all wrong. For a poet, I wasn't much good at this. In John's eyes, I was the little girl he took care of on occasion. Time went by fairly fast in the first three months. Just before the time on Ward 87, I was oncall one night and completing some drug charts etc when I heard two nurses speaking. John Gregan was to be married to my then raven haired Senior House Officer who was Irish. John had never told me about this. Their words made me break slowly while I wrote the medical notes up. It was at that point that I felt myself breaking and the tears flowed through onto the drug charts. Infact, there was that claustrophobic feeling of imprisonment in my own secret.
John and I were to meet one last time - he had come to my room as news had flown about my resignation. He was there sitting on my mattress in my half packed room telling me that what I needed to do. As always he was watching out for me. He also told me that he knew that Ward 87 was a problem. He was the only kind face I trusted at the time. I had forgiven John for never telling me about his girlfriend or his impending marriage. At that point, if that made him happy, I would never stop him. During the Ward 87, I had nothing more to offer, I was at the lowest point and I knew that all losses come in threes.
As usual I listened to John. As he sat on my bed, I looked into his eyes and smiled and knew that I was a very lucky girl to have him cross my path albeit for a short while. I asked him whether he was getting married. He told me that it was all planned and I smiled lightly at him and told him she was a wonderful woman to have. I had a certain admiration for his raven haired wife to be because I knew she would keep his roving eye under control. She was the right woman for him - because essentially he needed to be controlled from his wild ideas and wild ways. I also realised that I needed to let him go to her with my blessing. I also understood that I loved him enough to let him go - because it was his happiness that mattered most of all.
John was my oasis in the desert at the hospital. While the dark vultures flew around me in November 1998, John was often like a breeze that made me realise that there were far more important things in life that the whirlwind I found myself in. He meant many things to me but most of all his happiness was the most important thing for me. For sometime, I cried the tears that no one knew of. Some say it was unrequited but we will never know. There is though a finality about marriage, a crucifixion for those who are left behind. Marriage is sacred and my belief in that has often left me shattered, running in the other direction in the face of love for one that essentially belongs to another. People marry for many reasons, one of them may well be love and the other is loneliness. I have never understood why people have to get married because it isn't the certificate that binds them but their love for each other. Even in the sacred bond of marriage, many people can exist in lonely lives because those who make compromises and never wait for their soulmates are always alone. As the history books have always said, the purest forms of love are unobtainable and imprisoned for another.
I wrote this poem for John many years ago [ he doesn't know about it but I am sure he would approve of it]. After a decade, the poem is the only reminder that he existed at a time in the past.
Ghosts of You
As I watch you glide down the isle
The church desolate in my own world
Smiles scatter around me like ghosts
Of autumn memories when the noticed
Turn of my head took your gaze
To talk in monotony of comfortable belonged conversation
I mask the smile to grant you happiness
My heart crucifying in the vicars voice
Fatal final fusion’s on holy worlds
My words fail me to protest for you belong
To my soul, my life, my world
Hold me cold statued in the morgue
Deal me with spades, save aces for her
Take thee for your lawful wedded wife
Take me to desert oasis of fairytales
To love and cherish
To share my world
Till death do us part
For all eternity
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