When I was in the second year of my training, I met the most incredible person. Gentleman Zed was in their 40's needing a knee replacement. For our information, Zed has Down syndrome and came into the anaesthetic room accompanied by their mother and by their friend Pudsey the Bear.
.
..
.
Now, at this point in my training all my work had been with adult patients. Adults as a field is very unfriendly, not cruel just brusque - it's hard to find the staff who have the patience to make accomodations to the needs of their patients, often the expectation is that the adults will adapt to the needs of the healthcare professionals. A mindset that I am now fundamentally against.
I will always remember this patient, because they were the catalyst to opening my mind to a whole new style of communicating. Zed showed me that instead of making patients accomodate my needs as a busy and stressed practitioner, instead I could be compassionate and adapt my care to support and comfort my patients. It sounds like something that should be common sense, but my training never taught me this. I learned this from Zed.
.
..
.
Anyway, Zed comes into the anaesthetic room exibiting the purest form of joy. This is a person who was happy to meet us and was unrestrained in their ability to laugh and ask questions about what was around them. This was not their first rodeo in having a procedure and at this point Zed and mother had a routine of what worked best for them. Zed had to climb onto the bed, laying on their side curled into the foetal position so we could do our spinal injection. Spinals can be painful, at the very least they are uncomfortable, and in order to help yourself cope you need good strategies in place. Zed and mother had these strategies. Mum sat on a stool by Zed's head while Zed held Pudsey. Mum sang 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat' while helping Pudsey gently stroke Zed from forehead to nose. Zed concentrated on their breathing and hummed along with the song when they could.
It was a beautiful experience. When the painful part happened, Zed asked for a hug, so mum wrapped her arms around Zed and continued to sing gently into their ear. I was given charge of Pudsey the bear, and picked up the process of gently stroking Zed from forehead to nose. That soothing, rhythmic motion was hypnotic, I'll never forget it. Zed began matching their breathing to the strokes, keeping themself as relaxed as possible as tears gently flowed.
.
..
.
I don't think it's possible to be brave unless you are afraid. Bravery is the act of recognising your fears and not allowing them to control your actions. Zed was incredibly brave this day. I felt incredibly humbled to be allowed to help assist in this process, to be a part of Zed's coping strategies. The trust that they put in us and the strength that they showed was awe inspiring. I remember finding myself tearing up alongside them and I had a moment of clarity, the knowledge that Zed would be someone who would stay with me for the rest of my life, that who I was as a practitioner would never be the same after this.
.
..
.
It was a good induction, It was calm and full of empowered choice making, Zed felt comforted and safe and was supported by those in the room with them. When Zed woke up afterwards, they gave us a massive ear-splitting yawn and a toothy grin and thanked us for taking care of them. We sent them to recovery where they spread their joy to the nurses looking after them and everyone who met them couldn't help but fall a little in love.
I am the practitioner that I am because of Zed. I hold myself accountable in my practice to give the most supportive care I can and I strive to ensure that the care I give matches the quality of care that was given that day. I will never see Zed again, and so I send my good wishes out onto the internet void - Thank you. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for changing me. Thank you for existing and for every single bit of who you are. I think of you every time I see a Children in Need advert - every time I see a Pudsey the bear, I hold a little piece of you in my heart and I hope to never let it go.
Thank you.
Comments
Post a Comment