They say, the passing of your first patient would be the hardest. It is a mix of sadness and guilt. It leaves a hole within your heart. It has a haunting mechanism so you'd never repeat the same mistake.
Two years ago, on my second year of medschool, I lost her. My first patient, but also.. my second mother.
The loss means.. No one to nag me to eat at every encounter, no one to knock on my door when I'm sick, no one to greet me after tiring day at uni, with a big smile with the garage TV on, no one to have long village trips with, no one to bring me to traditional markets and explain how to shop.
The thought of that suffocated me. Way more than any allergic reaction I've had.
But the loss isn't as heart-breaking as the guilt.
Guilt, is the one eating me up.
You see, it now occurs to me I could've prevented her early passing at the age of 48. I could've prevented her 6 years old son becoming an orphan. I could've understood her complaints the day before her passing better. I could've educated her thoroughly on her 200ish systolic blood pressure. I could've..
But I didn't.
And I couldn't stop the rupture of her bassilar artery that chilly lonely morning of 20th February.
"It's not your fault, Habibah!"
"Stop blaming yourself."
"No one can prevent the angel of death when it is due."
But no matter how much I tried to cover the hole, I found it hanging open at every revisitation. And no matter how much I stop myself to revisit, I found it impossible the more I learn at medschool.
The monster of guilt resides in that deep, dark hole, luring at every moments of reminiscence. Such the heart aches, provoking the tears to find their way out.
-h.a.
Would you please take a moment to make duaas and send al fatihah to Mbak Sabar Sarina, almarhumah. It means a lot to me.
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