Eugenia Lee is a GP and medical educator in South East London. Her poetry explores the human experience of medicine, general practice and caring for others.
Before you teach me
the pathways, protocols, guidelines
the knowledge of medicine
See me.
See my late arrival,
the silence,
the question that should be simple
but somehow isn’t.
You might call me difficult. Disengaged. Defensive.
But pause.
What if the mind that isn’t learning is frightened?
What if the silence is shame?
What if the arrogance is armour?
When my alarm is ringing, my brain cannot hear your teaching.
So please, pause.
Wonder.
Ask. What is happening?
And listen.
Compassion isn’t looking away from the mistake.
It is looking at me while you talk about it.
You can say,
This isn’t good enough,
and still tell me,
I believe you can do better.
You can challenge me without making me small.
And perhaps years from now
I won’t remember your slides or your clever teaching.
I will remember what it feels to work with you.
That you noticed.
That you stayed.
That when I was difficult, you wondered why.
And when I stand where you stood, I hope I remember too
Before I teach, to see.
Before I judge, to wonder.
Before I speak, to listen.
Because sometimes the most important thing we teach a learner
is not just how to be a doctor,
but that they truly belong.
