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The following morning she didn’t feel better, nor did she feel better for any of the twenty mornings that followed. She booked her flight on automatic, an open ticket because if things went the way she expected them to she’d be coming back after a couple of days. She approved Rosie’s suggestion for her dress even though she’d barely glanced at it.
The conversation with Vicky played round and round in her head.
You can’t be a good doctor if you’re in a state yourself.
Katie had never failed at anything in her life. She badly wanted to be a good doctor, and that was how she found herself sitting in front of a doctor as a patient for once.
It felt enormous to be admitting that she wasn’t doing well. If she said it aloud to a professional, then that would make it real. There would be no more pretending these feelings might blow over.
The occupational health doctor was brisk and to the point.
“I read your medical record, so I know what happened to you.” She removed her glasses, her expression kind. “I’m wondering why it took you this long to come and talk to me.”
“I didn’t feel I needed to.” Katie fidgeted. “I was doing fine. I haven’t missed a day of work—”
“Why not?”
“Excuse me?”
Dr. Braithwaite glanced briefly at the notes. “After what happened I would have expected you to have time off. And perhaps counseling. Have you considered talking to a psychologist?”
“No.” Her heart r
ate increased. She clasped her hands in her lap, hoping that the woman across from her couldn’t see that she was sweating. “I don’t want to spend what little free time I have talking about something I’m trying to forget. I prefer to deal with it my own way.”
The doctor nodded. “But you’re sitting in front of me now, which tells me that you’re not finding that as easy as you thought.”
Katie felt tears burn her eyes and blinked. “I think about it all the time. Flashbacks.”
“To the attack?”
“Yes, but mostly to events leading up to it. I keep thinking what might have happened if I’d done something different. He—he said it was my fault—”
“And you believe him?”
“It was my fault. But we were so busy that night, I didn’t give him the time he needed. It’s about triage. Always about triage. What you don’t realize is that risk is not always obvious. Sorry.” She grabbed a tissue from the box on Dr. Braithwaite’s desk. “I’m not normally like this.”
“How are you normally?”
“A coper.” She smiled through her tears. “I’m a coper. Never a day off sick. And a perfectionist. Never an exam I couldn’t pass, or a problem I couldn’t handle. You name it, I aced it.”
Dr. Braithwaite nodded. “Do you see perfectionism as a good thing?”
“It is in medicine. In medicine you’re expected to get it right every time.”
“But how could you? Humans are flawed, are they not? Errors are inevitable, and of course we should do our best to avoid them when lives are at stake but there is a difference between setting high personal standards and perfectionism. One makes you strive to do the best you can and the other, being unobtainable, makes you self-critical and unhappy. It also makes people afraid to reveal anything that could be perceived as weakness and prevents a person taking risks because failure is not seen as an option.”
Katie blew her nose. “Your advice is to go out there and fail?”
“I think you should consider the possibility that you can make a mistake and still be a good doctor.” Dr. Braithwaite pushed the box of tissues closer to her. “Admitting that you need help isn’t a weakness.”
“I’ve wanted to be a doctor since I was a child. Every exam I worked for has been leading me here. I have slogged and sacrificed, and now I’m questioning the whole thing.”
“Because you believe you made a mistake?”
“Not only that. I think—” she swallowed “—I think maybe I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“And that scares you?”
