Happy Monday all! Here’s to hoping you’re feeling refreshed after the weekend. With any luck, yours was extended, as was mine due to Rosh Hashanah.
Last week, fellow author and blogger-friend Carrie Rubin inspired me to share a few of the memorable moments from my days working with grown-up inpatient physical rehabilitation crowd. That spurred recall of my least shining moment—IMHO anyway. Just for fun, I figured I’d throw that one up too.
My hospital-based career started in inpatient rehab. About three years in I took a position in a facility nearby, where I worked with outpatients and those requiring acute care. Both places brought me a fair share of absolutely wonderful folks. I’m sure many of them are long gone, but they remain a part of me, as each truly touched my heart with his/her spirit and ability to face the rough challenges life dealt. I was—and am—blessed to have been a part of their journey. It’s quite humbling to think about.
Humbled: That’s what I was—and remain—to this day about this episode. Let’s toss in chagrined, as I’m probably turning red-faced as I write this.
We’ll refer to this gentleman as Joe Doe. I originally met Joe as a patient at my first facility; he too had lost part of his leg to diabetes. On the surface he was nice enough, but over time his passive-aggressive tendencies came through. (Please be assured I’m not judging him, nor have I ever lived his health situation. He was a repeat-patient, too, which gave us a history with him. In the long haul, he didn’t make it easy to work with him, nor was did he do all that much to help himself.)
Joe wound up an inpatient at my second hospital. During one of our sessions he asked to use the bathroom. Part of occupational therapy involves helping folks learn to transfer from one surface to another, so this presented a perfect opportunity to incorporate that part of his treatment.
I wheeled him to the accessible patient bathroom in our department and prepped the wheelchair and him for the transfer. Joe was definitely weaker than the last time we’d worked together. He didn’t have his prosthetic leg on either. That meant I had to bear the bulk of his weight while he stood on his remaining leg.
We had a decent enough rapport, so I felt comfortable enough chatting with him the way I always had. I also had him just about up and onto the toilet when he stopped short and gave up helping me with the transfer. (That probably meant I almost dropped him, and I’m not 100% sure he didn’t start yelling at me.)
I was frustrated, knowing the history we had with him. “Joe! You were almost there! Why did you stop like that?” (I wasn’t berating him. Guess I was venting my frustration at him not trusting me enough to help him, especially since I’d transferred him before.)
His smile dropped and his face darkened. “Boy, you’re nasty.”
I’m pretty sure I answered him when I shouldn’t have. We ended up in an argument over me trying to help him and him not doing his part. He most likely got under my skin, which is what the passive-aggressive crowd is wont to do. My last words during that exchange: “It’s a shame how much insurance money is being wasted!”
Joe didn’t have time to answer. Guess it got loud in that bathroom and our voices carried. The door flew open. My good friend/coworker grabbed me by the arm and hauled me out of there fast.
Good thing she took over from there.
Have you ever totally lost it at the worksite? If so, what happened? Don’t worry, no one on the World Wide Web will tell!
Enjoy the week, folks.