As I settle into my second year of practice, I am becoming more comfortable with the medicine overall, and am feeling continually blessed to be in a place where I can participate in journeys to better health and well being.
Each day brings challenges, opportunities to test my abilities as a practitioner, and conversations about life, love, health, wellness and managing obstacles along the way. I am continually impressed by how patients cope, how they overcome their unique health issues, and how the medicine seems to support their efforts to improve.
Some days the intensity of multiple patients with intense back stories or clearly nuanced and complex lives and circumstances leaves me exhausted, emotionally. Therapeutic distance is a beautiful ideal that we're encouraged to employ; the reality is sometimes, often when I 'm physically taxed at the end of a long day or week, applying that ideal of distance becomes a challenge. When the energy that fuels my barriers is low, sometimes stuff gets to me that usually doesn't. Which requires rest, reassessment, and usually sharing my feelings with those close to me who are kind enough to let me vent, and to help me heal as a result.
Occasionally a patient passes from this life. The passing may be unexpected, or at the end of a long journey of illness, but when they leave....it feels like a blow to the midsection with a medicine ball - one of the heavy, leather ones that we had in elementary school. Several weeks ago, one of my dear, brave, lovely patients left this plane of existence after struggling mightily against a particularly aggressive form of cancer. News of her death didn't surprise me, as we had known she was declining, but the medicine ball thing, well, it's real.
As I sit with the feelings this loss has elicited, I realize that the sacred relationship between a patient and a practitioner allows for incredibly honest conversations where insights into the deepest thoughts and feelings are gleaned. Anything can surface at these times, and life philosophies, regrets, joys and sorrows number among the topics that bubble up. I also realize that the lessons to be learned from those who know their days are numbered are innumerable. This patient, regardless how low her energy became, or how poorly she felt, would always arrive with a pretty pedi. Her favored shade was Candy Apple Red, and she always grinned when I noticed and complimented her on how pretty her toes looked.
She said, "You know, I think we all have to hold onto a little something that makes us feel good, particularly when we're dealing with challenging circumstances. There is nothing wrong with wanting to feel pretty while wrangling the ugly beast that is cancer."
I agree.
And once I'd gathered my thoughts and taken a deep breath after news of her passing had arrived, I went for a pedi. A red one. Candy Apple Red. In her honor.
Each day presents many opportunities for learning, for becoming a better human. This lovely lady demonstrated incredible elegance and grace up to the end of her time on Earth. I thank her for allowing me to be a small part of her journey. Knowing her was a blessing, and her lessons shared I will hold near and dear forever more.
Hugs and best wishes,
Stevie
Each day brings challenges, opportunities to test my abilities as a practitioner, and conversations about life, love, health, wellness and managing obstacles along the way. I am continually impressed by how patients cope, how they overcome their unique health issues, and how the medicine seems to support their efforts to improve.
Some days the intensity of multiple patients with intense back stories or clearly nuanced and complex lives and circumstances leaves me exhausted, emotionally. Therapeutic distance is a beautiful ideal that we're encouraged to employ; the reality is sometimes, often when I 'm physically taxed at the end of a long day or week, applying that ideal of distance becomes a challenge. When the energy that fuels my barriers is low, sometimes stuff gets to me that usually doesn't. Which requires rest, reassessment, and usually sharing my feelings with those close to me who are kind enough to let me vent, and to help me heal as a result.
Occasionally a patient passes from this life. The passing may be unexpected, or at the end of a long journey of illness, but when they leave....it feels like a blow to the midsection with a medicine ball - one of the heavy, leather ones that we had in elementary school. Several weeks ago, one of my dear, brave, lovely patients left this plane of existence after struggling mightily against a particularly aggressive form of cancer. News of her death didn't surprise me, as we had known she was declining, but the medicine ball thing, well, it's real.
As I sit with the feelings this loss has elicited, I realize that the sacred relationship between a patient and a practitioner allows for incredibly honest conversations where insights into the deepest thoughts and feelings are gleaned. Anything can surface at these times, and life philosophies, regrets, joys and sorrows number among the topics that bubble up. I also realize that the lessons to be learned from those who know their days are numbered are innumerable. This patient, regardless how low her energy became, or how poorly she felt, would always arrive with a pretty pedi. Her favored shade was Candy Apple Red, and she always grinned when I noticed and complimented her on how pretty her toes looked.
She said, "You know, I think we all have to hold onto a little something that makes us feel good, particularly when we're dealing with challenging circumstances. There is nothing wrong with wanting to feel pretty while wrangling the ugly beast that is cancer."
I agree.
And once I'd gathered my thoughts and taken a deep breath after news of her passing had arrived, I went for a pedi. A red one. Candy Apple Red. In her honor.
Each day presents many opportunities for learning, for becoming a better human. This lovely lady demonstrated incredible elegance and grace up to the end of her time on Earth. I thank her for allowing me to be a small part of her journey. Knowing her was a blessing, and her lessons shared I will hold near and dear forever more.
Hugs and best wishes,
Stevie
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