Let Me Tell You A Short Story of a Man I Once Loved

Regardless of everything that happened, my heart does break for him in the smallest of ways. I do believe I had unlocked another part to his wellbeing, slowly illuminating fresh perspectives to his life. We loved exploring these together, both him and I, and I really did believe he had the potential to become something great.

I found out things no one had ever bothered to explore before

He was quiet

He was calm

And he was sensitive 

And deep down he was a genuinely good person, one who deserved all the love in the world. 

But he couldn’t accept it

He couldn’t accept it because his family and friends didn’t want it for him, and he didn’t know anything more than how to keep them happy. It didn’t matter that he had to break his neck, bend over backwards, quietly accept the silent indignities committed against him while he made his way through the turmoil. His family tore down his dreams and aspirations time and time again, manipulated and nagged their way into having complete control over his life, believing power and control were the only way forward (boy were they disappointed).

And when the consequences of his childhood caught up with him, each and every person he had listened to turned their backs. He had sacrificed happiness his entire life, just to be left alone when he needed them the most. He was left  to fend for himself, an empty broken shell of the man I truly believe he could have been. 

I pray for him whenever I remember him, and wish him well

As for them, I don’t think they will ever learn their lesson, but I do hope he moves on and finds peace🙏🏽

(And you)

(And all of us)

There is no future (for doctors) in the NHS

I don’t know why I feel the need to rant about this at 4:25 in the morning, but it is a subject that has been on my mind a lot in the last few months. Continue to read at your own peril.

As a practicing NHS doctor for just over 5 years, I think I can fairly say that the outlook for the NHS is looking fairly grim (you know, just to state the completely obvious). I came to this country a timid F2 level doctor, having just completed a 1 year internship in Dubai, and found myself having to quickly adjust to the so called ‘adult’ life (bills, HMRC, tax, HMRC, exams, HMRC, budgeting, HMRC, national insurance, GP, HMRC, find a job, relocate, tell HMRC - you get the picture). I adored my work as a doctor (with all its' trials and tribulations), and I also had the advantage of being a Sudanese doctor with a mostly British background - both my parents were doctors and moved to England just before I was born to escape the Civil war in the Gulf (1980s - 1990s). They spent their early days locuming but gradually worked their way up to consultant posts in gastroenterology and paediatrics. I think my dad had been a practicing consultant for only a few years but before I knew it, we had suddenly packed up and left our house in Liverpool to permanently reside in Sudan.

As you can imagine, I did not take this move very well. I had no idea why it had been necessary. Both my parents had good jobs, they were able to support both two daughters and also various members of the extended family back in Sudan. But pose this question to my dad at the time, and ask if he would ever go back, and you’d be met with a frown and a grunt of disapproval. ‘England? Pffff... never’.

I have only now, almost 18 years later, begun to understand why my dad rejects every job opportunity that comes his way (from the NHS). Today he told me he has been hounded almost weekly by calls from random British numbers, offering very high rates for locum work in the UK. He’s not sure he wants to do it, and I find this particularly interesting considering the fact that when he did work as a doctor here, the NHS was in much better shape than it is today. He is aware, through watching the news, that prospects for training as a doctor here are rapidly declining, and spent all of last year pushing me to complete GP training so I could find better work in Canada.

Needless to say neither he nor mum were happy when I told them I had quit the program one year after I’d started it, and was considering something new. I found myself asking; what went wrong?

When I questioned why he persevered and insisted I find another training job, I realised that the answer was something I’d known all along. He knew the struggle of living in a foreign country and all the ins and outs of being employed in the UK. In his eyes, being a doctor was a way to make it easier - he shares the belief of almost every Sudanese parent I know (his generation at least), that the only way they can ensure their children can live a productive, comfortable life is by dedicating their time and efforts towards medicine. We’d better keep our heads down, work hard and thank the Lord because every other field of work will be wrought with hardships and financial instability.

But it is this nostalgia that is the root of a lot of problems facing my generation of Sudanese doctors, and certainly those of other ethnicities as well. I have, on occasion, asked a few different colleagues from work if they would let their children study medicine - only a small percent said they would never (and a large proportion of them where white). Some felt that medicine was too much of a struggle as a career but they could see no other way to guarantee financial independence for their kids. Only one was quite open about the fact that all of his kids were to study medicine, and if not, dentistry or other related fields.

I feel that this is something that requires a massive change of an almost sacred practice for some families. There are a few doctors in younger generations who are more aware now that medicine is not what it used to be. They know that most health care professionals live a life of stress, anxiety and a never ending cycle of oncalls and missed weekends. I will not even begin to talk about the impact of some of the decisions our government has made with the NHS in the last 5 or 6 years, or the funding issues and capped salaries, or the way the population of NHS doctors has been dropping like flies - that is a conversation for another day. I can only hope this awareness is something that I see continue to grow, because if something does not change soon, we will be subjecting the next generation to a life of turmoil.

Rant over.

بريدك

It was almost as if she was living out the entire spectrum of human emotion, within this one person.

"بريدك" is what he told her. And she relished in his comfort.

She relished in his affection.

When they first met, she never knew what drew her to him. He was the opposite of everything she had ever looked for in a man. But between them was a chemistry that fueled a short lived, high-powered roller coaster ride that had her friends wondering if she was even the same person.

She knew something was not quite right. A tiny but significant part of her mind was telling her she was chasing a crazy dream. But like all women, she wanted to stick around and hope for the best.

Even when that dream collapsed all around her, before she'd had time to enjoy it, she still gave it life. It would crash, and she would put on a brave face while trying to get through the grueling process of removing him from her heart. She would almost succeed, until he was a distant blip in her memory, a mistake to be forgotten.

And then he would contact her. Whether it was a call or a message, his name would appear on her screen after six or seven months of silence, completely melting her resolve. Six or seven months of her not giving him a second thought would end as abruptly as they had started, with her welcoming him back into her life with open arms.

And the cycle would start again. All the things she'd grown attached to in the past would slowly become a part of her life again, until she grew to cherish them. She fell for his words, perhaps a little too deeply; she fell for how he told her she was beautiful, how he missed her when they had lost contact. He'd tell her she'd sometimes put a smile on his face whenever he'd remember her, even when they had fought and weren't necessarily on the best of terms.

And this was the grief she had to live with: at times, he had the ability to make her soul soar from the rooftops. At others, he shook the very grounds on which her confidence lay. It became the norm; a process that showed no signs of changing. She no longer had the energy to keep up with it, but she kept going back. She kept reliving it all, through his pictures that she couldn't take off her phone, to his messages that went back to the day they first met. She would get angry, mostly at herself, for having no will power to see it through to the end. Because at the end of the day, after all the hurt was out of her system, she could only see herself through his eyes; the eyes of someone who, when she went to bed at night after a long day, calmed her anxiety when he expressed her affection for her. The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was that one word...

"بريدك"


 

Eyes Closed Tight

Eyes closed tight

I remember the way your left dimple made the perfect path to your lips
Asking me to kiss you.

Eyes closed tight, I remember the way your fingers curled around my hands
Holding on to them like a mother cradling a child
Keeping it safe from the outside world

Eyes closed tight, I remember the way your lips hugged my eyelids, my cheeks
The way they caressed the folds on my neck, the dip between my collar bones

Eyes closed tight,
I remember the way your arms wrapped themselves around me
I'd hear you say my name, and my heart would skip a beat
Or two
Or three
I remember the way it would fill my entire being
Leaving no room for thought, nor a care in the world...
As long as we were one.

A Troubled Heart (Part 3)

The cold grass tickled her toes, soothing the ache she felt in her feet after a long day’s work at the hospital. He had suggested they find a place to sit, and without waiting for her to say anything, had already made his way over to the lawn and sat down. She followed him to where he now lay, stretched out as if he was in his own bed, ready to call it a night. She found comfort in the stillness, the cool breeze, and in the way he casually lay down next to her, looking up at the sky as if he was lost in its blackness. It amused her slightly; he had never been a very reflective person, but the way he looked now, it was almost as if important life decisions were being made in his head at this very moment. She looked up to take in the sights; the London Eye, standing tall in all its glory… the dark, calm river to their right, illuminated slightly by the lights on the bridge above it. The sound of a violin playing somewhere off in the distance and the gentle murmur of other peoples’ conversation carried through the wind, adding to the atmosphere.

For a long time, neither one of them said anything.

She found herself thinking about her first relationship. It had ended horribly. She met Aiman just a few months after starting university, and for eight months they had lived the typical whirlwind romance. For eight months she had been completely absorbed in him, spending every free minute she had in his presence. She remembered how she couldn't go to sleep at night until he had called her, how he lit up her darkness with an unrelenting spark that always managed to keep her fire for him burning. That was until he suddenly decided to leave the country to pursue his studies elsewhere, and seemed to do so without a care for their relationship. She had then spent the next two years in a world where Aiman was no longer a reality but a raw, open wound. She buried herself in the pain of his memory, let herself get intoxicated by it, barely getting by on the bare minimum of human interaction. She had lost her ability to trust anyone entirely.
 

Which was why there had been one thing that she had found strange on the way down to the London Eye. It had bothered her immensely, but at the same time made her feel at ease, as much as it confused her. Usually when someone had tapped into her emotions the way her friend had just now, she would feel exposed and vulnerable. Her first instinct would be to shut down, stay far away from them and any opportunity they might see to explore her affection. In her mind, it was the only way she could protect herself from going through the long drawn out process of trying to move on from a relationship; she had no desire to ever go through it again. But this time was different: she didn’t mind that he now had some idea of what was going on. He was incredibly difficult to deal with on most occasions, but for some reason she thought she could trust herself, and him, to let things play out.

'Do you want to talk about it?'. He had come out of his reverie, sat up, brushed bits of damp grass off the back of his t-shirt and turned around to face her.

'No' she answered; that was the last thing on her mind at this moment. What she wanted was more moments like this, for their friendship to stay in limbo, while she had time to process this new window that had opened up between them. The way she saw it, it was only going to go one of two ways; he would either reciprocate and they would start this new journey together, or he would tell her he didn't feel the same way about her, and that she should move on.

She had no idea which one it was going to be, but she did know one thing for certain; she did not want to find out right now. The day was going so well, and she didn't want to ruin it by having her feelings for him turned down.

 

A Troubled Heart (Part 2)

It was warmer than she had expected. Because it was summer, the streets teemed with the usual party goers, the shoppers and the bored teenagers looking for entertainment; they usually found it amidst bouts of drunken stupour, and things tended to get violent. When she had first moved to the UK from Abu Dhabi, she had found it difficult to fathom why they let things get out of hand the way they did. It baffled her, and in a way she pitied them. But as she grew accustomed to their way of life, she had come to understand, to some extent, why the British indulged in drinking as much as they did. It was their way of getting away from the stress of a long week at work, and in all fairness, this country offered little else in terms of entertainment. 

She made her way through central London. Her friend was staying at the Palace Court Hotel, where she was going to pick him up. Their first destination would be the Jubilee Gardens, where the famous London Eye towered over the soft green lawns and the many trees decorated with tiny white lights. It was prettier than she cared to admit, particularly at night. She despised crowds, and she knew there would be far too many people there for her liking. She preferred to stay away from the usual spots, but tonight that would be impossible; it was a Friday night. The British would revel in the freedom of the weekend with a vengeance, and the weather made it so much more difficult for them to stay indoors. The reason she was bringing him here tonight was because it was one of the places you simply had to see in London, particularly if you were a first-comer; it offered beauty, peace and a sense of tranquility. They would talk and catch up, and maybe later enjoy a meal at one of the restaurants sprawled around the area.

Palace Court Hotel loomed ahead of her. She pulled up, took out her cell phone and sent him a message, "I'm downstairs, come on out". Putting her phone on the seat next to her, she fixed her scarf and checked her makeup. She saw her screen light up. It was from him.

"Come on up, I'm still not ready. Room 836"

She had been afraid of this. She knew he was staying alone. Not that anything was going to happen, but her stress levels tended to go through the roof whenever she had found herself alone with him in a confined space. It was known in her religion that no two people of the opposite sex would be found alone, unless their third companion was the devil himself... It simply wasn't allowed. It was so much easier for him because he didn't feel that way about her, but to her it would be one of the many battles she would have to fight tonight.

She tried to steady her mounting apprehension. Parking her car behind the hotel, she walked into the lobby and asked for directions to the room at the reception. The receptionist was a young Asian woman with a kind face, who seemed to notice that there was far too much going on in her mind. She pointed her in the direction of the lifts and told her to go up to the fourth floor and turn right. Room 836 would be the seventh door on her left.

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The room was a mess, as was to be expected; tidiness had never been one of his strong points. As soon as she walked in she was met with the sight of a huge pile of clothes... it seemed he had simply turned his suitcase upside down on the bed and left its contents there, rummaging through them every once in a while to find an item of clothing to wear. But it was filled with his unique perfume, something she had grown to love. He was looking for his watch when she showed up. They greeted each other and hugged briefly, but then he continued to look for the watch, talking to himself in the usual way that he did. She contented herself with watching him flit around the room, realising just how much she missed being around him. She took a good look at him. He seemed to have lost a little weight since she last saw him. His job was a demanding one, and she remembered how much trouble she had to go through to get him to simply have something to eat. By the looks of it, none of that had changed since she had left the UAE.

The minutes ticked on. As he continued to look around the room, he started to tell her about how Abu Dhabi had pretty much stayed the same since she had left 7 months ago. The work hours were still crazy, the weather still stiflingly hot, the people still bored. She would give anything to be there with her family, but she knew he was right. He went on and on, his rambling punctuated only by her inattentive nods, until she realised she was no longer listening to him. Her mind had drifted, and she found herself reminiscing on the times they had spent together when she was still there. The memories had come in full force, drowning out the sound of his voice... There were the late nights out on the relaxing beaches of Dubai, lights sparkling in the distance, cool breeze blowing pleasantly against her face. The sound of the calm waters gently lapping at the sand. The laughter. The third cup of hot chocolate. The feeling that she could stay there forever, safe in his presence. They didn't do anything remotely interesting, but his company had been more than enough for her. Even though it had happened a long time ago, she still felt the familiar warmth unfurling from her stomach to her very fingertips. It was the same feeling that had pestered her each and every time they met; the feeling that she was content, at peace with everyone and everything. The world was a happy place.

She became so lost in her thoughts, she didn't realise he was calling her name. He had found his watch and was ready to go. By the time she had pulled her mind back to the present, he was watching her with a slight frown on his face. He asked if she was alright. Her first instinct was to say no, that she had something she wanted to tell him, and that she had been wanting to tell him for a while. But this was not information she could simply divulge on the spot, not at this point. She wasn't ready. And she was sure he wouldn't be either.

She smiled and reassured him that she was fine. He didn't look for a second like he believed her, but chose not to question her any further. She picked up her handbag and turned around to open the door so they could finally make it out of the room. She couldn't help noticing before she did though, that he had watched her eyes and locked them in for perhaps a second too long. And with a sinking feeling she realised what it was. Something in his dark eyes had changed in that split second before she broke contact. It was like watching a curtain being lifted. Realisation had sunk in, and he had given her the impression that his mind had begun to work furiously, sifting through every encounter they had shared in the last two years. In that split second, they had all been given a new meaning, pieces of a large complicated puzzle that had finally come together to form one solid, undeniable truth.

A Troubled Heart

She had often been told she felt too much. Nobody knew exactly 'how' much, and that one night in London had proved to her just how right they were.

It was a warm, overcast night. He had come to visit her, and was staying in one of the hotels on the outskirts of London. They had planned a night out, as it was his first time in the UK.

Just knowing that he was now on English soil had filled her with an apprehension that she had tried to suppress. It was the kind that always hit her right before she fell head over heels in love, and it took its time. It was a stage; sometimes it lasted 2 days, at others, a few weeks. It was a feeling she knew very well, along with all the sensations that came with it; the fluttering in her chest and in her stomach that happened whenever this person was around. The confusion that overrode every sensible thought in her head. The tendency to stay quiet for fear of appearing the fool, and the nervous laughter that usually indicated nothing other than how much stress she would be under to not do anything remotely stupid.

Although this time was almost a repetition of the last two times she had fallen in love, there were two major differences; the first was how long it took for her to come to terms with what she had been feeling. While usually it took her a few weeks to acknowledge her feelings after feebly trying to deny them, this process was much longer and much more strenuous. It had spanned over the course of a year. The second difference was that she knew from the very first time she laid eyes on him that she would end up where she was now. She knew from the way he made her laugh constantly that she would grow a soft spot for him, because if there was one thing she valued in a man, it was his sense of humour. And no matter how down she had been before seeing him, she would always go home elated, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, simply because she had spent the better part of the day laughing.

So when she had gone to meet him on that warm summer evening, she knew she would have to be careful. At this point, it would take very little to tip her over the edge, and once she fell, she knew there was no going back. Their friendship would be as good as dead. The floodgates holding back her emotions had taken a fair amount of battering, but she would do everything within her power to keep them closed.

The time had come to leave her apartment and head on her way to his hotel. She took one last look in the mirror. Her dark brown eyes betrayed her anxiety. She hoped today would go as planned. She hoped that by the time she had gone to bed, he would still be oblivious to the storm that had been brewing inside her for the past few months. It had been a while since they had last met. They had kept in touch, but face to face interaction gave away so much more than the occasional text message. If he was anywhere near as smart as she knew he was, he would surely pick up on it.

With a sigh, she checked her reflection one last time, picked up her car keys, and left the room.

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