Different Perspectives

As a full time mom and part time RN, work for me is more like a vacation. It allows me to contribute to society, support my family financially, and gives me a much needed break from my lovely little ones... who never cry, whine, throw fits, refuse to eat their dinner, or poop. I try to work about 20 hours a week outside the home dividing my time between Albany General Hospital and McKenzie Willamette Hospital.

Since I view "working" as more of a "vacation", I have a very different perspective of hospitals than most people do. I arrive cheerful, caffeinated, ready to interact with adults, and excited to use my skills to impact people's experience of health care when they need cared for the most (or when they run out of pain pills.. but I digress). I greet my fellow employees, catch up on the latest gossip, enjoy my favorite clam chowder Fridays and 2pm pick me ups at the coffee shop, and generally walk around jolly as though hospitals are the best place on Earth. 

I've always known that my experience and perspective of hospitals were the minority. I grew up with very fond memories of accompanying my dad to work at the McKenzie Willamette Hospital. Those are some of my most vivid childhood memories; following him down the seemingly grand halls as he greeted every passerby. If you know Mike Tucker you know the term "every passerby" is not an exaggeration. I remember thinking how important he must be, how important hospitals must be, and how privileged I felt to be allowed in such a place.

I know my perspective is the minority because I see the majority. I see patients in their last days whose spouses or children won't come to see them because "they don't like hospitals." And it's not for lack of trying. When I ask where they are I hear, "they're in the lobby" "they're in the car" or "they went for a walk." If they finally muster up the nerve to enter the room all their able to do is briefly say hello then leave. 

For the majority, hospitals bring back memories. Memories of loved ones dying, painful procedures, costly expenses, rude nurses, accusing doctors, and bad food. Simply walking into a hospital floods them with memories they'd rather leave forgotten. And not only are they forced to face their memories, but now they're facing new trauma. Their mother is dying, their child is sick, they're awaiting results, is it cancer, will she make it?

I have always known I'm in the minority, but I haven't always been sensitive to it. This realization came when I was sitting at the nurses station eating dinner and chatting with my co-workers. I had a pretty light workload on that particular night so there was time to relax. Something was particularly funny and a couple of us were briefly laughing loudly. I looked up through the nurses station glass, down through the hall outside the Critical Care Unit, and saw a large group of family embracing each other in tears. Actually more like sobbing.

Suddenly nothing was funny. I thought back to the "Code Blue" I'd heard paged overhead a couple hours ago in the Emergency Department. Someones heart had stopped. At that time I wasn't sure what the outcome was. Very rarely people who code survive to have a meaningful recovery. Because it had been several hours since I heard the page to when I saw the family, I gathered the patient survived the code. The next step would be a transfer to the Critical Care Unit where every effort would be made to protect vital organs from damage and begin recovery. And based off the tears of the group I gathered this phase wasn't working. 

At that moment I wondered what the family would think if they looked over at us group of nurses; eating dinner, laughing, and having a good time. I can only imagine what I would be thinking. "How can they be laughing when people are sick. How can they be eating when they know someone is dying. How can they come to work and be happy?" And honestly sometimes I don't know how we do.

Later that night when my shift ended I walked past the room of the patient that coded. I gave my coworker a questioning look and she shook her head. The patient had died. For the group of family that lost their loved one, this hospital would forever be associated with this hardest moment in their lives. This hospital was where their dad died. I came there to vacation and they came to say goodbye.

I'd like to think I'll be more sensitive now. However, nurses and other health care workers need to be able to desensitize to survive. If I felt that emotion along with the family every time I wouldn't view work as a vacation anymore and eventually I'd have to change careers. No one could endure that emotional turmoil and feel it deeply on a daily basis. If you have the misfortune of experiencing a trauma in the hospital and happen to see health care workings being callous, jolly, or insensitive, please try and remember that we know your pain... we just can't feel it.