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They say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I am lucky to have never experienced loss in the finite sense of the death of someone very close to me. My job as a surgeon means I dance the veil that hovers somewhere between the here and there. I am not numb to the sense of the end, but I have learned how to accept the moment when it comes for my patients.
So, I was surprised by the way my divorce hit me. As a practical woman who broke the world down into stages, I could easily see that my relationship with my husband had died a long time ago. If anything, we had merely been going through the motions for as long as I could remember. Sparks of what we once were kept me holding on, that and the comfortable life we had built together. Routine and practicalities outweighed the question of “Is this all there is?” but my hand was unceremoniously forced when he decided to find a spark with his secretary.
After I was over the initial shock, and then the anger at being made a cliché I took some time to pause, which is something I had never done in my entire life.
My name is Juliet, although I have spent half of my life being referred to as Dr. Sansus. I had always wanted to be a doctor; head of cardiothoracic surgery wasn’t always the dream but I found my calling in med school. That is also where I met Matt, my now ex-husband. He was a doctor in the A and E department where I was completing my residency.
The other staff called him Doctor Dreamy, near enough a straight steal from Grey’s Anatomy. I watched the show, I liked it, but I was not interested in our Doctor Dreamy in the slightest. I could appreciate the symmetrical angles of his face, the way his dark hair carried this “just out of bed look” 24/7 was definitely sexy and he did have a grin that could make hearts skip a beat. For me, though I was in my last year, due to leave studying behind and actually become a full-time, real-life, fully qualified cardiothoracic surgeon. I didn’t have the time nor the interest to date.
For Matt, he was not used to being invisible. He could have any woman he wanted, but my indifference made me seem more elusive. You see, I was the definition of average, average height, average weight, light brown eyes, light brown hair. I was the kind of woman you could see every day of your life and never be able to quite recall my features.
I am still the same now, though I make a little more effort. Golden highlights mean my hair shimmers in the light. I learned how to apply mascara; I wear a shade of pale pink lipstick that manages to make my lips look much more than they actually are. Growing older looks good on me, tiny lines in the corners of my eyes add something to the balance of my face. And I have status in my job which gives me an innate confidence- something that I never had back then.
Anyway, I think that Matt saw in me a challenge. I didn’t realize it at the time. If anything, he was more of an annoyance and I only agreed to go out with him so he would move on faster. Except, it didn’t quite work out that way. With our crazy schedules and adrenaline-filled days, our dates were sporadic, unconventional, 3 am dinners after 6 hours of surgery, coffee kisses were stolen between consulting, bringing a sandwich for the other to share in a hidden corner of the hospital.
I assumed he was dating other women as we could go days without seeing each other. Except he wasn’t. I remember after about a year he sat me down all serious and said to me, “Juliet. I think we should get married.” I was in shock, but then I thought … why not. The sex was good, he was kind to me, we understood each other and the life we had chosen. We understood that 9-5, Monday to Friday was not going to be on the cards and that the hard days would involve death. Good days would involve highs that we could only find in the beep beep beep of a heart rate monitor after a successful surgery.
So, I said yes and I became the second Dr. Sansus. Matt and I had some great years. We pushed each other and supported each other; a real team.
Then he took up a teaching post. For him, the long hours were losing their appeal, the no weekends, the hectic life, the 15-hour days. Matt wanted a slower pace and I of course supported him.
It was perfect for him really, a lot of traveling not just here but across Europe. He got to be social, meet people and see things outside the operating theatre all whilst passing on the knowledge he had from decades of experience in A and E.
At first, I missed him, of course I did, but I adjusted fairly quickly. It became normal for him to not be home. It became normal to be talking to him through the loudspeaker on my phone whilst multitasking. My career was taking off, I was offered the head of the Cardiothoracic surgery. His was static, which is what he wanted, but there became nothing new to talk about. We found ourselves on different trajectories and soon those daily phone calls … became every other, then every three days, then they stopped altogether and were replaced with the “Just checking in” texts.
He deserved more. We both did. I suppose I just never expected him to cheat. Whilst there are worst things in the world, the betrayal cut deep. Especially from a man who had never even raised his voice to me. He didn’t have it in him to hurt another person, he had spent his entire life saving people, so the shock that he could do that was the hardest hurdle to get over.
After that, a decision was to be made. He asked for forgiveness and I knew I could forgive. I think I already had in so many ways, but it became about what was right for us both. I don’t know if he loved her, I didn’t ask, but it seemed like regardless of her, the realisation hit me that our marriage was over.
Consciously uncoupling, I forgot who first coined the expression but it seemed like the best fit. There was no animosity. No heated arguments over who would get what. We didn’t have any children, and I think we both felt uncomfortable keeping our home, so we sold the house, split the money in half, and went our separate ways.
The stages of grief weren’t triggered by the loss of my marriage. It was more the questions it raised about my life, the choices I had made, the place I now found myself.
I was nearly fifty two years old. My face had more lines than my concealer could hide. My friendship circle consisted of work colleagues and no one else. I attended the obligatory family events but never more than that. I couldn’t remember the last holiday I took; I usually had to be reminded to take my vacation days.
I was successful, respected, an expert in my field. At work, when I spoke … people listened. But outside of the hospital doors, even when I had something to say, there was no one there to tell.
I was not a materialistic person, so once the house was sold, I didn’t keep many things. My clothes, a few keepsakes sure, but things like furniture I had no interest in. To be honest, I was never that big of a fan of how we had the place. Working in a white sterile environment meant Matt craved color, depth … things. I personally am a great fan of white, modern, clean lines, and minimal. However, I didn’t care enough to push the point at the time; now though my new apartment looked like it had been styled straight out of the Ikea magazine and I was perfectly happy with that.
I chose a place downtown. I wanted convenience. The hospital was only a ten-minute walk away. I probably could have gotten closer but sometimes I liked to take that time, the commute between work and home to process my day. It was important to draw a line, to try and keep the difficult moments at work. Obviously, that was not always easy. I worked in a job that required my full attention all the time and any mistake could have huge consequences. Taking the time I needed to switch off could sometimes seem selfish but it was a definite necessity and it was beneficial to not only me but also to my patients.
I woke up an hour before my alarm was due to go off. It was my first day back after taking a two-month sabbatical. I had never taken time off work like that, well, maybe a day or week here or there but never a long period of time like this but I felt like it was the best thing for me. I really needed to recover to pull myself together otherwise I was a risk to everyone.
I felt nervous. I couldn't remember the last time I felt nervous about going into hospital, but I did. I pulled on my most sensible black suit and swiped a bit of mascara and eyeshadow across my eyes but I still couldn’t take away the darks smears from a bad night’s sleep.
I gave into my addiction early and had a cup of coffee before I left home then filled my travel mug to take another for the walk. It was one of the skills that took me far longer to nail than I would care to admit; walking whilst coffee drinking. I had lost many white shirts in the learning curve, but not anymore. Now I could navigate the streets and sip my latte like a Starbucks pro.
Working in the biggest hospital in the city had its pros and its cons. Sometimes it felt like the beating heart of downtown. All roads led there, all transport went to and from. Everyone knew someone who was in the huge concrete glass façade; patient or worker. Life began within its walls and life ended, and across the floors and departments were all the stages that came in-between.
I knew the hospital inside out and navigated the corridors, halls, and stairways with no thought. As head of the unit, I had my own office which afforded me a window, a luxury that was not be bestowed to many. I had a healthy mix in my role now of bureaucracy, paperwork, and soothing egos with managing people, direction, and practices, sprinkled in with my own hours in the operating theatre.
I liked the variety but it came with a lot of stress. Just as I was leaving for my break one of my top surgeons hinted at a cross country move. Hiring someone to replace him could take months, finding the right person, with the right skill set who would fit into the team was no easy feat. The last time I had needed to recruit it had taken me nearly a year to find the right person, so it was not a challenge I was looking forward to.
I was early so my secretary wasn’t in yet which was probably a good thing. I needed to work my way through emails, agendas and meeting notes but no sooner had I sat down came a light tap at the door.
“It’s open,” I call out and I see my boss gingerly poking his head around the door.
