As a respected surgeon with a long list of awards on my CV, my greatest achievement is a largely untold story: rebuilding my life after a suicide attempt.
Five years ago, I found myself admitted to the ICU of the hospital where I work, a result of severe depression that led me to believe my only escape was death. When I awoke a week later, a tube down my throat and defibrillator burns on my chest, the medical team told me they had saved me. I thanked them but immediately asked for a ‘not for resuscitation’ form, so they wouldn’t try to save me again.
I first realized I was depressed a few months before my attempt. After a relationship ended and I moved into an apartment alone, things began to spiral. I sought help from my GP, started antidepressants, and booked counseling sessions. Despite these efforts, my mental state deteriorated. Outwardly, I was smiling, but inside, self-loathing grew louder. I took on extra shifts at work, trying to push through, but one day the pain, both mental and physical, became unbearable. I overdosed, thinking of my family in my last moments.
Waking up alive was devastating. My initial days were a blur as I recovered from pneumonia and sedation. My family, who had watched me flatline repeatedly, looked broken. Their pain mirrored mine. I began seeing a psychologist and psychiatrist weekly, slowly learning to face my feelings rather than suppress them. It was excruciating at times, but gradually, I started feeling better. I found an antidepressant that worked for me and learned the importance of openly expressing my emotions and asking for help. I realized how much my family and friends cared and wanted me to recover, which gave me the strength to keep going.
A few months later, I returned to work part-time, eventually moving back to full-time. There were challenges, like consulting on a young patient in the same ICU where I had been, who had also tried to end his life and was brain dead. This was incredibly emotional, but it opened my eyes to how common depression is in the medical field. Colleagues shared their own struggles with me, revealing how many were on antidepressants. Mental health is still stigmatized in medicine, leading many to work until they break, using work as a refuge from their feelings of worthlessness. Five years later, I am grateful to be alive. While I still have bad days, life is no longer painful. I’ve learned to talk about my feelings when times are tough and keep my support network informed so they can check in on me. I strive to be a better friend and listener, sharing my struggles openly, which has encouraged others to do the same. This openness has fostered mutual support, helping me realize I am not alone.
