I wonder if I’ll be the first person to hold an annual blog.

In that I only blog once a year.

It will be like Groundhog day, where people anxiously wait for me to emerge from my hole, tap a couple of times on the keyboard, before fleeing back to safety.

The truth is, starting this blog was meant to be an exercise in knitting together my different identities – doctor, patient – carer. And then my father died. And then I didn’t know what I was.

The phrase would pop up in my head, ‘well, I’m no longer a carer’. But eventually, one day, it jarred.

I’m still his daughter, I thought. I’m still my father’s daughter, that will never change. And those memories, those things I learnt, those experiences as his carer, those painful learning curves have not left. I’m still a carer, though the context is difference. I’m still a carer, though the identity, the experience is part of a wider pool than it once was.

It did help.


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