Petit | Senior Nurse—Turning self-blame for dad’s cancer treatment into motivation
A senior nurse shares the story of her father’s passing and her experience working closely with patients. Through these experiences, she gradually learnt how to interact with patients and discovered the meaning of life.
Journalist: Walned
Photo: Provided by Petit
Many senior nurses don’t understand that our job at the hospital isn’t just “getting things done,” but “getting the right things done.” The difference between the two is that the former focuses on the process while the latter requires attention in understanding the feelings of the patients and their families. Hong Kong’s current medical system often overlooks the latter.
I have worked at six different private hospitals over the past 18 years in internal medicine, surgical departments, intensive care units, and emergency departments. My favourite department is still internal medicine as the need for basic nursing there is larger and I get more work satisfaction. My current post is in geriatrics and palliative care where I care for the elderly and hospice patients. I hope to live by the motto of “getting the right things done” and focus on giving more people-oriented care.
Five years ago, my dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and was transferred to public hospital when his situation deteriorated. During his stay, my dad requested painkilling injections already prescribed for him, but the nurses denied his request. He told me the nurses accused him of pretending to be in pain for the purpose of getting the injection since he already took oral painkillers. They told him to just endure it. He suffered the pain for days before he got to see an oncologist who informed him that the only way out is through chemotherapy, but because he was afraid of suffering through that, my dad eventually gave up treatment.
Yes, my dad was scared of pain so much so that the day after he was discharged, he jumped from his apartment and ended his own suffering.
In the morning before he jumped, he called my brother and cried, “I can’t take it any longer! I am going to jump off the building!” Those were his last words. I was still at work at that time, so when I received the news, it was already too late. I was still working at a private hospital back then, but since the medical fees there were very expensive, I suggested that my dad go to a public hospital instead. I couldn’t have known the impact of that decision.
Sending dad to the hospital was my idea, a decision that gave him the final nudge off the precipice, a decision for which I blame myself.
My dad had a gambling habit. He called me frequently to ask me to lend him money, but I often ignored his calls. But now I keep his phone around; it’s the only one of my dad’s items that I have kept. It reminds me to communicate in a timely manner, so I won’t have regrets later on.
Maybe because I learnt it the hard way myself, not only do I try to understand a patient’s needs from a medical standpoint, but I also try to acknowledge the practical needs of the patient and their family. Ultimately, it boils down to communication. Communication is not only about going on daily rounds, updating patients on their health status, but about befriending patients and their families in order to open a door for communication. At times, the patient need not be the focus; their family’s needs may be more important.
Many of my colleagues fail to understand why patients’ families keep on fussing about this and that in the wards, and sometimes getting so upset that they berate my colleagues. This is because my colleagues, as medical staff, haven’t clearly explained the patients’ conditions. It is human nature to be afraid of being berated for wrongdoing, but avoidance because of fear will only bewilder the patients’ families, stressing them out further.
I change my working environment every once in a while because I don’t want to become a cog in the current medical system. Humans are supposed to have feelings—how can we treat our work as just a job when lives are at stake, especially when the people we serve are so vulnerable?
Now I focus mainly on the elderly. They love chatting with me and it is fate for me to be able to walk with them through the final stages of their lives. A while back, a 97-year-old lady hand wrote a very touching birthday card for me, but she often complains about how meaningless it is to live such a long life. She longs for the day she reunites with her sister in heaven.
Another old lady had skin cancer and a sizable tumour on her face. She wasn’t too worried about her medical condition as she was also diagnosed with dementia, and often perceived the wound on her face as stemming from “accidentally splashing oil on her face” while cooking. She couldn’t remember her medical conditions up to her death which actually left her family more relieved.
Only by experiencing illness and death can one grow—accepting death is not easy. While most people will seek whatever medical treatment they can, others prefer palliative care and serenely approaching the last stages of their lives. What matters most is finding one's true meaning of life.
As a nurse, I encourage fellow nurses not to forget our original intentions. No matter how dissatisfied we are with the status quo, never give up; turn that into motivation and walk alongside the people around you every step of the way.
This is my wish for Hong Kongers too.
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