Let me start by saying that I haven't cried yet since I got here. Crying is supposed to be one of the stages I have to pass through being away from family and all. But no, I haven't, although at one point I almost did. I suppose I'm happy to distract myself by watching TV and playing computer games and drown the world out. I am learning again how to work with patients, something I haven't done in a long time. I am learning how to be relevant again in my chosen career and by the grace of the Heavenly Boss little by little I am regaining my confidence in patient care. Today, the 9th of March, I felt so ashamed of myself. I am a proud man most of the time. But today I am ashamed of myself.
Amy is my boss at the workplace and Jenny is a PT assistant. They were the first PTs ever when the facility I working in now opened more than a couple years ago. I have great admiration for both of them. I don't know if I can call them my friends, or what friendship entails in this part of the planet, but I admire both of them. Not only do they have great ethic at work, they embody what a physical therapist should really be. On the sides, while I'm working with my patients I steal glances and learn how they deal with their own. I am amazed by the smoothness and grace of their patient handling, their efficiency and how well they manage their time with patients. Most of all, my greatest admiration comes from their ardent desire to fight for every patient, to ensure that every patient gets the best care they need. With Jenny especially, she has this tremendous passion to help her patients. Now where does the shame on my part fit in here? Lemme explain.
Several days ago I evaluated a patient with a bagful of complicated pathology including a viral encephalitis that he got from simple knee arthoscopy. He looked like he was in terrible shape and that no amount of therapy would ever get him back to where he was before. I told some people at the office that I didn't know why they even him to a skilled nursing facility when they should've sent him to hospice. He clearly is gonna be a vegetable and it's pointless to even give him therapy. It then surprised me during team meeting a couple days after when his name was mentioned and Jenny goes on a barrage of let's try this, let's try that on him. And in my mind I was like Oh c'mon goodluck on your dream to have him get any better +2 max assist on everything zzzzzzz. Jenny said, I am not ready to give up on him just yet.
I am not ready to give up on him just yet. I am not ready to give up on him just yet....
Today, I saw the patient sitting on a good new wheelchair fitted for him by Amy and Jenny. He was sitting with good trunk control. He does look better. I wouldn't really know how much progress he will make but yes he does look better. He didn't seem as useless as I expected him to be. I felt ashamed of myself. Here I am calling someone useless, never gonna get better without even giving it a try. I judged him based on that first assessment and condemned him to being an infirm, an invalid for the rest of his life. I haven't given it my all. I had given up too quickly.
I am not a religious person but I consider myself somewhat spiritual. I will not say God-stuff just to impress people or what ever bullcrap you do with it. But I know one thing. Me seeing Amy and Jenny work their asses off to help that patient was no accident. It was part of my Heavenly Boss' masterplan for me. He showed me why I am a physical therapist, why He pushed me towards service for others. Through Amy and Jenny, He showed me my purpose in life. With that, the shame starts ebbing away and a new sense of determination slowly sets in. I may not be the best therapist there is clinically, but hell I will try. I will not take the easiest way out each time I encounter a difficult case.
This is my mission. God hasn't given up on me just yet and so will I to the patients I serve.
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