I've had these same thoughts before and yet I feel the urgency to speak about them again, namely the element of "sonder," that particularly realization that those we interact with live a life that is as vast and complicated as one's own. The hospital has cross sections of life that all manage to intersect in some fascinating ways. I mean, I know that this is technically true everywhere, but it seems more apparent in this environment as hospitalizations and new diagnoses are significant turning points for many people. So, not only are lives happening, they are changing drastically and with all the big emotions that implies which is now suddenly put into context against what they (formally) knew as normal. Weddings, graduations, new jobs, new family members, and many other significant life events are happening, even as a loved one from another family is dying in one of our hospice rooms.
One patient is worried about whether their professors will be flexible with their due dates while they are hospitalized. Another is concerned if they are going to lose their job, which is the only reason they have health insurance. Another still is contemplating how to explain to their aging parent that their needs are beyond their ability to care for them alone and they need to consider what other options are there. Another still will be following up outpatient now that they've stabilized in order to find out what their new chronic illness actually is and what that will mean for themselves and those that love them. A group from another family in hospice is so busy "helping" that they somehow fail to be present in the moment with the patient in their final hours. Another knows that their family member does best when they have a familiar face around to reorient them but also cannot get enough time off of work to be present. Another family member is completely fed up having to pick up this patient for the umpteenth time from the hospital, wishing that the patient may make some more positive changes this time. Another patient only let the problem get this bad because they could not afford anything preventative--the emergency room and admission were the only parts of their care covered.
Folks wander up to the desk asking for a cup of ice completely oblivious to what is happening two rooms over. In fact, patients and their families can be so intwined in their own situation that they seem to forget anyone else is here. These seems most true for hospice situations, particularly if the change over to hospice was sudden. Their understanding of a world larger than themselves simply vanishes. Even in less extreme circumstances, I cannot count how many times someone comes to the front desk and says something like "my mother needs to go to the bathroom" or some other similar request (a cup of ice, pain medicine, has a question, etc). I have no idea who they are, let alone who their mother is. As such, there are many points where I have to ask "who is your mother?" and they might tell me a name, but I have to clarify still "what room are they in?" because I will not be able to find someone simply based on their name without cross-checking things because even the rooms do get switched from time to time. Additionally, I won't magically know important context to their case nor specific bathrooming needs because I'm wearing navy blue scrubs--chances are, I'll need to find their nurse or tech. I will know many specifics about the patients I am assigned that day; I will not have such intimate knowledge of the entire set of thirty patients possible on our floor. Maybe I should try to look less approachable. Yet the point remains: I don't think that they're being egotistical on purpose, assuming that I know who they are because they are the only ones in the hospital but more because they are so focused on this pivotal moment that they do temporarily forget that there is anyone else outside of them.
Yet in the meanwhile, the nurses and techs and doctors are discussing the new hospital visitor policy, talking about the asshat who cut them off on the way to work, on a house hunt, wading through family drama, trying to find someone to cover them to go to their child's game that week, planning their garden for their day off, managing their own appointments and conditions, thinking about their next vacation, considering picking up additional time to pay for said vacation, sorting out how to get their car back from the shop with their work schedule, and a thousand other things.
I don't need the patients to pull themselves out of that self-centeredness, except for small moments at a time. In fact, I would encourage folks to stay in a place where they can process and feel what they need to that they might be otherwise ignoring for at least doses at a time. However, I do need enough awareness to firstly acknowledge that I have other places I also have to be and as such I am not slow to reply for any vicious reasons. I am a side character in their event. And while I am providing a service, I am also an individual with my own goals, needs, and limitations.
All colliding and intersecting, requiring uncomfortable pauses and emotional processing while, somehow, the world keeps turning outside of the hospital walls. Time moves differently in our hallways; time moves with portent and either with startling speed or as a maddening crawl. Yet, it moves forward all the same.
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