Imagine spending your work day barefoot- jumping into a ball pit, swinging on a trapeze, climbing up a mountain of mats and then crashing into a giant stash of pillows. Yes, life is much different in the world of sensory integration (SI). Goodbye wiping butts, hello blowing bubbles. Instead running around a hospital to see 8-10 patients a day, I indulge in hour long sessions with 5-8 children per day. No foul smells, no obnoxious doctors, no 12 hour work days! I actually have time to read and observe. I can write this entry at work! Hallelujah! I love pediatrics!
However… I am once again learning a new vocabulary. Ideational praxia, gravitational insecurity, and vestibular discrimination are not terms that just roll off the tip of the tongue. And sure we went over these definitions in school, but actually observing a child and being able to identify them as such is a whole nother bag. But nonetheless I am excited to jump around, roll over, and crash into this bag!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
After-thoughts
It's been a little over a week since fieldwork ended and while I thought I closed the door on this blog, I realized I still have a bit to share...
Goodbye Mr. Dilverman. On my last day, in an afternoon flurry of securing all my documentation and gaining some sense of closure, I missed saying goodbye to Mr. Dilverman. We had spent the last month together recovering from his quadruple coronary artery bypass surgery. He went from being completely dependent with most all his self care tasks to a near full return of his morning routine including washing up, getting dressed, and going to work. At 82, he still works as a certified public accountant. His last day at the hospital was my last day. And yet, I was so caught up that I missed saying goodbye.
It's hard letting go of patients. You build such a bond by performing such intimate, basic activities of life with them. It's unlike any other relationship. It's hard to gain a sense of closure when they leave unexpectedly due to some medical complication or even when it is expected, but you know you'll never see them again. What happened to all the people I met over the last three months? Where are they now? Who's helping them with their needs, if anyone? Again I'm feeling the bitterness of a disconnected health care system.
Thankfully, I've been working out my bitterness and post-fieldwork anxiety through a beautiful and healing book of stories by Rachel Naomi Remen, titled Kitchen Table Wisdom. Each two-three page story has been a solid dose for the soul. If I was a pharmacist for the soul, I'd prescribe it to everyone!
Goodbye Mr. Dilverman. On my last day, in an afternoon flurry of securing all my documentation and gaining some sense of closure, I missed saying goodbye to Mr. Dilverman. We had spent the last month together recovering from his quadruple coronary artery bypass surgery. He went from being completely dependent with most all his self care tasks to a near full return of his morning routine including washing up, getting dressed, and going to work. At 82, he still works as a certified public accountant. His last day at the hospital was my last day. And yet, I was so caught up that I missed saying goodbye.
It's hard letting go of patients. You build such a bond by performing such intimate, basic activities of life with them. It's unlike any other relationship. It's hard to gain a sense of closure when they leave unexpectedly due to some medical complication or even when it is expected, but you know you'll never see them again. What happened to all the people I met over the last three months? Where are they now? Who's helping them with their needs, if anyone? Again I'm feeling the bitterness of a disconnected health care system.
Thankfully, I've been working out my bitterness and post-fieldwork anxiety through a beautiful and healing book of stories by Rachel Naomi Remen, titled Kitchen Table Wisdom. Each two-three page story has been a solid dose for the soul. If I was a pharmacist for the soul, I'd prescribe it to everyone!
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