‘I didn’t know if I could practise again after my father’s death’
Earlier this year, Pulse ran ran a writing competition looking for new GP voices. We were delighted to receive over 100 entries and, after long rounds of judging, have cut them down to the final 13. Over the next month we will be publishing them; starting with the highly commended in each category, and concluding with our final three
Highly commended in the ‘Why I’m still in the job’ category, Dr JRM describes the disorientation of returning to general practice after bereavement by suicide and the support that made it possible
The world to me felt still and silent. I felt nothing and everything all at once. I looked instinctively for information, for guidance, for the experience of others but there was none. So I write this for the others, those yet to navigate such challenging circumstances.
I was approaching the end of my first five years in general practice when, on a Sunday afternoon in the autumn of 2025, I was blindsided by the news that my dad had died by suicide. This is an unapologetically honest account of how, since that moment nine months ago, I have found my way back to work as a GP.
Central to my return has been a monumental collaborative effort – the unwavering support of my colleagues as well as care from NHS Practitioner Health. Sharing openly that I was bereaved by suicide became an important part of that process. It removed barriers, allowed people to understand me better, and created space for compassion. I realised quickly that being a doctor is not just something I do; it is a core part of who I am. Returning to work after four weeks felt like the right decision for me.
My first day back was like standing on the edge of a precipice. I was terrified that the part of me that once cared so instinctively about other people’s problems had been muted. I hadn’t appreciated how much I had changed in those four weeks. I had unknowingly been moving gently, choosing my interactions, protecting what little energy I had. Walking into the triage room felt like being dropped into a world that had kept spinning without me. The speed of the conversations, the decisions, the cacophony – it was overwhelming. I could see where I used to belong in all of it, but that place felt suddenly inaccessible.
Listening and understanding had become two separate tasks. It was as though everyone was speaking a foreign language, and by the time I had deciphered a response, the conversation had already moved on. Beneath all of this was an awareness that my presence at work might actually be harder for my colleagues than my absence had been. By the time I got home, I had convinced myself that I couldn’t do this anymore – that the version of me who could be a GP had dissipated.
But time has a way of softening edges. Gradually, I found I could handle more of the workload. I could make eye contact again, speak to people on the phone, participate in meetings, engage in the everyday chatter of the practice. Slowly, my silhouette began to reappear. With more time, I emerged from the cocoon of the triage room and began seeing patients again, feeling able to respond to the situations in front of me. I won’t forget the first time I stood in front of the waiting room and called a patient’s name, something that only weeks earlier I didn’t give any consideration to.
I have been humbled by the actions of others: the consideration, the adaptations, the learning that has undoubtedly taken place around me. Their support has made me feel incredibly valued, which was an unexpected consequence of all of this.
Accepting the non-linear progression of recovery, and embracing a collaborative approach with an enlightened, compassionate group of colleagues has allowed me to be safely back at work doing my job. Safe for me, safe for them, safe for our patients. This is undoubtedly the prologue of a long narrative ahead, but sometimes all you can do is the next thing, trusting it even when it doesn’t feel right.
Why am I still in the job? Because it is me, and I am it.
For my dad, who was an inspired author.
For my colleagues, friends, family and all those who have helped and supported me.
Dr JRM is a salaried GP in Greater Manchester
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