THANK YOU NOTES

Doctors Shouldn’t Die First — What Were You Thinking?

After all our years together, I missed telling you goodbye.

Our first appointment was filled with promise as I sat in your office with the hopes of you accepting me as your patient. I was six months pregnant, and I explained my father had died five months before. I came to you with my heart on my sleeve, ready to embark on a lifelong relationship. At that time, I couldn’t have known you would die first — this wasn’t according to plan.

During the initial visit, I showed you I was ready to unpack my baggage — mainly caused by growing up with a sick parent — and while you agreed to work with me, you first asked me to sign a legal document outlining your fees. It contained words I didn’t understand. All I knew was it felt uncaring.

I viewed this as an assault on our budding doctor-patient relationship that threatened to divide us. After listening to the most intimate details of my life, I couldn’t understand how you could hand me a document that read so cold.

At the time, I didn’t realize these fees were for patients who took advantage of your goodwill and personal time. That you, in fact, were a kind, patient man.

I began seeing you anyway.

I wasn’t sure psychotherapy was right for me. While I loved that you let me do most of the talking, I hated when you fell silent. It felt like I was talking to a wall. I didn’t realize this was how I felt as a child when my feelings were misunderstood.

You knew all the answers, but I needed to learn them too. They were inside of me — it was your job to draw them out. You were the artist, and I was your modelling clay. I remember asking if you could mould me into a masterpiece. I trusted you that much.

We began talking about my childhood and relationships — all the stressors that brought on my debilitating anxiety. Years went by before you suggested medicinal intervention, so naturally, I complied. By now, our time together included the births of my son and second daughter. I stopped nursing my youngest in preparation for the drug. I looked forward to feeling well.

Never stop taking medicine without your doctor’s advice, and even then, things can go wrong.

When I started taking the anti-depressant, the gray lens lifted, only to return with greater force when I abruptly stopped taking the drug to undergo surgery. This was when the medical field failed me. Why did the specialists and nurses tell me I didn’t need to wean?

You were there when I leaned on you most. For years, our sessions stopped being about the past as I grappled with the present. Now battling mental health issues caused by the doctors’ faux-pas, I faced a long and tortuous road. Yet, you gave me your time, expertise, and compassion — you never made me feel like a burden even when I called outside of appointment times.

As I rode the waves of mania and depression, we scrambled to find answers. Through the side effects of medication and the mental anguish of a chemical imbalance, you never ceased to amaze me. Thank goodness for you. You were my shining star.

Let’s not forget it wasn’t all bad.

When good things happened, you helped share those moments with me too. So my life’s journey wasn’t all bad — life was filled with joy and inspiration.

I was a part of a loving family, had children who were understanding, and I found a renewed love of writing. It was during this time that your status changed from doctor to mentor to father-figure. You embodied all three eagerly, and you wore these badges with expertise and pride.

We went from seeing each other several times a week in the beginning to seeing each other once a month toward the end. This was a true testament to our successful relationship. You threw me to the wind and watched me spread my wings and fly.

You said you weren’t afraid of death.

We spent a lot of time talking about my fear of death, and you assured me that your own mortality didn’t scare you. When I spoke of whether you believed in spirits, you stayed open-minded. Both brought me a sense of calm. You assured me you’d never abandon me, and up until the end, you kept your word.

I’ll never forget the day I got the call, and the man on the other end told me you’d passed away. It was sudden and unexpected, and according to your death announcement, even for your wife. After that, my world began to spin. For twenty-nine years, you were in it. How was I going to navigate the rest of my life without you? It seemed impossible. But death leaves us with little choice.

My fond farewell.

I never did get the chance to say goodbye or to thank you. It’s thanks to you after all these hardships that I’m alive. You helped me maintain my vision of seeing my children grow old, live to meet my grandchildren and keep my mother from losing a daughter. I am in a much better place today than I was all those years ago.

And despite missing you, I am thriving. You gave me the tools to live happily ever after, even without you. That’s a true testament to how brilliant you were.

As the second year of your death approaches, I am grateful for our time together. Thank God, in the beginning, a formal legal letter outlining your fees didn’t deter me. In the years we worked together, you never did charge me for any extras.

And while you always made me feel special, you never crossed that professional line.

DR. S, as I so fondly referred to you, may you continue to rest in peace. If you can hear me, I’m doing positively fine.