There are often too many times where I can be swayed by the power of feelings and circumstances. I can question the validity of my role. I can doubt the purpose and significance of the child life profession.
In honor of Child Life Month, I am grateful for the reminder to reflect on the power of our profession and how vital our role actually is in supporting children and families. I especially think of one recent story of young man I had the honor or working with named “Derek*.”
Derek was a quiet 14 year-old; a “gentle giant” of sorts. He was tall and athletic, with an especially big heart for basketball.
When I initially met him due to a recent life-threatening diagnosis, Derek assured me that he was coping “as best as I can” and respectfully declined a need for child life involvement. He was more of an internal processor-type and was skeptical of the power of talking to someone about his “problems”. Though I reminded him I wasn’t a therapist, I also accepted his display of being the strong and reserved teenager with great family and peer support and sought to merely remain available to him should (and when) his feelings change.
Throughout the days that followed, I also was especially grateful to partner with the unit’s Licensed Clinical Social Worker (wish your social workers a happy Social Work Month, too!) as she and I would use each other as sounding boards to check in with the patient. She is so gifted at what she does, and I am so grateful to have a partner in the “psychosocial care world”.
THIS is Child Life: Collaborating and partnering with the interdisciplinary team.
However, one day things became too difficult for Derek to hold inside. His treatment wasn’t going as planned and yet another delay and unexpected turn caused Derek to begin to appear withdrawn and tearful throughout his entire visit.
When I entered the room Derek quietly informed me that he didn’t want to talk about anything. He still thought that he would be fine and would continue to put his head down and just push through each day.
I slowly and gently began to reflect back, “that sounds really hard, to just try to ‘get through’ each day. I wonder how you do it?” I validated his feelings. I asked open-ended questions. And within 10 minutes, it was as if the flood gates of Derek’s emotions began pouring out as he laid on the bed. Clutching his Kleenex box, he started detaling the deep sadness, grief and fear he had experienced upon diagnosis months ago. He then turned to me and said, “I remember you saying that some teens get counseling during these times…I think I might like that and want to talk to someone. It feels really good to talk right now and let it all out.”
THIS is Child Life: Listening. Helping children and teens unlock their feelings.
Later, Derek experienced yet another mountain to climb in his treatment: he had to get a series of painful injections. Each time he would need to get these injections, he would begin shaking, sometimes even throwing up because of the intense anxiety that surrounded this part of his treatment.
“I literally can’t do this anymore, Allie. I can’t.” He told me, his eyes empty of all hope.
I sat with Derek and began talking to him about the power of his mind, the control he actually did have to practice alternative ways of coping and pain management that started with disciplining his mind. With a combination of new coping strategies to try (oils, calming music, deep breathing, and the doctor supporting a dose of pain medication), Derek reported decreased anxiety and was able to complete his entire series of injections day after day.
THIS is Child Life: Empowering the hero within.
Later, this once withdrawn, numb young man then encountered something new: meeting a much younger patient who was just beginning his own difficult journey of treatment similar to Derek’s. Both patients were open to meeting each other and I helped to facilitate the first meeting. A friendship began to blossom as they bonded about treatment and, more importantly, their shared love for basketball. With the suggestion of a wonderful staff member, we brought Derek a basketball to sign and give to his little warrior friend.
Derek paused as he considered what to write:
“Basketball players are tough. But you are tougher. You got this. Love, Derek.”
He brought the carefully signed basketball to his young friend who joyfully accepted it with wide eyes. It was clear that each of the young men viewed each other as their own personal heroes.
From that moment we began to see an even deeper change in Derek. With tears in his eyes he told me, “Allie, maybe this is why I got sick, so I could help other kids.”
Beginning a basketball analogy, Derek continued, “I had to play the game of this awful disease. But now, maybe I can be the coach to the other players to help them keep staying strong.”
THIS is Child Life: Pointing to purpose and to hope.
So to you, oh weary and sometimes unappreciated child life professional: remember your role. Remember your purpose. Remember your strengths. Remember the power in the profession. This. Is Child Life.
Yes, there are days where I feel discouraged and that I could do so much more or be so much more for these grieving patients and families. There are times when I question if I really even made any slight difference, or too often then not I place all the emphasis on my success if my nurses called me or not. And then…I remember Derek, and feel so humbled to have had the opportunity to walk alongside of him in all his joys and sorrows. Being a child life specialist truly is an honor.
And in case no one has told you today: Happy Child Life Month!
Question to Ponder: What is a moment you have shared with a patient that has reminded you about the power of your role?
*Please note: patient identifiers including name, age, and particular interests have been altered in order to protect patient privacy.*