A (not so) clinical reflection
It’s the first proper day of placement. I hop from consultation rooms, loiter in corridors to see the right member of staff, make small talk with patients, and attempt to spell drug name correctly. Between all of the small tasks and short consultations were sneaky phone checks, hacking back the notifications that do not disturb mode momentarily hides.
Buried in these are messages about Baby J. Videos of him smiling while my brother plays with his little legs, sweet photos of him pressed against my sister in law sporting new tapes to keep his NG tube in place, and much anticipated announcements of his creeping weight gain and updates from doctors appointments. We all show our support with various emojis and messages of love while Baby Js O2 saturations jump around.
Colleagues ask what I’m smiling at, and I merrily share the happy snippets. It opens the conversation about their kids, their niblings, their siblings. The transparency of Baby Js illness, a visible NG tube, seems to make it easier for others to share their own challenges with youngsters. This creates empathetic spaces to talk about neurodiversity, social difficulties, and missed milestones.
This echoes skills I’ve seen in clinicians so far. A comfortable honesty with uncomfortable topics makes consultations where patients have space to share their shame-laced concerns. This kind of comfort, I think, comes with practice. Whether it’s repeatedly chatting about Baby Js condition, or rehearsing a response to a patients fleeting mention of red flag symptoms, getting comfortable with discomfort is necessary, and entirely possible.
East Anglia Children’s Hospice (EACH) excels at this. Working with sick and dying children is an uncomfortable thought for many. The years of lost life, and such a young person suffering, feels unjust, but EACH brings a kind honesty to the situation. They make adjustments so sick kids are able to play. They talk to family members to set realistic expectations. They create comfortable spaces where families can feel normal while facing worries and fears.
This means, just like our open conversations about neurodiversity, families can voice their concerns and feel less alone in the challenges they face. Please support EACH to keep providing such crucial care to kids with life threatening illnesses.
