The Direction of Love

I think perhaps if I had to pick one photo that is symbolic of this land to me, this would be it. The bush. There is a wilderness to it, an abundance, an immensity, that is impossible to put into words. Infinite shades of green, sunlight sifted though, onto, layers of leaves, birdsong, bracken, comfort, calm.

I’ve spent a lot of time outside recently. Cape Horn, Long Bay, Hunua Falls, Lake Wainamu. I crave the tranquility it brings after long days at work. But today my body is jet-lagged and weary after a week of night-shifts, I can’t muster the energy or will to do anything at all, so instead I’m sat in the Newmarket Burger Burger joint with my laptop and a basket of shoestring fries, watching the sky change colour outside, soothed by the warmth of the lights and the bustle all around, a refuge and buffer against the moods and follies of the sleep-deprived mind.

There’s no way for me to pick up where I left off, not now, after almost a year(!), but maybe some pieces will fall into place as I go along. I’ll leave you to fill in the blanks.

I’m still in Auckland. I didn’t plan on being here this long, in some ways I feel as though I have already lived many lifetimes in this city. The wide-eyed wonder of my first season, an endless summer lazing under trees with cheese and wine, the most tender courtship chasing and retracing paths through the streets of K’s student days, long rainy months of loneliness, tough long hours of apprenticeship, bright sunny days of discovery and joy. It’s been so good for me in ways I couldn’t have begun to fathom and am only slowly coming to understand.

That’s what I want to try write about a bit today. For keepsake.

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Just a week before he left I accompanied K to Fiji, where he has invested so much time, energy and love over the course of the past ten years, with his Fijiian mentor and best friend, teaching in their healthcare system. The colours came as a shock after the cold grey chill of Auckland winter: houses in pinks, purples, yellows, draped in rustling veils of Bougainvillea. We flew between cities in tiny aircraft, the hills sprawling below us dotted with square rooves of corrugated iron, sitting on little plots of land bound by palm trees. Rivers wound glinting bronze threads to the sea. Clouds of red dust rose up behind cars. Dogs lazed in the shade of trees laden with unfamiliar green fruit, while taxi drivers napped on the plastic-covered seats of their cars. In the hospitals I was surprised not by how much was different, but by how much was not.

The weeks that followed have softened into a blur. I began work as a registrar at ACH, and felt exactly the same way I have so many times in my life, that awkward and slightly lonely new kid at school, talked about in the corridors, politely included, not unkindly left out. Every spare moment I had I spent with K: meeting his friends for farewell dinners, working on his garden, packing and emptying his whole house. The day after he left I worked a fifteen hour shift as the on-call respiratory reg. I sat fielding calls I barely knew how to answer, praying I wouldn’t be called upon for any emergency chest drain, watching a little cartoon airplane on my computer screen track his flight further and further away from me.

I’ve seen him once since then. Over new year, for a handful of bittersweet days. But it’s not for that much longer now. We’re very aware of what we have, and grateful for it.

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One by one, the people who came out here at the same time as me, companions on the same journey, have left. Things shifted, imperceptibly, at first, so that it was difficult to see what was slipping. Then all of a sudden. Some of my closest friendships snatched away far too soon (Imi!, Katie!), others shut down before they’d really had a chance to thrive. I don’t know how to speak of the sadness and homesickness I felt when I arrived back here after my quick trip back to the UK. It was all-encompassing. My whole body ached for everything and everyone I’d left behind, my senses raw and numb all at once. The people, of course, but just as strongly the land, the languages, the cold crisp winter air and dull golden sun, the different shades of green, the age and beauty of the buildings, tastes of childhood, a thousand and one memories all suddenly reawakened. It’s a difficult thing to have lived such a full life in so many different places and to have left a part of yourself in each one. 

I’m so glad for all of you I got to see when I was home, so touched by every gesture made, and so sorry for everyone I missed. Oxford, Cambridge, Paris, London, Cannock, Leicester, the Cotswolds, the Lake District. We squeezed everything we could into such a short space of time. There will be more times ahead.

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The best thing has been work. I love it. The hours are long and at times I’ve had the literal fear of god inside of me and I’m forever questioning whether I’m doing enough by my students and house officers, and whether I’m working fast enough, and whether my admissions are good enough, and I’m literally forever on the cusp of exhaustion and burnout (- which is a completely different story as we all know), but for real you guys, I don’t know where to begin with how much I love it. Especially now that I’ve been reg-ing for over six months and am starting to feel a little more comfortable in the role. The days that are good? Are just so so good.

I’ve thought about this a lot since I got back, and I talk about I think with every single Brit I meet out here, trying to get a grip of what it is that’s different to back home. I guess the main thing those conversations have revealed is how different everyone’s experience has been, both out here and in the UK. There are no universals. But for me the difference has been in the space that it has afforded me to really focus on the clinical (as opposed to the never-ending extra-curricular portfolio), the massive difference in attitude of the people I have worked with both above and below me, the (comparatively much greater) freedom it has allowed me to explore paths I wasn’t yet ready to give up. I couldn’t imagine coming back to what I left behind. Not yet at least, not until I am done with my training. You may remember one of the earlier posts I wrote, where I spoke of how much I wanted to be good at what I was doing? Well I can really feel it happening now. It’s given me the space that I needed to do the things I know I needed to do, and I feel myself getting better and better every day, I have space to step into the role I want to have, to be the kind of doctor I want to be, and it’s addictive. I can’t get enough of it.

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The other day we were grabbing coffee with one of my consultants, and she asked us what we like to do in our spare time. In the way that medical questions are directed at the most junior person present, and gradually creep up to the most senior, it didn’t quite reach me, but stopped at one of the senior house officers, who laughed. “Ehhhh, basketball maybe?”. “More than twice a month?” our boss asked, not unkindly, but not ready to give a free pass. “Nah man, I spend all my time studying these days!”.

A little while ago one of my flatmates (- I’ve moved again!! – don’t send mail to my old address!) was frustrated about a load of assignments she’d just been given on Friday for the following Monday: “like, that’s my weekend gone!”.

Both of those comments stuck in my mind, for the jolt of perspective they both brought. I’ve definitely had a lot less time to play with since stepping up as a reg. Seham and I calculated how much time I have in an average week, when you take away hours worked, commuted, and slept. Pushing 50 at best, probably more like 40. That’s 40 hours in which to study (because exams are never ending), eat, do chores, speak to friends and family back home, and yeah, to do those things that you love. It’s a constant struggle to try use that time well, not let it just mindlessly slip away.

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So as much as I can I push myself to get outside and go explore. I’m still reading tons (non-medicine), although writing a lot less. I try make time to cook once a week, usually at the weekend for the week ahead. I listen to podcasts whenever I’m driving (currently loving Blacklisted). I’ve had some real good stretches of regular exercise and running, although it’s harder now the days are shorter and more rainy.

These are the things I used to do as a kid. Before I ever went to university, and learned was literary criticism was, or ever considered training to be a doctor. Before I ever fell in love, and during the many times of my life where I’ve been far from friends and family. These are the things I come back to time and again because I love them, because they make me feel like me.

I’m all out of words for today, and I’m not sure when I’ll get the chance to write more. Back in January I did a month-long writing course, which really drew attention to Twitter as a tool and community for writers. I’ve posted a few photos there as a very micro-blogging platform, and will probably continue to do so. More interestingly I’ve posted links to really great pieces of writing that I would never have come across within the confines of my usual internet browsing patterns, so if you’re looking for interesting pieces to read go check some of those out.

As ever, really hoping that this finds you all well and happy! Do, do reach out and let me know how you’re doing. I love that more than anything else.

Leaving you with this. I know you’ve missed them. xoxo – Z

(Ginger nut).