Of Mice and Men

I decided to get into healthcare because I felt like I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to reach out to those in need and make them better, happier or just plain alive.

It was a very short time in my life where I held those convictions, because very quickly I realised how little difference you can make, how a lot of the time reaching out to those in need can earn you a punch, that gentle words and proper treatment doesn't always help the pain, and some people you just can't keep alive, no matter how hard you try.

Despite this, I still found the work rewarding - the small victories keep you going. I loved the hands on nature of the work, chatting with different people and hearing their stories. I loved the random 'How the hell did you manage that?' casualties and the ones that make you think on your feet - sometimes literally, as you wheel a patient across to the acute casualty post.

Some patients stay with you long after you've handed them over, be it by their past, their present and why you're seeing them now or because you know what the future holds for them. A while ago I had a patient that stayed with me for all three reasons.

He was in his early thirties and had been walking home from a night out with friends. He had severe skeletal deformities of congenital origins, the details of which I'll go into in another post. I only mention this here so you'll appreciate further the next sentence. He was beaten - bloodied and bruised - by a mob of bypassers for no reason other than he looked different and was unable to defend himself. They had thrown him down and kicked him repeatedly until he had stopped crying - his arms, legs, chest and even his head.

A civilian happened to drive by approximately ten minutes after the attack and noticed him lying in the bushes, almost invisible in the night and had pulled over to see if he was ok, had noticed me driving by in a marked vehicle and flagged me down.

He was taken to the ED, examined and was found to have 'minor injuries', but was in quite a deal of pain. Combined with his history was going to spend a night or two in ward for observation.

This job stayed with me for quite some time after the attack, the sheer stupidity of it and the damage ignorance had caused. I have no doubts that alcohol was a contributing factor in this attack, and that this is becoming a larger problem each week. Still, this wasn't the first beating I'd had to treat and I wish (oh how I wish) it would be the last - but I know the world doesn't work like that. People are always going to do stupid things for no reason, sometimes damaging the life of another. 'Tough' guys with something to prove beating up an innocent, crippled man.

Despite helping clean him up, treat his injuries, I felt powerless to do anything significant at all. But he thanked me for my help, and despite my feelings of ineffectiveness I felt maybe I had achieved something - even if it was just to reassure him that he was still alive.

Some patients stay with you longer than others, but in some way every patient's story changes you forever. You're never quite the same person after a big job, be it for good or ill, but I like to think of it as I'm always growing. Each day, each job makes me a better person, maybe not from gaining hands on experience but by hearing someone's stories, watching their plight and coming through it. Through their strength I gain my own strength, through their struggles I can overcome my own.

For that I am always thankful, and ever wanting to be better at what I do.