Out of my Control

We started Geriatrics in the second week of January. Now I look back at the time I have had in the Hospital, the Geriatric teams had the greatest number of patients and I never heard them complain. The Gastroenterology team had an average of five to ten patients per day and that for them was difficult enough to manage. The Geriatrics team I was assigned had an average of thirty a day and not once did they concern themselves with intensity. It was in this term that I met Irene.

She had been admitted with a urinary tract infection on a background of leukaemia as well as multiple other problems and this was quite a typical story for the patients in Geriatrics. My colleague and I developed quite a meaningful relationship with Irene and aside from visiting her usually with the team in the mornings, we did go out of our way to see her and make sure she was doing alright. After having some surgery for her urological problems, she was doing quite alright and eventually was discharged from the hospital. I didn't get a chance to say goodbye because I had already moved off into Gastroenterology.

Then one day in Gastroenterology, I saw her being wheeled down the corridor in another ward and we recognised each other. We spoke very briefly and I promised I would see her again at the end of the day. After a daunting day in Gastroenterology, I decided to visit her. She was in her own room trying to cut through some apricots in custard because they were cut in halves when I walked in. I helped cut her apricots and she was so very happy about that. We spoke briefly and she told me that she was admitted this time for shortness of breath and chest pain, which was explained by a pulmonary embolism.

I gave her my word that I would visit her regularly. Again, she was discharged before I could say goodbye.

Last week I started my Upper Gastrointestinal Surgery rotation and surgery in its own right is demanding. The registrars, residents and interns were all rushing around making sure things were done and there were so many standards to meet. Luckily, the Department of Surgery thought it might be a good idea to conduct some formal teaching for us medical students. I was on my way to a tutorial and I ran into my colleague, who is on a different surgical team - the colleague that I was paired with in Geriatrics who knew Irene more so than I.

"I thought you should know... Irene's in the resuscitation bay."


Oh no.. What brings her back this time?


"I think the provisional diagnosis is sepsis. Go and check her out soon."


At that point, I must've realised what he was getting at. Alright, I'm heading down now. 


Just then, the surgeon showed up to deliver our tutorial and I had not a chance to leave. We discussed surgery to the thyroid gland and formal dissection of the neck, which in its own right is incredibly complicated. I promised myself that I would go and see her as soon as we were done in the tutorial.

Finally the surgeon said he was finished and my friend wanted my help to find a book in the library. I sorted that out with him and headed straight to Emergency. My colleague was already there with a blank look on his face.

Hey man, which bed number is she in?


Silence. "She's moved on."


It didn't hit me. What? Where? Which ward? - He kept looking at me until it clicked. I realised what he meant - she died. I walked over to her bed and saw the curtains drawn with her family weeping. I saw the distress on her husband's face, who was admitted not more than a few hours before she left us for funny turns at home.

I couldn't believe it. I promised this lady that I would see her again and that I would do the best I can to help her. I found out that she was in hospital and I promised I would make time after the surgical tutorial. Then I failed forever. I could not take back what happened.

So there was a chance, if I skipped the tutorial, that I would have seen her one last time. I could've said goodbye. There could have been closure with the family from my part.

I came back an hour later and asked if I could go in and see her one more time; there she was. Frozen and lifeless with her jaw open. The shell of the spirit still remained behind, reminding us of the person that once was. I expressed my condolences to everyone in the room but I was so afraid to say anything because moments like that, if ruined, would never be forgotten.

Composing myself meant hiding in the dirty utility until the breathing exercises held the tears back. I was in the surgical team - shedding tears during this rotation would be suicide in my eyes. I decided to leave the hospital. After sorting out a few quarrels with the registrar, I left.

I got home and listened to the song I've listened to every day of my life for three years. I had to cry and I did, listening to the song that filled me with guilt, hopelessness and regret. I could've been there one more time.

I'm so sorry.