Say a patient finds out they are diagnosed with cancer at the particular hospital I work at. This is the way the journey usually goes:
First, they come to the ER, uncertain of what to expect. The patient has fevers, is lethargic and has some odd and excessive bruising. Parents suspect it could be the flu or a virus of some kind. Doctors aren’t so sure. The patient then meets Danielle, a child life specialist who clearly has a passion for easing children’s anxiety in the ER. Danielle is confident, builds rapport quickly and is such a rock for the nervous family.
The patient is then transferred upstairs to the inpatient unit. While they stay another night and prepare for worrisome tests like a bone marrow aspirate, they meet child life specialist Dora or Katie. Dora and Katie become such consistent and familiar faces, constantly checking in on the family. They help them experience a sense of normalcy through play and are a wise sounding board as the family begins to process their concerns: could this actually be cancer like the doctors suspect?
The tests come back. It is indeed cancer. A family’s worst nightmare come true.
Immediately the patient is whisked off to the OR to receive their port-a-cath. While in the pre-op room, in walks Ginger, yet another child life specialist. By now, the family may already be familiar with child life and recognize how helpful this role has been. Ginger quickly gets on their child’s level, actually gets the patient to laugh and giggle even in the midst of feeling so sick, and becomes yet another face the family will never forget as she provides such calm and compassionate care.
By the time the patient then arrives for their first outpatient oncology clinic visit in my area, it is clear this is not my patient. This is our patient.
There are times when being territorial over a patient can come from a good place–from a place of deep care for the patient.
When I first started in my role at this hospital, this teamwork dynamic is something I have grown incredibly appreciative of. However, there have been times when I have also felt the creeping temptation to become territorial as a child life specialist: “this is mypatient in my area.”
Why could this be? Why would I fight such a support system for this patient and family and seek to claim that I am the only person who can help them or make a difference? I have a few ideas I can confess:
- Insecurity. As I have blogged about before, one of the things I can struggle with the most is feeling inadequate as a child life specialist. So because I feel insecure and lack confidence in my own gifts as a child life specialist, I can quickly buy in to the fear and lie that other child life specialists, nurses, social workers, etc. are a threat instead of a partner.
- Jealousy. When I see that a patient of mine prefers someone else over me, I can become jealous of that person and the unique skills they possess. Why can’t every kid and family like me? Aren’t I supposed to have magical connections with everyone? Read more about my thoughts on comparison here.
- Distortion. What I mean by “distortion” is that I have a twisted view and understanding of the value of a multidisciplinary team. I can be guilty of thinking that child life specialists are the only ones who can calm an anxious child or play with a kid to promote development and normalcy. Do you want to know how many times I have seen a medical professional reason with a child and get them to comply with a procedure? Or how many times I have seen them sit next to a patient and help them with their play dough creation? And when I see that, I suddenly then spiral back to insecurity and believe that interaction to speak, “you’re not doing your job right and instead this other person is doing it for you.”
However, being territorial can quickly become an issue when we believe that we are the only person that understands and can help the patient.
There are times when being territorial over a patient can come from a good place–from a place of deep care for the patient. Like times when we seek to advocate to the nurse about the patient’s preferences, or times when we diligently chart about our hour long intervention we had with the patient in order to make others on the team aware.
However, being territorial can quickly become an issue when we believe that we are the only person that understands and can help the patient. We are their only ally and their only child life specialist.
So when I feel the sting that “Joey doesn’t want to see Allie, he wants to see Dora” or feel my heart beginning to pound when a patient’s name is brought up in rounds and I want to shout, “you don’t understand this patient!” here are the truths I can to focus on to protect me from the destructiveness of being territorial:
- I am a determined and hard working child life specialist…and so is my team. My worth and value as a child life specialist is not determined by my “fan club” of people who like me.
- Every child needs to connect with someone. Just like I don’t connect with every personality, I can’t expect every person I interact with to connect with me. So who do they connect with, and how can I help encourage that relationship?
- My team (child life, nurses, doctors, social workers, etc) are talented and each bring their own strengths. Celebrate each one of them and their gifts.
- A child’s experience isn’t dependent solely on me. If I were to stop working as a child life specialist, children will still be in such good hands and will continue to be cared for by the team of caring professionals. This idea isn’t one of self-hatred, but instead one of perspective.