A letter to my future self

‘When I am an old woman I shall wear

purple;

With a red hat which doesn’t go,

and doesn’t suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and

summer gloves;

And satin sandals,

and say we’ve no money for butter.’

¹

Jenny Joseph’s words echoed around the small room. Although I read them loudly, the frail form in the bed strained to hear them. The weak sunlight streamed through dusty windows and chintz curtains, highlighting her skinny arms and wizened face, and illuminating some early daffodils on the bedside table.

It was my first home visit as a GP trainee. Predictably, my 6 months in emergency medicine had ended with a run of night shifts. The harsh surrealism of that environment, which, even at 3 am, heaved with the mentally disturbed, intoxicated, or frightened elderly, could not have formed a greater contrast …