I am a health care provider, but the lessons I learned in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) are too big to go back to the same health care system.
I wore a white lab coat with pride before motherhood. Every morning, we sat in swivel chairs and I nervously presented patient cases written down and shoved deep into my lab coat pockets. I thought to myself, “Did I say everything I needed to say that was relevant?” “Was it succinct enough, but yet with all the important details?” Charts pulled up on a huge screen and providers discuss potential treatments, family coordinating, and care conferences. It was all so formulated.
Each case needs to be addressed in a timely manner. Turn the page to the next patient. Click to the next chart. These are patients on my schedule for the day. Written on a new piece of paper and placed back into my white lab coat.
Starting the day with boxes to check off, assessments to perform, orders to put into the system, and phone calls to make or answer. These are cases, but beneath it all, they are people.
My perspective forever changed when my baby was in the NICU. I was invited back to the familiar conference room with the swivel chairs. A sea of familiarity washed over me. However, this time my title was, “Mom.” I wore a hospital gown with no white lab coat to hide underneath.
Then the chart with the name, “Baby Girl” popped up on the screen. My baby. It felt like a dream. I was given a turn to speak during my turn as “mom.” And it was petrifying.
The only thing many of the providers seemed to take note of was the fact that I spoke the same medical language. At the time I thought this similarity was helpful, however, I quickly learned it was harmful. There was so much medical bullying.
I was asked to show residents exams on my baby. I was quizzed on worst case scenarios by a familiar doctor who made fun of my worry.
Medicine needs to change. Mental health needs to be prioritized for patients and families. Patients are people. Time management is not the only thing that matters.
Some of my mentors turned into taunters during this brief but impactful hospitalization. I became a spectacle. My anxiety was put on display for residents to see. One minute I was a respected Nurse Practitioner and the next an “anxious mom.”
Patients and families deserve better mental health support during hospitalizations. I write this as a call to action. Medical bullying and mental health are important to get out into the open both for patients as well as health care providers. Many hands are tied due to time constraints. Also, health care providers can also suffer from burn out and trauma.
I had to give my feelings to a higher power. I find hospital chaplains and pet therapy so important. The chaplain is sometimes the only one with enough time to see the patient “as a person” and not a case. Also, a loving dog is there for one to hug/feel safe and should be provided to families in addition to patients.
I needed a chaplain. I needed a therapy dog. I needed to scream. I needed to run. I needed understanding that I was not alone in a sea of other cases.
One day, years later, a health care provider hugged me when I was worried with a NICU flashback. It gave me a glimmer of hope that maybe things can change. Because after all, we are all people navigating this same healthcare system. Most of us have good intentions. We need to open up the conversation around mental health. Not just in healthcare, but beyond. It is not shameful. It, in fact, is a strength.
Contact your health care provider with any questions or concerns.
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