This is not a detailed story like the ones I usually write. It’s just a little breeze of warmth that touched my soul and heart, and I wanted to share it with you.

I had been so overwhelmed over the past weeks, taking care of so many patients for months and staying in a place where there was no one to listen to me. In fact, I was the only listener for many people. It was overwhelming. Months of overwhelm seemed like they had broken me down.

The only person who listens to me there is my senior oncologist, who is almost 10 years older than me. He is a very busy oncologist and practices at multiple hospitals. Some days, I wonder how someone can tackle so many things single-handedly while remaining patient. I have never seen him angry, maybe because I work hard. Even while being extremely busy, he is observant, and unlike other seniors who visit the ward and do rounds like a robot, he is very compassionate.

For almost two months now, I have been trying to leave this place just because of exhaustion, dealing with many administrative and system issues beyond my control. I have been literally fighting hard not to stay. As the notice period of my resignation approaches, I am already feeling bad and having frequent episodes of crying at the thought of leaving so many patients I have cared for months. Many of them needed extra care, and I have invested a lot of time and emotional energy to keep them alive and healthy.

My consultant is familiar with these facts, and he is very generous with his appreciation for me. For the past few weeks, he has been persistent in trying his best, reasoning with me that I should stay. Whenever he starts with: “Please stay for a while. For two months, for just one more month, a few more weeks, for 10 days, for a week.”

That day is ruined for me. I start having crying spells that I am already having due to the guilt of leaving a place where I formed such meaningful connections and received so much love in return. I have never been this sad while leaving a place. And he knows everything; he knows this is burnout, but he is desperate too.

He is the only person who has pleaded with me to stay, and whenever he says: “We have no one else. We are trying our best to find someone. Please don’t leave.”

His words make me cry every other day. He is very honest, and one of the few men who dares to be honest about their emotions and humanness. He is never shy in telling me he feels anxious, too. He is always on the phone, trying to listen to every patient’s call and reply to every message, just so no patient gets worse at home. We made such a good team, and maybe the frequent crying spells are due to these thoughts, and the realization that I will miss him, maybe a lot.

This was one of those days that I visited another hospital with the hope of a new job, a place with less workload and much better working conditions. After dealing with the paperwork, I went to their café. It was a terrace café, common for doctors, patients, and their attendants.

Just an hour ago, I had that usual conversation with my consultant about staying. The warm sunlight with its golden light made my nerves relax. After letting out my frustration on him over the phone, my tears started flowing continuously, just like they had over the past few weeks. The spot where I was sitting, after an hour, was filled with a pile of my tear-soaked tissue papers. My only release since childhood has always been crying a lot. After a good cry, I always feel comforted, though that session is uncomfortable for people around me.

The highlight of the day, however, was the kindness of a stranger, an elderly woman who came up to me and asked: “Kya koi bohat beemar hai?” (Is anyone very sick?)

She thought one of my loved ones was sick. I nodded, and she patted me on the back to comfort me.

Eventually, I stopped crying. One of my coping mechanisms is having a nice meal. So, I wiped my tears and had a good lunch on that terrace, sitting in the warm sunlight. The golden rays soothed my face on that cold day, and I felt better.

Later, I had this conversation with my consultant:

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Please answer honestly.”

“Yes, please ask.”

“If you had been in my place, with a chance of getting a much better job (actually a high chance) and you had an exam coming up while feeling miserable in a place far from home, a job that pays you almost nothing, without even a doctor’s washroom, and the only motivation was a nice consultant and the satisfaction of being there for someone who deserves it, with daily crying spells and no emotional support at work, and being a fragile person, would you stay, and for how long?”

“I think you are right. If it is emotionally and physically difficult for you, it’s better to go to another job. Your mental and physical health are more important than any job.”

“Thank you for being honest. I think you can understand my situation now. I have already been through a lot, and I don’t have any strong reason to stay there anymore. I hope you won’t push me to stay longer and will allow me to leave when I feel it’s right. And kindly don’t say again that there is no one else; it makes me feel guilty and really affects my day. I already have enough things that make me cry.”

I feel relieved now, although the sadness is still there, with thoughts of leaving that place and him. Sometimes, though, choosing yourself is important.

I felt such a wave of relief after our conversation. Hearing that my decision was the right one eased my worries, and the genuine concern from the stranger who reached out to me about my tears truly touched my heart. It reminded me that kindness exists in the world, even in the most unexpected moments.

Damane Zehra is a radiation oncology resident in Pakistan.