During my first month or so of psychiatry training, I was asked to review a patient with high blood pressure. On repeated measurements, her blood pressure remained high, and she became increasingly agitated. She kept trying to tell me about her wishes upon discharge, and how lonely she felt. I asked her to calm down and be quiet while I saw to her physical health. She only became more irate, and so did I. We were at odds.

Eventually, frustrated that she was not being listened to, she decided to act out her frustration by reaching forward, taking my glasses and twisting them in her hands. To both of our surprise, they did not snap or even crack, but moulded to whatever shape she bent them in, stubbornly refusing to break.

I made a very short-sighted mistake in interpersonal relationships that day, and indeed an error of judgement in medical practice. Had I listened to the patient before me, her blood pressure would almost certainly have come down naturally along with her frustration. By acting as she did however, she taught me a very valuable lesson.

My glasses mimicked human beings in demonstrating unexpected resilience, and taught me another lesson. I wish that I could say I always listen to my patients and meet them on their level but I think this is a journey and I am working towards this end. I am grateful to my patients for teaching me lessons such as this and I have my old glasses in display on my bedroom.

I entered my glasses alongside the poem into the PsychArt Conference Art Competition and was astounded to have won and received wonderful compliments. I was awarded with a tomato plant which I am trying to encourage to flower and fruit!