Bread and Butter

The great thing about being where I've been for the last 9 weeks is that the patients are here much longer than usual. It's a state hospital, and it is a privilege really to see someone come in sick, broken, hurting and then get better. A LOT better. That, by far, has been the best thing about this experience, because some of them have gotten better and are back out in society as functioning individuals. One of the things I treasure most of all is the presents; the little things either I've gotten or the unit has gotten; evidence that we all have reaped what we have sown. During this time in Iowa, one patient wrote a poem for us, but I can't post it because it has our unit's name on it. There's a few thank-you cards from family members of former patients. Back home, I have a collection of drawings from former patients that they drew for me. But what will always be memorable for me is my bread and butter painting.

My bread and butter painting is currently taking refuge in my kitchen. My bread and butter was painted by a patient we had with us for a little while. During the first few days of their admission were quite sick and spent a few times in seclusion due to violence. But, as I've witnessed, they got better and were eventually discharged. But this particular patient spent some time in art school and had a family member bring in their artwork, and I remember us staff going into the room to look at it. The first painting that caught my eye was a simple one; just a piece of bread and butter. To thank me for the care we provided, it was given to me. I know we're not typically supposed to accept gifts from patients, but a few other staff took a painting too. Some to this day remain in the nurse's station. I really do worry about some of these individuals that come through our doors; I can't help it, I have a duty of care to them, all of them. I worry that unfortunately, like recovering addicts and alcoholics, will never reach step 1 in admitting they have a problem that needs addressed and instead will just blame. Blame us, the police, child and family services, their PO's, their family, my bosses, whoever. Some I know doubt the capability to realize that they need help, but some don't and are just victims of what they believe is a screwed up system. But really, it goes back to the fundamental belief that you really can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped.

That, is one of the saddest and most frustrating things about this job, and this has been across the board everywhere I've ended up. I don't think this way of thinking is ever going to go away for some people, and I know that encounters I've had in the past or just recently as the aforementioned are going to vanish anytime soon. That's when I remember my bread and butter. That, right there, is evidence to me that someone out there that we've encountered can recover and return to society. I've had so many patients tell me recently how awesome of a nurse I am, but what is about me that makes me so awesome? I haven't the courage to ask, but maybe I should. It's simple really; God has blessed me with a gift and I just do my best day by day to share it with others. And sometimes I'm successful, other days I'm not. But you know what? It's things like the bread and butter that keep me coming back. And in a day or two, I'll be right back there, repeating the sometimes frustrating process all over again.


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