Thursday, July 5, 2012

When the Walls Come Tumbling Down


Working in the field of psychology for as long as I have, I sometimes forget the effort it takes to build that emotional wall that separates me from the pain and suffering of my clients. It is necessary to insulate myself, so that I can be objective; and do what I can to help them. If I get pulled into that pain, I am no longer effective. A breakdown of that wall can result in risks to my own emotional well being as well as professional burn out. It sounds cold, but no one can work around human suffering day in and day out without that barrier.

Sometimes I worry that I have been doing it for so long that I may not be able to feel as much as I should. The wall becomes a habit that gets easier and easier to fortify until it doesn't seem to take any effort on my part to block off my feelings. I meet a new client, ask the right questions, take the appropriate data, write up the assessment, train the staff, monitor progress, blah, blah, blah. No emotion. Business as usual.

Then I meet a client who blasts through that barricade like a wrecking ball, reminding me that I am still human.

 "Anne," was a single mother with a limited support system. She was caring for her daughter, "Gina," who was paraplegic and profoundly developmentally disabled. I was there to determine whether or not "Gina" would be an appropriate placement for a board and care home I provided consulting services for. I noted that "Gina" was in a wheelchair. She was nonverbal and had difficulty with motor control. She could not feed herself. She needed assistance with toileting and hygiene. I noted that she was going to be a total care client. I asked the appropriate questions and took notes. "Gina" had recently turned 18 and now qualified for adult services. "Anne" wanted to continue to care for her, but it was becoming more and more difficult, and she thought "Gina" might be better off with professionals.

After we finished the interview, "Anne" started to cry, so I put my bag back down and just listened. She told me that "Gina" had been completely normal until the age of 14. She was an active, vibrant child who was doing well in school and had many friends. On a school break, the family had taken a trip to an amusement park. They had a great day riding roller coasters and eating junk food. The next day, "Gina" came in complaining of a headache. "Anne" recommended she go rest until dinner. "Gina" didn't respond when she was called to come and eat, so "Anne" went to check on her. She found "Gina" unconscious. "Anne" called 911 and went with "Gina" to the hospital. The doctor's told "Anne", her beautiful child had had an aneurysm. There was so much brain damage, they told her she needed to prepare for the fact that her daughter would never return to her as she was before.

I stayed with "Anne" and talked to her for some time until she calmed down, and I felt comfortable leaving. I could see she was overcome by guilt for wanting to put "Gina" in a care home. I told her she was doing the right thing by getting help and not trying to do everything herself. I told her we would do everything we could to care for her daughter, and she could visit anytime.

When I left, she was smiling and looked hopeful. I barely made it around the corner before I had to pull over because I couldn't see through my tears. I thought about my own daughter at home and said a silent prayer of thanks. I couldn't imagine what that mother was going through. Couldn't. Even. Imagine. I recommended "Gina" for placement. How could I say no? The administrator at the board and care told me "Gina" would be admitted to the facility in two weeks, and then I would have to meet with her again. That gave me fourteen days to painfully rebuild my wall. Brick by brick.

8 comments:

  1. I can see how you could become desensitized, in a way, to your clients. Believe me, I understand. I've worked at times in the Cancer Center at the hospital where I'm employed and I see the nurses, technicians and to a certain extent the oncologists behave in a very "clinical" way. I thought of this long and hard because for me, my heart broke every day with every patient. It was tearing me apart. I could not re-charge for the next day. After meditating for a few hours I realized that most patients want the "clinical" personality. They want to be able to go for their therapy and not fall apart at the "pity" or "empathy" in their caregiver's eyes. They don't want to think that far in the future. Just the here and now. I grew a lot that day, realizing that we have to take the "mask" of big brother. There to make sure you go the direction you need to go and not fall down along the way.

    So, I understand the pain, I understand the supposed desensitization, but mostly I VALUE the professional attitude.

    I'll say thank you now, as a colleague and as a patient.

    River Jordan <3

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    1. The medical field is another area where "the wall" is necessary. You are absolutely right, River. Patients are dealing with their own feelings and need their caretakers to be strong. Hugs to you for working in that incredibly difficult field.

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  2. Wow! This is very powerful, Michelle! You had me in tears before the end of the story. A stark reminder of how truly fragile our 'world' is sometimes and that in the space it takes to blink the reality of our lives can change completely and irrevocably. This is heart-wrenching. Especially that last sentence - "...painfully rebuild my wall. Brick by brick."

    This is also something I have wondered about, with my own therapist... how does she cope with the darkness and despair of human tragedy... day in and day out? Those walls... so carefully built and maintained... when do they become too thick... too impenetrable to let anything in?

    I tried to bring this up with Dr Kay on a couple of occasions, unfortunately it was usually in response to some rather insistent probing on her part and she told be I was either deflecting or avoiding the issue... well, duh! Of course I was!

    Okay... back to work. I'm supposed to be writing, but I needed a little break and what do you know... there was Facebook... just waiting for me! :)

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    1. Awesome comment Veronica! That was the same feeling I had - how our lives can change in an instant. It makes me so thankful for what I do have. Thank you for taking the time to read it :)

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  3. *hugs* As a mom of a disabled child, I want to say thanks. I can just about imagine how hard it is for you to see this every day, over and over, and to try and stay strong for us. It is people like you who help get us through the tough times. <3

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    1. *Hugs back* Parents of disabled children are some of the most incredible people I have ever met in my life. It is truly an honor to work with them. Having issues with my own son has made me respect them even more.

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  4. Everyone has that barrier to some extent. It's what stops us from going a little nuts at all the sadness in the world I think. But empathy is hard to beat down when we meet someone who forces us to think 'what if it was me?'

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    1. True Ciara. We all have to protect ourselves to come extent. Harder to do when it hits so close to home.

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