My best knowledge has come from being in the world. From my patients the past twenty years. From community, villages, cities other than the one I was born. Beyond the walls of North America and within. However, mostly from “outsiders.”
I’ve been educated by children. Yes, children. Ironically, I feel the West needs to grow up. I’ve been nourished by different colors, points of view; families full and rich with love. Ritual. My schooling came beyond states of emergency and from facing my own fears. Lessons mostly arrived from Mother Nature. I’ve learned from others’ dream, sorrows, and overwhelming generosity. Dancing, celebrating, eating together regardless of our complexities. And just because — We are Human. Humans with tremendous capacity for intimacy, respect and joy.
Yes, books are beautiful and bountiful and just plain orgasmic, sometimes. But not a thing has made me more FULL and knowing than direct communion with that, that I AM. And sometimes that is an old gas station for yours and my, viewing pleasure.
In these most unprecedented times, the public has been swarmed with a range of portraits/narratives into a medical system that has been quite frankly, working in the closet for years. I don’t think there’s ever been a moment where we’ve had more of a closeup, inside the walls of our hospitals. This closeup though, needs further attention. First and foremost, may we observe lightly as well as think deeply and more objectively into the lens we are viewing from outside the walls. Things are never as what they appear to be….we know this. We live in such a time of glossy and or fake news/entertainment, agenda driven squares and quite frankly, an ever evolving lack of self authority and responsibility.
In order for us to transcend — renew a sense of responsibility in our Care systems, I think we must begin to storytell. We need stories from deep within the hearts of medical providers. We need the tragic and the beautiful. The moments we have been touched by our patients, when we have learned something from them, and moments we’ve realized, mistakes were made. We need the stories of birth and of death and how we can accommodate both transitions better. We need to hear humans over machines; hearts over minds, at times and the stories that are impacting our environment as well as the health of the providers/patients within these walls.
Recently, I have listened to many perplexed and anxious medical minds and bodies on the forefront. And we perhaps, have an even more bewildered and scared mass of bodies waiting outside, to be seen by these insides. My hope is we resuscitate a culture that’s too often boot straps and boxing gloves. That we become alive and healthy again through truths, stories and broader perspectives of what it means to be a human in health care. The good, bad and the ugly. Hey, and if you want to do a dance at times, dance. I guess just looking into the intention, within that celebration. Because remember, the outside is always looking in, fortunately and unfortunately with a more scrutinous eye. At the end of the day may we all be Ambassadors for something larger than ourselves.
Well here it goes. The Nurse me. If we want to speak of “battles” then I have a battle wound or two. These wounds are more akin to tears(holes, breaks) in my heart. It’s ironic, as my inner compass showed me Medicine for a reason. But it appeared to me,(through my body/my health)in almost my 20th year of service that the way of the West, the way of New York; powering through, the way of metrics, evaluation, speed, waste, and profits no longer met my inner standards/values of what Medicine means to me. In my heart.
I worked and pushed through a lot of disempowerment in my hospital days. The only thing bringing me back from these edges was not a boss that says “If people aren’t happy, they can leave.” It was the immense humility to connect and be present, make more comfortable, to see; to see another through a most vulnerable time. Through the gifts of what medicine, at its roots, also entails. Yet these gifts, and I will name them, are the Femine values and virtues/the intangible/the unmeasurable,unquantifiable parts to the whole, that often go unrecognized. It is the gift of selflessness; as a human being on their deathbed that says. “Give a piece of me to another, please,” and they donate an organ. It is the Nurse that shows up to work countless hours to send money home to their families. It is the Caretaker that comes to work sick, because there lies in these systems, lots of trickery, guilt and shame. It is a system that, in the current conditions, looks so unified on the outside. But the truth is, it’s broken.
This is not meant to drag the current resilience, bravery and light by which we view the Health Care system off the stage. I only write this to cast some shade…because there’s always a shadow. I admit, I felt betrayed as I walked out of the locker room after eight years of service to a place I brought heart, soul, light and wisdom to. But I am also so proud of who I’ve become in the process. I know that we each are our own Medicine following our own heart’s Lub,Dub. And I was definitely one, to march to the beat of my own drum, always. I guess I no longer felt part of the beat.
The collaboration and solidarity I and we have been observing in these times, is a powerful testament to the impact Medicine and our Health Care system has on our communities and individuals. I do however question many responses, mainly from a humanistic perspective. I am curious about this very virus and what will soon be revealed, or not. More recently, I’m perplexed with the “hero” archetype. My concern with heroes, especially in medicine is, “Who are we when we don’t save the day?” Save a life. Make a mistake. Die on the line or for that matter, commit suicide. And the latter is not a new scenario as, “Doctors are far more likely than the general population to die by suicide.” (NPR.org 2018)
Pursuing the art of medicine to be another’s hero never sat well with me. Have I been a participant in the betterment of one’s illness, acute or chronic? Yes. A guide, so to speak, that has used her knowledge and skills to the best of her abilities, or so I can only hope? Yes. Have I educated, hung treatments, lead codes, witnessed miracles such as birth and passages of death? Yes. Have I felt a surge of energy and enthusiasm around a crisis? Yes. Have I felt proud? Yes. More potently however, I have been humbled. Humbled by the bravery of my patients and their loved ones. To go to a hospital in need of help is a bold and vulnerable act. Likewise, to be in service to those in need requires courage and vulnerability. This relationship involves a great deal of trust. And on occasion, the recipient of our best care doesn’t make it to see another day.
I have been both witness to and in the patient role in my days. I request no one be my Hero, only to use their scientific minds wisely and with flexibility. To listen. To hear and see not only with their heads. To apply the principles of Hippocrates and to perhaps reflect on a new Health Care Ethos. A humane ethos that has not only patient’s wellness at heart but providers as well. A slowing down versus powering through. A dismantling of Saintly Doctors and one of the most recent(disturbing) narratives, “Murderous” Nurses. I end with the question. Are we Human or are we Heroes? Perhaps we tend to our own personal Hero’s journey, as we unknot our capes and sit at the bedside; taking a glimpse at the insurmountable beauty and mystery before us. Another Human. Another You.
What are my thoughts on this Nurses Week, 8 months after retiring(for now) my mask and OR Bouffant? Welp, I will first say how sad, exhausted, and yet exhilarated I felt, leaving the so called “prestigious” institution I worked with(in hindsight, FOR) for eight years of my journey. I kissed the OR floor on my last day//The amount of humility and grace I experienced in service (side note: I was never a hero and in my humble and honest reflection around heroism– something doesn’t fundamentally sit right about an aim to be another’s hero) to the brave/vulnerable souls that entered our hospital doors in need of medicine, of care and compassion, need of surgery, of recovery, of trust, to have their voices heard; unfortunately the later being Co-Opted with our diverted attention, the fast, faster faster and more, more more movement of Health Care. And what we are witnessing currently among all the bravado and accolades, is not only the stifling of patient voices(as many are too fearful to show up in the hospital now) but those voices of our very own Health Care providers. Yes, it is true, our humans of medicine, especially nurses; speaking up against injustices has its price. (And this is not new)
My second thought around this week is the gut feeling there is so much PTSD about to surface and many inside the sterile walls perhaps already displaying symptoms without realizing it. Our hospital systems, for the most part, are not and have not been designed to be in service to those in the arena of Care, ie counseling, education, mental health and grievance support and as we presently bare witness to–Protection and Safety. Providers, like patients have become another number/another body. And after tagging and bagging those so called bodies, it’s “Back to work.” Even if you’ve just been to you very own family funeral. With so much more to say, I end this piece with my expression of love for all the Medicine Women and Medicine Men I am fortunate to know. Those that show up to work not looking for freebies and thank you’s as much as they are looking to be recognized as HUMAN.
Yesterday I felt a grief down in my bones. A feeling, like something is missing. Something that can’t be reached through a screen. Even beauty or God, for that matter. That feeling; it’s more of a salve than a prescription. It’s a connection. My skin resting in a hug. Hand holding hand. It’s checking vitals. Not with a cold device between your heart and mine. Rather vitals as, “what is vital to you dear human?”
It is warm sand again, between my toes. Sharing a gin in a small back room where all mouths are poets’ mouths. It is the company of a healer not just my own healing company. The company of little ones, old ones and even homeless ones. There was this one man in silver rings, wearing black, always. Summer and winter under the scaffolding on Howard Street, our eyes would meet. We would bow our heads in honor. I wonder how he’s doing presently…as he is God too. Also beauty.
That feeling; that salve I so viscerally want to taste. It is Humanness. The sweet and sacred collective. The community. The planet, yours and theirs. May we be brought home soon dear ones, minus the masks we once(and always) wore.
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