This treatment sounds so much like what social workers deal with. I worked for the State for a long time. One of my co-workers, who was troubled died while she was an employee. Due to her personality, she didn't have many friends and the co-workers who tried to reach out to her were stymied by the superiors who wouldn't give out her phone number. After she died we all felt so guilty . Our superiors had a group meeting for us to air our feelings. Many things came out, not all related to her, and the meeting was a disaster. Someone asked why the higher -ups hadn't brought in counselors to help us deal with our feelings. They were told that we were professionals and we could handle our feelings without outside help.
Hi Ann--I am so sorry for not responding to this comment, which certainly deserves a response. I missed the notification for it. But to the point, this sounds like a terrible, but not atypical experience of so many who work in health care. The problem, too, is that then you and your colleagues carry the guilt for what happened to your co-worker, rather than being helped with that, compounding an already emotionally difficult situation. I wish people had showed up for you. Being a "professional" does not mean being superhuman, or worse, inhuman. Sending big hugs and wishes for better--you need and deserve that.
On the fate of justice, kindness, and hope in our nation...we can only hope. When I look at the history of empires, it makes me glad I am old.
As for the book on grief, I must get and read it. I have treatment-related medical trauma that was caused when I was merely 5 years old. As a method of trying to cope with it in my old age, in the last decade+ I've been reading a lot of medical autobiographies written by physicians and nurses (like you!). Despite my overwhelming fear and mistrust of doctors (in particular), I have reached the same conclusions that you report reading in this book. The system of educating physicians is brutal, and the working conditions for doctors and nurses are insane. More than once I've found myself feeling sorry for y'all. Providing health care on the front lines is both a noble calling and a brutal way of living.
It may interest you to know that within the soul-sucking swamp of my medical PTSD terror and mistrust when I had cancer, there were two people who had a huge positive impact on me. One was a nurse who took the time late one night (while I was hospitalized with neutropenia) to try to help me get through a massive, massive PTSD-induced panic attack brought on by the careless words of a resident. The other was a medical student who cried with me. I can only hope that amidst the grueling conditions of your training and work, doctors and nurses can keep hanging onto the knowledge that sometimes their work--and even their mere presence--can have a powerfully positive effect.
I can't sleep when I'm in a hospital. I'm too much on "red alert" against being hurt. The PTSD at work. But I also knew that I had to sleep in order to rest and let my body regenerate. I had asked for two sleeping pills (one didn't do the trick the night before), but I couldn't bring myself to take them. After the careless comment of the resident ("How do you feel about being intubated?"), I couldn't bring myself to take those two pills. The nurse came in and sat on the edge of my bed and talked with me for a long time. Let me cry and sob and say the most unkind things about the medical profession! Then she proposed a possible work-around for the particular fear that was gripping me at that moment. She didn't act irritated or bored or insulted. She didn't try to "fix me" at a larger level. She just tried to listen and help me "fix" the immediate cause of my terror and tears. And it worked. Thanks to her, I was able to let down my guard enough to take those two sleeping pills. (They didn't work very well, but that's another story!) I will forever remember her.
This treatment sounds so much like what social workers deal with. I worked for the State for a long time. One of my co-workers, who was troubled died while she was an employee. Due to her personality, she didn't have many friends and the co-workers who tried to reach out to her were stymied by the superiors who wouldn't give out her phone number. After she died we all felt so guilty . Our superiors had a group meeting for us to air our feelings. Many things came out, not all related to her, and the meeting was a disaster. Someone asked why the higher -ups hadn't brought in counselors to help us deal with our feelings. They were told that we were professionals and we could handle our feelings without outside help.
Hi Ann--I am so sorry for not responding to this comment, which certainly deserves a response. I missed the notification for it. But to the point, this sounds like a terrible, but not atypical experience of so many who work in health care. The problem, too, is that then you and your colleagues carry the guilt for what happened to your co-worker, rather than being helped with that, compounding an already emotionally difficult situation. I wish people had showed up for you. Being a "professional" does not mean being superhuman, or worse, inhuman. Sending big hugs and wishes for better--you need and deserve that.
On the fate of justice, kindness, and hope in our nation...we can only hope. When I look at the history of empires, it makes me glad I am old.
As for the book on grief, I must get and read it. I have treatment-related medical trauma that was caused when I was merely 5 years old. As a method of trying to cope with it in my old age, in the last decade+ I've been reading a lot of medical autobiographies written by physicians and nurses (like you!). Despite my overwhelming fear and mistrust of doctors (in particular), I have reached the same conclusions that you report reading in this book. The system of educating physicians is brutal, and the working conditions for doctors and nurses are insane. More than once I've found myself feeling sorry for y'all. Providing health care on the front lines is both a noble calling and a brutal way of living.
It may interest you to know that within the soul-sucking swamp of my medical PTSD terror and mistrust when I had cancer, there were two people who had a huge positive impact on me. One was a nurse who took the time late one night (while I was hospitalized with neutropenia) to try to help me get through a massive, massive PTSD-induced panic attack brought on by the careless words of a resident. The other was a medical student who cried with me. I can only hope that amidst the grueling conditions of your training and work, doctors and nurses can keep hanging onto the knowledge that sometimes their work--and even their mere presence--can have a powerfully positive effect.
Oh gosh, Brenda, you’ve been through so much. I am glad a nurse made a difference for you. That is the heart of health care—caring.
I can't sleep when I'm in a hospital. I'm too much on "red alert" against being hurt. The PTSD at work. But I also knew that I had to sleep in order to rest and let my body regenerate. I had asked for two sleeping pills (one didn't do the trick the night before), but I couldn't bring myself to take them. After the careless comment of the resident ("How do you feel about being intubated?"), I couldn't bring myself to take those two pills. The nurse came in and sat on the edge of my bed and talked with me for a long time. Let me cry and sob and say the most unkind things about the medical profession! Then she proposed a possible work-around for the particular fear that was gripping me at that moment. She didn't act irritated or bored or insulted. She didn't try to "fix me" at a larger level. She just tried to listen and help me "fix" the immediate cause of my terror and tears. And it worked. Thanks to her, I was able to let down my guard enough to take those two sleeping pills. (They didn't work very well, but that's another story!) I will forever remember her.