 Throwing the gorgeous bunch of flowers in the bin, I took one look at my 'celebrate' balloon and popped it. Then I retreated to my hospital cubicle and burst into tears. Yes, I may have passed my clinical exams and graduated from medical school but I couldn't have felt less in the mood to celebrate. Because I wasn't at my ceremony, in my cap and gown, or out for lunch with my loved ones. I was sectioned, in a psychiatric ward. Most people don't expect doctors to experience mental health crises: we look up to medical professionals and want them to be unflappable and infallible. Yet, as I discovered, doctors have vulnerabilities too… and the stigma they feel when they fall ill can be devastating. When I first started medical school in 2001, I was your typical student – middle class, high-achieving, and involved in extracurricular activities, including playing in a church band. During this time, I undertook a placement in a psychiatric unit. I remember seeing a group of patients gathered in one corner of the canteen. Seated with the doctors at the other end, I felt untouchable. Then, in my fourth year, my mental health began to deteriorate. The first signs of a problem were unexplained back pain and fatigue, which led to a gradual withdrawal from academic and social commitments. Then, aged 23, I began to lose interest in things I'd previously enjoyed, like classical music and reading. I became tearful and low in mood, before hitting utter hopelessness. I felt as if my peers had left me behind (Picture: Sharon Hastings) A few months later, my aunt asked me if I thought I was depressed. It brought a mixture of relief and panic. This thing had a name and might be treatable. But I was starting fifth year at medical school – surely doctors didn't get depressed? After going to see my own GP, I received a formal diagnosis of depression, but I felt ashamed and determined that my){kind=link}
NEWS… BUT NOT AS YOU KNOW IT
Throwing the gorgeous bunch of flowers in the bin, I took one look at my ‘celebrate’ balloon and popped it.
Then I retreated to my hospital cubicle and burst into tears.
Yes, I may have passed my clinical exams and graduated from medical school but I couldn’t have felt less in the mood to celebrate. Because I wasn’t at my ceremony, in my cap and gown, or out for lunch with my loved ones.
I was sectioned, in a psychiatric ward.