Tuesdays with Mrs Fox

IntroductionThe first Tuesday-meeting Mrs. Fox

I’m just here to finish this assignment. I really don’t want to do this. I hope this ends soon.

Those were the only words that crossed my mind as I was being driven to a house in a suburb of Belfast. This was the first family attachment session that was being carried out. First year medical students had to participate in this activity. It involves 2 students paying weekly visits to interview an assigned patient, and then writing areport on it. In my case, the weekly visits were scheduled every Tuesday.

My friends were looking forward to the first patient contact we will be having. It made them feel like real doctors: being in charge of a patient, interviewing them, taking down past medical histories. This wasn’t a lecture anymore, and the reality of dealing with patients excited everyone. This was like a proper inauguration into medical school!

My emotions were the antithesis of the positive feelings everyone else had. I was worried, uncomfortable, nervous and extremely reluctant to participate in this activity.

First of all this was not a simulation and I was about to interact with a real patient. My partner and I would be responsible for conducting all the sessions with this patient. I have only stood on the sidelines as I shadowed doctors around the hospital, never interacting with patients. And now I had to be responsible for one? How was I going to do it?

Furthermore, I am from Malaysia and I was still having trouble understanding the culture and the accent of Northern Ireland. At times it was hard enough interacting with the local students here. However now I had to interact with someone who was a lot older, hidden away in a suburb I have never heard of. This patient has probably never interacted with foreigners before. Wasn’t there going to be an immense cultural barrier? Would I even be able to understand what my patient was saying? Wasn’t it going to be incredibly hard to communicate to someone who was…. so different?

On top of that, I was going to be digging up a painful past and that would involve my patient exposing herself emotionally. Wasn’t it going to be incredibly awkward? How was I going to react if this complete stranger started becoming emotional? What if I said something offensive and hurt my patient?

At the time, I thought the only thing that was going to help me endure this, was viewing my patient, and this entire activity as an assignment I had to get out of the way. I am just going to ask a few questions, write down what my patient says, finish everything as soon as I can, and everything will end quickly. All I have to do is to treat my patient as another assignment.

I’m just here to finish this assignment. I really don’t want to do this. I hope this ends soon.

The 20-min cab ride seemed too short as my family attachment partner-Katie, and I arrived at the home of our assigned patient. It was a one-story brick house painted red and white. We rang the doorbell and with an electronic buzz, the door was unlocked. We found ourselves inside a cozy living room.

“I’m in here!” The voice came from the first room on our left. Without knowing what to expect, I walked in with my attachment partner.

A table lamp was the only source of light in the room, causing it to seem shadowy. There were so many things in the room, which made it seem smaller than it already was. Various items such as boxes of medication, fruits, bags of crisps and newspapers were arranged into stacks around a bed that was pushed against a wall. On the bed sat an old lady, who beamed at us as we walked in.

After exchanging pleasantries, we found out that her name was Mrs. Fox and she was 80 years old. She had a magnificent head of white hair that drooped down to her shoulders. Her grey eyes seemed to twinkle with joy. Yet those eyes seemed…forlorn, as if she has witnessed a great tragedy.

This woman radiated warmth and youthful energy, so much so that even the wrinkles etched into her countenance seemed to smoothen out and fade away. The smile that she was wearing was bright enough to light up the dim room we were in. Even though Mrs. Fox was bedridden, it didn’t stop her from expressively waving her arms and shaking her legs as she conversed with us.

Her voice had a strong quality, which befitted her strong personality. Her voice was firm, loud, and merry. I was relieved to find that I could understand what she was saying, even though she had one of the thickest Northern Irish accents I have heard so far.

Despite possessing the heart and spirit of an 18–year old, her body couldn’t be further from that age. There was swelling around her arms and legs, and evident varicose veins. She was obese, and her range of motion was very restricted. What made her immobility worse was the fact that she was hooked up to an oxygen tank, indicating the state of her respiratory system.

After giving each of us hugs with strength that no one would believe she possessed, Katie and I sat down on the armchairs in the room. Mrs. Fox was delighted to accommodate and welcome us into her home. However, even though Mrs. Fox was such a lovely individual, the negative emotions that I had prior to meeting Mrs. Fox didn’t leave me. In fact, it only seemed to get worse. It was as if all my worries and doubts I mentioned before seemed to materialize in the form of this stranger in front of me. I just wanted to avoid the difficulty of interacting with someone who was completely different, someone whom I didn’t know. I also thought that it was going to be terribly awkward if things turned emotional. So I retreated into myself.

During family attachment sessions, one of us would be the interviewer who asked questions, and the other would write down notes. Even though I hated writing down notes, I volunteered to do it because I wanted to avoid interacting with Mrs. Fox. I just sat in silence, mechanically writing down whatever she said. I would occasionally glance up and smile, but that was the extent of my communication with Mrs. Fox.

Frankly, I don’t remember much of that session because I was so emotionally disconnected from what was happening before me.

Everything passed in a blur, and at the end of it all I thought was: I’m just here to finish this assignment. I really don’t want to do this. I hope this ends soon.