Bedford by night

No, no, you go ahead. You must be in a rush.

Night falls. I decide to take a long walk to my local. Swap my Dockers for jeans, my leather Clarks for Converses, my bleep for my Nokia mobile and my stethoscope for my iPod Shuffle. Within minutes, I'm a different man altogether and with Rihanna thumping in my ears, I'm normal once more.

As I walk further and further away from Bedford Hospital, my steps become lighter and this weight on my shoulders slowly ebbs away.

You're a good doctor. You don't talk down to me like the others do.

I'm no longer the person you expect to be caring and compassionate every second of the day. I'm no longer the person who has all the answers and reassurances. I'm no longer the person to whom you confide all your troubles.problems.worries.anxieties as if I don't already have my own to deal with. Most important of all, I'm no longer the person you've placed your high expectations on. Yes you, and you, and you.

A local isn't exactly a local when it's this far away but more than half an hour later, I'm shopping for cereal and milk as well as sugar and tea along the aisles. No one makes way. Not a single person casts even a sideways glance.

Back on the roads, I note my slow respiratory rate and watch my breath condense before my very eyes into shapeless puffs of vapour.

So where does that all leave me?!

I'm glad for this quick and easy escape if only for a semblance of what normal used to be. How it once felt to be carefree. I'm not even sure which worries me more: the fact that it's becoming more difficult or the fact that there's no turning back?