When Reality Changes, Hope Can Too

 

A quarter of a century or so ago, I was the junior doctor tasked with explaining to an elderly man that his prostate cancer had spread extensively through his body and that it would probably end his life within the year. Sensing my discomfort as I stumbled over explaining the scan results, the man said, “it’s ok son, you’re doing a good job”. You see, he was trying to comfort me, even though he was the one receiving terribly bad news. A humbling experience, but one that taught me much about compassion and helped shape my career approach to such profound moments. Over time, I realised that my job isn’t to rescue someone from the reality of a painful moment - it is to be honest and help them face it instead.

Such moments represent immense change for someone. Whether it’s health to illness, certainty to uncertainty or comfort to discomfort. What these changes have in common is that a new reality is emerging. In the past I perhaps assumed that new reality means that hope must fade. This simply isn’t true – rather, hope must evolve as change happens. False hope asks reality to change. True grounded hope asks what is still possible, albeit from a modified perspective.

The error that I made, and many doctors still make, is that we believe that hope is somehow tied up in what medicine can offer. Somehow, when we run out of tests and treatments, there is “nothing more to offer”, and hope for cure evaporates. Instead, at this moment of change, hope needs to evolve into something new – perhaps that for comfort, dignity, meaning and peace.  

I see this too with my coaching work. The moments of change for clients are things like a new job prospect, a relationship crisis or a daunting illness. It can seem like a bereavement. With burnout, the mourning of a career you thought you had. With illness, grieving for the independence you previously had. Clinging on to the past won’t help here. Kind words and sympathetic platitudes won’t cut it. Instead, I try to help the client gain clarity as to what the new reality looks like for them. Together, we begin to identify the next step forward. Again, hope is evolving.

Now, whether it’s in the resuscitation room of my A&E or the quiet room where I am coaching, I try and help gain clarity in whatever new reality has developed. It’s a great privilege to then see real, grounded hope start to evolve, from however small, humble beginnings. Perhaps it is something we rediscover - different in shape, a little quieter maybe, but no less real than before.

 


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