I posted this story in an unrelated thread earlier. I really want to say this directly to each of you who puts your heart and soul into taking care of your patients, especially if you are feeling burned out, used up, worn down, cynical or frustrated in general at work.
Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. What you do matters. In most cases, your efforts matter far more than you'll ever know because few people bother to tell you how important what you do is.
I am speaking from personal experience on the other side of the bedrails here. In April of 2000, I was hit by a very sudden and very acute case of Guillain-Barre Syndrome. Less than 24 hours from the first signs of numbness in my hands and feet, I was paralyzed completely and lying in an ICU bed with a ventilator at the ready next to me. I couldn't move anything below my neck for the first eight weeks. I escaped the vent, but had Q2 breathing treatments around the clock for nearly six weeks. I experienced patient care up close and personal in the ER, the ICU (two weeks), med-surge floor (four weeks) and skilled nursing/inpatient rehab (eight weeks).
I cannot begin to describe the impact that every person - and the attitude they brought with them - who came through my hospital door, whether they were a doctor, a nurse, a tech/CNA, RT, PT, OT, housekeeping, whatever, had on my mental and emotional well-being, which then impacted my will to recover physically.
I was 30 years old. With a ten-month old baby I couldn't hug or even hold. I was a very independent and busy person with a great nonprofit job and a lot of community involvement - and all of a sudden I couldn't do a damn thing for myself.
I wasn't a difficult patient. I never wanted to inconvenience anyone, so I rarely called the nurses station (which I had to do by blowing on a straw-like attachment to the bed, since I couldn't move my arms). That said, I couldn't feed myself. I couldn't turn in bed. When my period came, I couldn't clean myself up. Hell, the first couple of months, I had no idea when my bowels moved. The nurses and techs/CNAs who were gracious about cleaning me up will never be forgotten. Neither will those who rolled their eyes, made faces, muttered nasty comments under their breath. There but for the grace of God go them....I had no idea I would wake up paralyzed one day. None of us do.
The Golden Rule ought to be taped to the front of every patient chart and tacked to every breakroom bulletin board and recited at every staff meeting at every hospital in the world, as far as I'm concerned.
I laid in bed and cried tears of relief and gratitude after a traveling nurse with a three hour drive home ahead of her stayed an extra hour one night and bathed me from head to toe and washed my hair after I had gathered three weeks worth of motionless summer sweat on a sheetless air mattress. There are no words to describe how much her kindness meant to me. I decided that night that I wanted to be a nurse and I promised myself that I would never make a genuinely sick or hurt patient feel bad about needing assistance.
Tomorrow will mark eight years since I was hospitalized with GBS and the start of a very long battle back to the land of the living. This September, I finally start nursing school. I've been a hospital tech for going on two years now and - while my sense of empathy is definitely tested from time to time, I'm happy to say that I still feel deep compassion for the patients I care for. And I want to tell every one of you who still feels that compassion and finds the strength to smile and show empathy to your patients - especially the difficult ones - that you are wonderful, and you are appreciated.
:)
The positive patient survey and the proactive bit of praise from management are both on the endangered species list where most of us work. I don't know if my ramblings here will give anyone a lift, but I know I speak for a lot of patients who regret not saying thank you to those who helped them through some of the roughest times of their lives.
