Being on the receiving end of health services, delivered by a long succession of health professionals, parahealth professionals and other unregulated staff, reinforces my belief that, among the many attributes of a nurse, caring is most important. Of course, knowledge, skills and techniques are important, but caring comes first. If we care enough, we will find the right thing to do. For example, Ben did all the searches for me, saving me tremendous time worrying about whether I had searched enough. Screening out all the useless information and pointing out the relevant to me was an enormous help. Thanks ever so much, Ben.
Coming back to compassion. If we care enough, we will be more thoughtful, will adopt the sick person’s perspective and relieve the burden on both the patient and his/her family. I travelled back and forth between the HK SH (another hospital) and my doctor’s offices just because the staff didn’t think of mentioning something to me. So I had to make that extra trip. As time-conscious as I am, I am surprised that I didn’t throw any temper tantrums at having my time wasted on avoidable activities. I think of caregivers who may be old and patients who may be too sick to travel back and forth. I also think of people who are not as mentally stable as I am. Imagine the pain and frustration they have to go through.
I used to think I was a very good nurse. Now I know I can be a better one. Adversities in life can be blessings in disguise. They make me more humane and accepting of other people’s weaknesses. I can now boldly state that “life is precious” and mean it.
Good health to all.
For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.
15 June 2010
Illness experience II: A private experience?
I am an open person. Over time, I have grown out of my shyness and, most of the time, I speak my mind. But I am also a private person. I don't like people nosing into my business, just as I don't nose into other people’s affairs.
But as my illness experience accumulates—going for an appointment, getting a diagnosis—I realize that what is personal isn’t always private. I have to tell the receptionist about my condition and ask questions right in front of everyone in the waiting room. I have to ask my colleague to cover my class for me, as a favor, because I need to go for a doctor appointment. I have to call friends and ask for contacts. I have to call people—experts—I don’t know at all, no matter if they show warmth or coolness toward me. I have to tell event organizers I won’t be able to realize my speaking engagements. I have to apologize for missing meetings I have agreed to. And, I have to tell colleagues and team members about my situation when they are planning ahead for what needs to be done when and by whom. It ends up that, no matter how private I am, I have to tell people about my health problem. I don’t mind telling people; breast cancer is not shameful. But, when I am just trying to deal with it myself, I’m not prepared to share so much about myself with so many others. But illness leaves no room for shyness.
I now learn that illness is never a personal experience, not even a family experience. And I don’t like it when people ask me how I am, even though I have never told them anything. Grapevines spread very quickly. I tell myself I need to accept other people’s good intentions. My colleagues care about me. They want to let me know they care. Therefore, I must graciously accept and not push people away.
In illness, you have to come to terms with the fact that you can no longer entirely be your own boss.
For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.
But as my illness experience accumulates—going for an appointment, getting a diagnosis—I realize that what is personal isn’t always private. I have to tell the receptionist about my condition and ask questions right in front of everyone in the waiting room. I have to ask my colleague to cover my class for me, as a favor, because I need to go for a doctor appointment. I have to call friends and ask for contacts. I have to call people—experts—I don’t know at all, no matter if they show warmth or coolness toward me. I have to tell event organizers I won’t be able to realize my speaking engagements. I have to apologize for missing meetings I have agreed to. And, I have to tell colleagues and team members about my situation when they are planning ahead for what needs to be done when and by whom. It ends up that, no matter how private I am, I have to tell people about my health problem. I don’t mind telling people; breast cancer is not shameful. But, when I am just trying to deal with it myself, I’m not prepared to share so much about myself with so many others. But illness leaves no room for shyness.
I now learn that illness is never a personal experience, not even a family experience. And I don’t like it when people ask me how I am, even though I have never told them anything. Grapevines spread very quickly. I tell myself I need to accept other people’s good intentions. My colleagues care about me. They want to let me know they care. Therefore, I must graciously accept and not push people away.
In illness, you have to come to terms with the fact that you can no longer entirely be your own boss.
For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.
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