To Accept

I was listening to Dr James Hollis, an American psychoanalyst and author, speak on a podcast recently and he said something rather profound that made me reflect:

“Often a sensitive child in the family feels they have to try to stabilize their environment in order to sort of get things back to a normal state, whatever that might be. But of course, that never quite happens. A child can’t fix a parent, you see. And so many people in the helping professions are driven by that powerful internalized message which becomes their sense of self.”

After being in healthcare I can see how this could ring true. I met many people that came from broken homes or chaotic lives, seizing back control of their own life by fixing others. When I asked why people wanted to be in healthcare I received a broad range of responses and narrowed it down to three things:

Empathy

Those of us who have experienced suffering know how life altering a dose of compassion can be. It is not so much about treating the aliments but about acknowledging the humanity of the person seeking care. They are moved by their heart.

Security

Some people go into healthcare for the money or job security. The know they are smart enough to take it on and thrive. They operate from their mind, moved in a practical direction.

Character

Or, sometimes people go into healthcare because they believe they are inherently good at caring for others. Often influenced at a young age by parents, or inspired by the “ambulance driver” in the park they saw saving a life. They wished to mirror something they perceived to be virtuous.

Ever since I was little I would empathize with people who suffered. I recall being almost transfixed in some sort of deep state of wonder. I ask myself; Why were they suffering, and how I could help? According to my mother, my grandfather witnessed this in me at a very young age.

A bit later in life I had an intense experience that revealed a paved path into healthcare.

The first time I saved someone’s life was with my own mother. We were celebrating the 4th of July surrounded by family and friends. The long summer day eventually turned to night. Fireworks just started booming overhead when someone came running calling for help.

“Someone is in arrest.” Said a winded young girl.

I looked at my mom who had turned her attention to this child, reassuring her that she found the help she was looking for. We briskly followed the girl to an elderly man lying motionless on the ground. From there, I followed my mothers instructions. She was calm, cool and direct. I was calm, cool and focused. There was a crowd forming all around, fireworks raging overhead, a woman shrieking “Harold, oh no Harold.”

I will never forget the feeling of time slowing down. I was in a state of hyper-focus that I had never experienced before. We had worked on this man providing CPR until the paramedics came. I was 18 when this incident happened, and 12 years later I can still remember it like clear as day.

After that experience I felt like I was born for heathcare. Or maybe rather, born INTO it.

My mother and father met in the ER, she a nurse, him a paramedic. I grew up hearing about horrific accidents that befall careless children, and how I needed to aware of my surroundings. My dad let me look through medical books that had graphic injuries. Instead of disturbed, I was intrigued.

Not your typical childhood.

My brother recently told me a story of how my dad “fell” into a creek, and pretended to be in hyperthermic shock. Now as an adult, I find it funny although borderline traumatic for a young child to witness. However, this was the kind of (unconventional) parenting they practiced. My father taught us what fear was and how to face it. My mother was an exalted example of what it looked like to be a leader.

So the question stands, was it nature or was it nurture?

Yes, I was exposed to it at a young age. It felt like it was in my blood. However, deep down, I believe I truly thrived in healthcare because something inside of me needed to witness the raw nature of this existence. I needed to make sure the people suffering was seen and heard. I felt like if there was nothing else I could do for them, at least I could bear witness to their life.

Being in healthcare felt like I was acting out the very nature of my being. It was something I was naturally good at and something I enjoyed. Yet, as the years passed something didn’t feel right. The unrest started as a splinter and grew to a fracture.

I leaned into that feeling of unrest. I acknowledged its part in my life but began to see that I coming to a dead end. After eight years in healthcare, I was beginning to accept that I needed to start forge a new path.