He drove to work today, and as he was approaching the hospital, a thought crosses his mind.
I can't remember the last time I had a good cry, he thinks to himself.
It was about ten a.m. and well into his work day when he saw a familiar name flash on the screen. This was someone he had seen two days ago with a headache, but who he had sent home as it was improving.
He picks up the file and goes outside to call the name, and leads the 30-odd year old patient and his family into a consulting room.
We'll need to do that brain scan today, he laughs, and the patient gives a slight smile. His wife is there with him, sweet and supportive. Her younger daughter wriggles playfully around her, doing her best to grab her attention.
What work do you do again? he makes small talk.
Oh, I'm a manager, the patient says.
Any recent stress at work? No, it's been going perfectly fine.If anything it's been a bit too quiet, the wife laughs.
Where's the other one? he asks, as he remembers seeing two the other day.
Oh, she's at school, the wife smiles.
He repeats the clinical examination and finds that nothing much has changed since he last saw him, and orders the CT scan of the brain.
Just wait in the waiting room, and I will call you with the results.the resultsHe walks him into a cubicle, trying to look confident and calm, when he was shaking inside, unsure of how to break the bad news.
Just take a lie down on the bed, he says. The wife is still standing.
I'm afraid I've got some bad news. She starts looking worried. He realises that she is standing, and should be sitting for this. He rushes out to grab a chair, cursing his timing, and walks back in. He puts the chair under the wife, who by now is fearing the worst.
He walks over to the patient's side.
I'm afraid you've got a brain tumour, he says, holding his hand.
And I'm really sorry, but it's a really large one.this is the sound of universes collapsingThe wife is rocking to and fro in the chair, shattered, and not knowing what to do. She's not the type to wail and throw her hands in despair. But despair was written all over her face, submersed under years of self-restraint.
The patient sits there staring into the ceiling, in an almost surreal daze. His hand travels slowly to his head. The patient continues to be stoic, saying a
Yes and
Uh-uh as the doctor explains that they need to transfer him to another hospital and that they'll need medications to help with the swelling around the tumour and to prevent seizures.
The wife paces around the room, her little one still playing around her legs, oblivious to the tremendous change happening to her life in those small minutes. The wife is crying silently, the tears streaming down her face. She should protest loudly but it is not in her nature.
It is the silent tears that break the doctor. He feels the emotions surge through him, uncontrollably forcing its way upwards. He holds his hand to his mouth and whispers a quick apology while darting out towards the toilets. He stifles a sob.
He was feeling extremely upset at the unfairness of it all. Nice family - young man, gentle wife, with two kids. Whose life will now be measured in months or a few years.
He was briefly angry towards a God who in His infinite wisdom, knew better. He closes the toilet door and starts to cry, his whole body shaking uncontrollably.
He allows himself only a brief cry before drying his eyes and walking back to the patient and his family, knowing he needed to remain professional. He arranges everything for the transfer and finally wishes the family all the best, trying his hardest not to cry in front of them.
They leave for the other hospital with an ambulance, their lives forever altered in one afternoon.
He returns his attention to the other patients who need his help, and he takes in a sharp breath and exhales again, his breath disappearing once more into the routine chaos of the emergency department around him.
Steamboat recipe. Make soup. Put raw stuff in. Boil. It's almost like instant noodles. 
