Medical Professionals and Emotional Connection

As a person who has both cared for acutely, critically, and/or chronically ill people and walked through acute, critical, and now chronic illness with my child, I have thought often about the different types of emotional connections that are formed in healthcare situations.

I am, of course, human first. As a human I am connected-- and deeply so, when I allow myself to look at it-- to every other person.

As a mother, or any of the other roles I have in the lives of people I know personally-- family, friend, acquaintance, I have another layer of connection. Each of those role defines not just my responsibility to the other persons involved in each relationship, but also my level of emotional investment.

I am a professional care giver. By choosing to be a nurse, by choosing to do the kind of nursing I have done, I have entered into an agreement with each person for which I provide care. I have agreed to feel deeply compassionate, to feel and display my human connection to each other individual while they are navigating a pivotal life experience, all without becoming so personally or emotionally involved that it obscures or overrides clinical thinking.

The relationship between healthcare professionals deserves a post all its own-- a bizarre, dark, loving, analytical, trial-by-fire, got-each-other's-back-whether-or-not-we-like-each-other, deep respect, personal attachment, professional distance, wade-into-the-fray, soft, hard, everything's-okay-even-when-it's-not, heavy duty kind of post. Maybe another day we'll go deeper into that.

Experiencing healthcare from both sides has been an interesting experience. In this case, 'interesting' has meant everything from 'devastating' to 'hilarious', with a hefty dose of 'informative' at every turn.

I talked in Chapter 8 about an imaginary membrane that separates healthcare providers from their patients. A membrane that allows genuine compassion to pass through, but shelters the caregiver from caring too much, from becoming too connected, from indulging so deeply in their own emotions that it becomes about themselves rather than about the patient, from having their judgement clouded, or from being broken by the weight of witnessed tragedy.

There is no membrane that works perfectly. There is always a patient, a family member, a situation that hits so close to home or is so tragic on a human level that it personally affects a caregiver. When the membrane has toughened to the point that nothing that affects the caregiver personally anymore, it has also toughened to the point that genuine compassion is no longer passing through. It's a delicate balance, one that requires maintenance and can easily tip in the direction of broken or, worse, the direction of calloused. Either way, when that tip happens, it's time for a break, a reassessment, perhaps a new career.

This article, "The Narrow Path" by David P. Steensma (warning-- it's a rough, sad read) is an accounting of one doctor's experience with tragedy that profoundly affected him, his reactions (both internal and external) to it, and the problems with confronting and discussing personal feelings in a profession where one is supposed to maintain a semblance of professional disconnection.

I can't help, when reading it, to put myself, my coworkers, and, most especially, the medical professionals who have cared for Sam, into that situation. I also can't help seeing myself lying in that bed, being the woman/mother/patient left without a decision to make.

I'd love to hear your thoughts about this topic. Comment below if you wish.

Thanks,
Jen