Years ago, as a young doctor—eager, inexperienced, and still learning both medicine and life—I cared for a married woman facing serious health challenges. Assigned to her daily care, I checked on her, listened to her fears, and offered what little reassurance I could. Over time, our repeated encounters grew into something resembling friendship. Eventually, she recovered and later signed off completely.
One evening, after a long clinic, a midwife told me someone had been waiting to see me. It was her.
She looked absolutely beautiful. After updating me on her health, she hesitated, then whispered:
“I wish you were the one married to me. I admire your devotion. You would make a good husband… I miss you, and I wish we could be more than just friends.”
Her words stunned me. I froze. Doctors are trained to handle emergencies, not confessions of love. When I finally found my voice, I asked gently if she understood the life of a doctor—the endless calls, sleepless nights, missed family moments, and sacrifices. “If I agreed to be in a relationship with you,” I asked, “would you be ready to endure lonely moments while I cared for other patients like you?”
She paused, then said softly with so much longing:
“I just want to have you all to myself.”
The silence was heavy. With youthful impulsiveness, I replied:
“But who said I want to be in a relationship with you, let alone your husband? You crave exclusivity, yet while still married, you are toasting another man. Don’t you think I deserve better?”
Realizing my words were too sharp, I softened:
“Besides, it is against our ethics to cross that boundary.”
Reflection
That moment has never left me. It revealed the subtle dangers of blurred boundaries in professionalism. Patients often see compassion, presence, and reassurance—but not the burden behind it. What she admired was not me as a man, but the role I played as her doctor.
This is the challenge of falling in love with a patient: admiration can be mistaken for intimacy, gratitude for affection, and vulnerability for love. It is easy to confuse the healing relationship with something deeper, but that path risks harm to both patient and doctor.
Her words taught me that unchecked longing often mistakes appearances for reality. She saw only the green grass of compassion, not the weeds of sacrifice and exhaustion. Desire can blind us to the hidden costs of what we covet.
The truth is simple but profound: happiness is not found in wishing for another’s life, but in tending faithfully to our own. Every lawn has weeds, every blessing its burden. The grass is not greener elsewhere—it is greener where we water it.
May Day Message
Isn’t this the stark reality of our nation? We crave progress yet pretend to work. We desire development but resist discipline. We admire success but despise the labour that builds it.
On this May Day, let us remember: dignity lies not in shortcuts or illusions, but in honest toil. The grass of prosperity will never grow by wishing—it grows where we water it with sweat, sacrifice, integrity and transformational religion devoid of hypocrisy!
