Everybody has bad days at work, I won't argue with that. But in medicine,
it's a little bit different. We can’t come home and vent our frustrations with
just anybody. As part of the training I did this week as a peer supporter, we
were discussing coping mechanisms, like talking things over with friends and
family. Specifically non-doctor friends and family. The facilitator asked, "What
does it look like when you go to a family member, or a friend, someone outside
medicine, and they are able to help you cope?"
We all looked down at our papers, back up at her, thought about it. Finally,
one of the anesthesiologists spoke up. "It's never happened. I always get
blank stares, or horrified looks at what we deal with every day."
We all nodded. No one disagreed.
I’m sure it’s similar with fields like the military, first responders, law
enforcement—where they see things the rest of us can only imagine. While any
non-medical person could sympathize with a parent or patient yelling at me, an
incompetent co-worker, too many demands on my time, or any number of other
hassles of the day to day, they can’t understand what it’s like when a kid you
sent home to get better comes back horrifically sick and has permanent damage.
They can’t understand what it’s like when you have to tell a parent their child
has cancer. They can’t understand when making a mistake really is life or
death.
I’m fortunate to have two sisters in medicine and a host of friends from
residency, as well as supportive co-workers that I can go to when I have a
rough day. But the truth is that most of my family and friends aren’t that
helpful in getting past those adverse events. It sounds harsh, I know, but it’s
true. It’s not their fault, and I know they love us and want to support us.
With that in mind I’d like to offer a few tips for you non-medical people
who know and love us doctors (God bless you).
Please don’t be offended. We still love you, and we appreciate that you’re
not in medicine because that can often be a much needed distraction (when we
want that, you’re the perfect person!). Just because we don’t come to you first
about work stuff doesn’t mean we don’t value your support.
Don’t try to understand the medicine. It can be even more stressful to have
to explain the jargon and physiology when we’ve had a bad event. The details of
it are not as important as the fact that it makes us feel awful, so if we do
talk about it (and we may not), don’t interrupt when you don’t know what a word
means, or miss a piece of the story. Don’t try to figure out what it was that
went wrong and offer suggestions. Just listen and offer a simple, “That sucks,
I’m sorry.”
Don’t compare. This one seems unfair, I know, like my problems are bigger
than yours. In general, I want to hear about your good days and your bad days. And
when I have a story about a crazy parent, go ahead and one-up me with your
crazy client story. When I have a co-worker driving me crazy, please tell me
you do too, so it doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world. But when I
have a truly bad outcome, it’s just not helpful to hear about how much grading
you have to do, or how you had to work through lunch. I still want to be
supportive of you, but it’s not the same, and I need you to understand that.
Pray for us. We’re not perfect. We don’t handle stress perfectly. God’s
grace is always appreciated.
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