I heard about Margaret’s passing today, and all my old, unsettled memories came rushing back. I know it’s not right to speak ill of someone who is no more, but I can’t help remembering the past.
Margaret was the nurse in charge of ENT. Thanks to her, all the old, lazy, and unmotivated nurses somehow found their way into our department. She made sure they got shifts, almost like a savior to them, but they would always end up working with me! Since they were elderly, I rarely asked them to do much, which meant I ended up running around, doing everything myself.
Any patient who was difficult—smelly, drunk, or a gypsy—would be sent straight to me. Margaret, being Irish, had a soft spot for them. I know every patient deserves equal treatment, and I gave them my best. But it wasn’t about my skills—she just wanted to shield her favourite doctors from any trouble.
There were so many times she dumped work on me that no one else wanted to do. And she never missed an opportunity to remind me that I was a brown, female, immigrant doctor.
I still remember the day I brought my kids to work during half-term because I had no childcare. They were quietly sitting in a corner, busy on their laptops, not disturbing anyone. Yet, Margaret had the audacity to tell me off for bringing them in. The very next day, Marie brought her daughter to work, and suddenly, Margaret was playing the perfect nanny, doting on her. The Irish connection, of course!
She discriminated against me so many times, bullied me, and made sure I got the most substandard treatment in outpatients. And I just swallowed it all, silently. Her accomplice, Elaine, was even worse—ordering me around as if she were my superior when she wasn’t.
I feel angry at myself for letting them break my confidence, for allowing them to make my life miserable. And somewhere, I wonder if this side of me—this quiet endurance—has rubbed off on my kids. I don’t want them to be aggressive, but I do want them to stand up for themselves if they ever face discrimination.
And now that Margaret is gone, I wonder—how did she get away with everything? How did she live without ever facing the consequences of her actions? In my faith, we say, you reap what you sow, but she never seemed to. She was always surrounded by people who adored her. Even in her final days, consultants and colleagues visited her.
It makes me wonder—who will care when I’m gone? Will anyone from my workplace even remember me, visit me if I’m on my deathbed?
I thought I had moved past the hurt. But clearly, I haven’t—otherwise, I wouldn’t be sitting here, in a beautiful café, with a glass of Baileys, pouring all this out.
So, what was I expecting? Maybe, deep down, I wanted Margaret to realise what she had done. To understand her cruelty. To say sorry. Or maybe, I just wanted life to be fair—to see her face the consequences of her actions. But now, she’s gone. And my questions will remain unanswered.
But maybe, just maybe, life isn’t always unfair. There is always hope.
I don’t know what will give me peace from this hurt, but I pray to the Almighty that I never become the cause of someone else’s grief.
Amen....
22.02.25
22.36.
Cambridge..
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