Comfort Care

I love my job for many reasons. Some of the most important reasons are the people I work with. I was reminded of this a few weeks ago as I had a casual conversation with a couple nurses.

It was just before noon. New patient clinic had just finished. I was in one of our clinic areas where the nurses and doctors do their work before and after seeing patients. The tasks associated with clinic were mostly complete. I was about to head to my office to grab some lunch and start ploughing through my accumulating, never-ending, and often unnecessary, emails. On my way out of the area, I stopped to talk to two nurses I have known for years.

We chit chatted about our kids, mostly discussing how quickly they have grown up. There are six kids between the three of us, two each, of varying ages. I heard a story about one daughter, now in her early twenties, recently having a terrifying experience at a local bar. I have learned that stories like this, from people I know, are good reminders to have open conversations with my kids about the risks that exist out there in the world and the benefits safety plans might have to mitigate these risks. I expressed that it seems like our kids were babies just yesterday. I commented about how time just seems to fly by. They agreed with a knowing only a mother can have when thinking about the days and years gone by with her kids . . . we blink a few times, and our babies turn into adults like a magic trick we know not how to solve.

I shared that my son, who was soon to turn sixteen, had plans to take his test to get his driver’s license on his birthday and that my daughter just became a teenager, now has boobs and hips, and uses makeup that she knows more about than I ever will. OMG!! How did this happen?!?!?! We talked briefly about the new worries each stage of our kids’ lives brings to us as their moms. We had no solutions to these worries. We shared empathic heads nods and nostalgic smiles.

I could say our discussion was not important. I could say we were just making conversation as a courtesy. There was more to it though. Yes, we were just making small talk but we were also talking about some of the most important parts and people of our lives. We were sharing parts of us that others wouldn’t know unless we had previously taken the time to get to know a little bit more about each other’s lives, asking questions and actively listening to each other over the years of time.

Our conversation was not a long one. It might have lasted five minutes, perhaps a little less than that. We all had things to get to – places to go, people to see, things to do. However, the length and depth of our conversation was not what struck me the most. What struck me, while I subsequently walked to my office through the back corridors and the staircase with a thick, splintered crack in the wall, was that I have known these two women for somewhere around fifteen years. This fact brought me comfort.

These women are not friends in what most would consider the traditional sense. I do not call or text them. We do not hang out together outside of work. Aside from working together in clinic, the most togetherness we have ever had has been at a few oncology meetings over the years where we shared a table and conversation over dinner predicated on the need for continuing medical education. Yet, we know each other in a way that many of the other people in our lives do not.

These women have known me through my early clinical days as a resident. They have been around to see me become a decent staff doctor in the middle of my career. They have experienced the type of heartache only known to healthcare professionals related to difficult patient cases right along with me. They understand the emotional toll our jobs can take on our individual wellbeing.

Moreover, they have seen me become a mom once, and then a second time. They have seen me go through relationship breakdowns. We have shared stories about our children and families. One of them even sat with me a few years ago when I could not hold it together in clinic one day, tears streaming down my face, unable to catch my breath. She took me to a private room. She told me I was going to be okay, and ensured I had all the time I needed to compose myself in order for me to do the job that needed doing for the patients that were waiting for me. I will forever be grateful for that.

I do not see these women every day. I might only see them once every week or two. Sometimes, longer goes between sightings depending on schedules. No matter, upon registering their presence, I always feel like we will get through what we have to get through that day.

There are others like them all around our place of work. Friendly, knowing faces who understand, often without the need for many words. I trust them. I think they trust me. That means a whole lot.

Fifteen years is a long time to know someone; it is even longer to devote to a profession. I think that is something to be proud of. These women were nurses before I finished my medical oncology training. I have immense respect for them.

Somewhere along the way, just like many of the other people who decide to work in cancer care, these wonderful people were tapped on the shoulder with the same message I got years ago saying, “Hey you, you there. Ppppsssstttt . . . over here. You need to be over here where cancer grows. These are the people you should help. You are so well suited to give the love these people need. Come. Stay for a while.” And they did. But they give care to more than just our patients. They give care with hallway hellos and understanding smiles and short conversations after clinics. That is a beautiful thing.

Author Notes:

I like to think the whispers that reach the people who work in cancer care, or any area of healthcare for that matter, are not just whispers about helping our patients. I like to think we are also called to help each other. I believe it is so important to recognize help can happen at work for each of us in so many little ways if our hearts remain open to it and we do not get discouraged by workload and politics and red tape rules.

We should not feel alone at work as healthcare workers. We need connection. It is how we survive any length of time in our jobs. Those little conversations in the work bays and hallways, the waves and smiles in passing, are so important. They feed a sense of belonging.

If you think you are alone at work, maybe you are. But I challenge you to ask yourself if it may be a choice you are making for yourself.

Patient care in oncology is hard. It makes it a lot easier when we work alongside people who have the same goals: to help cancer patient and offer them a little bit of love and kindness. The other thing that makes a hard job easier is being in a place where that love and kindness is extended to the people working around us. I am very grateful for those special moments. They don’t go unrecognized.

I am curious, reader, if you have had any recent heartfelt connection in your place of work? What happened and what did it mean to you? Did you share your gratitude with the person you connected with?