Celebrate Everything
It is officially the night before my last rotation ever.
I was brushing my teeth this morning (the origin of all great thoughts) and it hit me that after tomorrow, the next time I have a "first day" will be my first job. NUTS, RIGHT?
It doesn't seem like long ago my classmates and I were sitting in lab learning about the different types of transfers and the appropriate way to put on and take off gowns, gloves, and masks. It doesn't seem like two years ago when our professors went over the concept of how our third year, our full year of rotations would work.
I am currently getting ready for my LAST rotation of OT school before graduation in May at a pediatric inpatient rehabilitation facility in Dallas, Texas. I have lived in Dallas five days and have loved every minute of it, and am considering the next 16 weeks my "trial run" to see if I want to stay here. Yesterday I drove by the main hospital, where the i in Children's is replaced with a red balloon - showing that the people who work at this hospital do everything in their power to make this hospitalization one tiny bit less scary for the children who must undergo it. I am so excited to make things less scary for kids.
One of the things that I have always been good at with kids has been noticing their small steps. Often, we forget that things that are hard for us are even harder for kids. I love praising kids for these small improvements because I want them to know that 1) they are brave and 2) they are capable. When I worked at a daycare, I would get SO excited the first day a child left mom without a tantrum, the first day he washed his hands before eating without needing reminded, or the first voluntary sharing of a toy. The little things are so important, but as adults, we sometimes forget the rapid rate in which children learn, grow, and develop, and sometimes we need to teach them to stop and appreciate the things they have done.
If you're new here, occupational therapy is the therapy that.. well, does everything. We work from "Womb to Tomb" (one of my previous clinical supervisors said this and I think it is absolutely brilliant) We work with NICU babies, and we work with end of life care. We work with children with autism, and we work with adults after stroke. We work with children with developmental delays, and we work with adults after an accident. We want you to be able to do the things you need to do to carry on with your life in the happiest, healthiest, safest way possible. (I know I've explained this in like every single blog I've written but I have the COOLEST job so I'm going to make you read about it again). Of course, you're like, this makes sense, but what do you DO?
I teach the individual with the amputation to get in and out of the bathtub safely and effectively.
I teach the child with autism (and his teachers and caregivers) the visual schedule and sensory experiences he needs to be successful during the day at school.
I am right there for the first steps an individual takes after stroke, standing very much in his personal space, so he knows I will not let him fall.
I teach the 17 year old girl with ataxia alternative ways to put on her mascara.
I teach the individual with a visual disability ways to mark her home so she can still use the oven, the bathtub, and the TV even if she can't see it.
I teach the 6 year girl who had an arm amputated at birth how to tie her shoes with one hand.
My main job, you see, is to celebrate everything.
One of (if not the single) worst parts about healthcare is that not every story has a happy ending. As much as we wish it does, and as much as we fight for it, it just doesn't. Tons of people die everyday because of health related issues, of all ages. This can kind of get to you after awhile, which is why you learn to celebrate everything.
One of the toughest times in my life was the summer after I graduated from high school. A dear friend of mine lost her life to murder a few days after graduation, and suddenly, the world I was in didn't make as much sense anymore. I questioned nearly everything, all while trying to mentally prepare myself to go to college. On my 18th birthday, one week before I left, several of us gathered at Brenna's house to go through some of her things by invitation of her parents and take what we wanted with us to college. Pulling up to her house that night was one of the most nerve wracking things I have ever done. I knew this would be tough, scary, and sad. And I was kind of right. But it also had something that I didn't expect.
The thing that I remember about that night was that it had the first laugh. The first laugh after she died. It was when we were all sitting in her room, and after the initial awkwardness and sadness passed, it was just like old times. I'm sure it was a healing sound for her parents to hear laughter upstairs again.
Many times in the therapy world we will see people walk again, heal from accidents, go back to their families and jobs. We will see them resume the sports they love and hanging out with their friends. But sometimes, we will not, or at least not right away. Sometimes, the chemo is too taxing. Sometimes, it is too hard to find the new center of gravity after an amputation and the client will struggle to sit or stand, something they took for granted. Sometimes, the frustration for a young person after a stroke is so overwhelming, it keeps them from wanting to come to therapy.
So in those times, I will yell and scream the first time I see you put weight on that leg. I will jump up and down when you have the energy to simply sit up during therapy and answer a few questions. I might just tear up when the electrical stimulation machine makes your arm move for the first time in three weeks. I will be overcome with emotion when my first grader makes it through an entire week of school with good behavior stickers. I will celebrate with everything I have when your child finally gets a walker that fits, allowing her to be mobile and play with her friends on the playground at recess. One of my favorite pictures of Emma is attached below, 1) because she's THE CUTEST and 2) because it shows her getting to do the thing that every six year old should get to do; play with her friends. More than that, it is obvious by the picture that Emma's friends barely notice her walker is even there.
I have a long list of people to thank to getting me to and through OT school, and my family is at the top. However, I know that Brenna isn't far behind. In the days after her passing, celebrating everything was the only way to get through the day in this world that didn't make any sense anymore, and it has taught me one of the best possible ways to be there for my clients.
I was brushing my teeth this morning (the origin of all great thoughts) and it hit me that after tomorrow, the next time I have a "first day" will be my first job. NUTS, RIGHT?
It doesn't seem like long ago my classmates and I were sitting in lab learning about the different types of transfers and the appropriate way to put on and take off gowns, gloves, and masks. It doesn't seem like two years ago when our professors went over the concept of how our third year, our full year of rotations would work.
I am currently getting ready for my LAST rotation of OT school before graduation in May at a pediatric inpatient rehabilitation facility in Dallas, Texas. I have lived in Dallas five days and have loved every minute of it, and am considering the next 16 weeks my "trial run" to see if I want to stay here. Yesterday I drove by the main hospital, where the i in Children's is replaced with a red balloon - showing that the people who work at this hospital do everything in their power to make this hospitalization one tiny bit less scary for the children who must undergo it. I am so excited to make things less scary for kids.
One of the things that I have always been good at with kids has been noticing their small steps. Often, we forget that things that are hard for us are even harder for kids. I love praising kids for these small improvements because I want them to know that 1) they are brave and 2) they are capable. When I worked at a daycare, I would get SO excited the first day a child left mom without a tantrum, the first day he washed his hands before eating without needing reminded, or the first voluntary sharing of a toy. The little things are so important, but as adults, we sometimes forget the rapid rate in which children learn, grow, and develop, and sometimes we need to teach them to stop and appreciate the things they have done.
If you're new here, occupational therapy is the therapy that.. well, does everything. We work from "Womb to Tomb" (one of my previous clinical supervisors said this and I think it is absolutely brilliant) We work with NICU babies, and we work with end of life care. We work with children with autism, and we work with adults after stroke. We work with children with developmental delays, and we work with adults after an accident. We want you to be able to do the things you need to do to carry on with your life in the happiest, healthiest, safest way possible. (I know I've explained this in like every single blog I've written but I have the COOLEST job so I'm going to make you read about it again). Of course, you're like, this makes sense, but what do you DO?
I teach the individual with the amputation to get in and out of the bathtub safely and effectively.
I teach the child with autism (and his teachers and caregivers) the visual schedule and sensory experiences he needs to be successful during the day at school.
I am right there for the first steps an individual takes after stroke, standing very much in his personal space, so he knows I will not let him fall.
I teach the 17 year old girl with ataxia alternative ways to put on her mascara.
I teach the individual with a visual disability ways to mark her home so she can still use the oven, the bathtub, and the TV even if she can't see it.
I teach the 6 year girl who had an arm amputated at birth how to tie her shoes with one hand.
My main job, you see, is to celebrate everything.
One of (if not the single) worst parts about healthcare is that not every story has a happy ending. As much as we wish it does, and as much as we fight for it, it just doesn't. Tons of people die everyday because of health related issues, of all ages. This can kind of get to you after awhile, which is why you learn to celebrate everything.
One of the toughest times in my life was the summer after I graduated from high school. A dear friend of mine lost her life to murder a few days after graduation, and suddenly, the world I was in didn't make as much sense anymore. I questioned nearly everything, all while trying to mentally prepare myself to go to college. On my 18th birthday, one week before I left, several of us gathered at Brenna's house to go through some of her things by invitation of her parents and take what we wanted with us to college. Pulling up to her house that night was one of the most nerve wracking things I have ever done. I knew this would be tough, scary, and sad. And I was kind of right. But it also had something that I didn't expect.
The thing that I remember about that night was that it had the first laugh. The first laugh after she died. It was when we were all sitting in her room, and after the initial awkwardness and sadness passed, it was just like old times. I'm sure it was a healing sound for her parents to hear laughter upstairs again.
Many times in the therapy world we will see people walk again, heal from accidents, go back to their families and jobs. We will see them resume the sports they love and hanging out with their friends. But sometimes, we will not, or at least not right away. Sometimes, the chemo is too taxing. Sometimes, it is too hard to find the new center of gravity after an amputation and the client will struggle to sit or stand, something they took for granted. Sometimes, the frustration for a young person after a stroke is so overwhelming, it keeps them from wanting to come to therapy.
So in those times, I will yell and scream the first time I see you put weight on that leg. I will jump up and down when you have the energy to simply sit up during therapy and answer a few questions. I might just tear up when the electrical stimulation machine makes your arm move for the first time in three weeks. I will be overcome with emotion when my first grader makes it through an entire week of school with good behavior stickers. I will celebrate with everything I have when your child finally gets a walker that fits, allowing her to be mobile and play with her friends on the playground at recess. One of my favorite pictures of Emma is attached below, 1) because she's THE CUTEST and 2) because it shows her getting to do the thing that every six year old should get to do; play with her friends. More than that, it is obvious by the picture that Emma's friends barely notice her walker is even there.
I have a long list of people to thank to getting me to and through OT school, and my family is at the top. However, I know that Brenna isn't far behind. In the days after her passing, celebrating everything was the only way to get through the day in this world that didn't make any sense anymore, and it has taught me one of the best possible ways to be there for my clients.
I will pray for you, I will work with you, I will fight with your insurance company to get you everything you need to walk again, to go back to your job, to go back home with your family. But until then, I promise you, I will celebrate everything.
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