For Whom The Bell Tolls

**VivaLasViejas**, ASN, RN

As my favorite author, Erma Bombeck, once said: "There is no way that your foot will ever get well as long as there is a horse standing on it."

In my case, that means I won't get well until there is less stress in my life, and the only way to have less stress in my life is to get away from its source. Today, I finally came to understand that my once-loved job is that metaphorical beast, and it's not only standing on my foot but grinding it into the dirt, crushing the delicate bones to powder and causing wounds that will take much time and care to heal.

Today, I feel less like Erma and more like Ernest Hemingway, who penned the book I borrowed my title from and who was afflicted with the same disorder I have. Not to worry---I'm ANGRY, not suicidal---but I'm as finished with this job as he was with life. I can't do this anymore. I burst into tears three separate times in the first six hours of the workday, and I don't normally cry that much in six months.

The epiphany came as I was driving home after a 90-minute meeting with my director and the corporate nurse consultant. I've been out on medical leave for almost three weeks due to a flare-up of mania and work-related anxiety attacks; today, it all came to a head as both my illness and my job performance were discussed at length, and the accommodations recommended by my psychiatrist systematically picked apart one by one (there were only three).

What it all boiled down to, essentially, was that I'm nowhere near as good at my job as I thought I was. I was given no credit whatsoever for my efforts during what have been some very hard times for me over the past 18 months, and told that conditions at work are only going to get worse over the next few months as we try to pass our final re-survey. We're about to go into stop-placement because of documentation issues in health services. Translated: I've steered the Titanic into the iceberg, and now we're headed to the bottom of the Atlantic.

As if that weren't enough to destroy what little self-confidence I had left, I was also informed that I am considered "unstable" and that my staff doesn't trust me. And while nobody was suggesting that I put in my 30-day notice, I was reminded that failure to pass re-survey would result in termination, and then sent home for a couple of days to contemplate what sort of future I envision for myself. In the meantime, my bosses were discussing my condition and its impact with the corporate powers that be, thereby ensuring my utter humiliation no matter how good their intentions.

On my way out of the office, I apologized reflexively for being such a pain in the rear. I've been doing that a lot lately. The nurse consultant smiled, shook her head sadly and said, "It's not your fault. It's chemical."

Wow. Who knew that an entire life could be explained in two words: it's chemical. And while that may be at least partly true, it doesn't make me feel any better about what's happening to me.

Still, the die has been cast, and my decision has been made. Not one single person I've talked to in the past two weeks has encouraged me to hang in there and fight; family and friends alike are telling me the opposite. Even my psychiatrist has been after me for months to consider a job change, and he knows almost as well as I do how tight the job market is for health professionals. That's how bad things have become.

How I wish things hadn't turned out like this......I've loved this job ever since the first day I walked in the front door and a resident asked me if I was the new move-in. I've never so much as looked at a want ad since then. But how does a manager recover from the impression that she's "mental"? And worse, how does a nurse who's never accepted any limitations deal with the fact that not only does she have a major one, but it affects her to the point where she can no longer do the only work she knows how to do?

Today, there are no answers.....other than the fact that I have bipolar disorder, and I know for whom the bell announcing the death of a career tolls: it tolls for me.

For Whom The Bell Tolls

About VivaLasViejas, ASN, RN

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