When I originally started college for my public health degree, I had to make a lot of sacrifices. I always knew education was important, and essentially it was my only way out from an unfortunate situation.
I had to make decisions, like:
Do I buy my textbooks for this semester, or do I buy groceries for this month?
How many more below-freezing winters can I survive with no heat or hot water?
How many more nights could I mentally handle, dipping my hands into microwaved bowls of hot water so I could feel my fingers enough to turn the pages on my textbook?
Eventually, it was worth it. I made it out. I was admitted into nursing school, which was followed by nurse practitioner school.
Nurse practitioner school wasn't easy, but the universe was on my side. I won the HRSA Nurse Corps scholarship that paid some living expenses and my full tuition which was one of the greatest blessings of my life. The emotions that flow after receiving a scholarship, and realizing you don't have to make choices about choosing education over basic necessities anymore, are indescribable.
I always loved sitting with patients, learning their stories, and stringing together pieces of information to understand what medications, supplements, or treatment plans could best help them. I loved being able to sit with someone in the worst time of their life. I loved being able to hold hope for those people until they felt well enough to find it themselves. I loved spending time with families. I had amazing mentors, and I started to develop a vision for the type of provider I could be upon graduation. I felt that I had so much potential to make a difference.
When I graduated, I moved to Arizona and went directly into community mental health where I hoped to be able to make the biggest impact. Since I've worked out here, I've worked at various practices with children and adolescents who have high acuity psychiatric illness and extreme levels of trauma. I've left my job with my soul crushed, and questioning humanity on so many days. How can people be so cruel to children? And how admirable and amazing that these children are still here - the amount of resilience they have is something I will always hold with me.
There is no doubt that I love what I do, and I have genuinely loved working with my patients at every office I've ever worked at. I literally aimed to be the person I wished I had when I was growing up, suffering from a lot of the same issues.
Problematically, I've learned that American healthcare isn't about caring, empathy, compassion, or hope. It's not about being culturally competent and making sure your patient has an interpreter when they cannot understand you. It's certainly not about wellness or consistency for kids who have never known stability in their lives. It's not even about quality care.
It's about money. It's about production. It's about seeing as many people as you can see in a ten-hour day and coming back and doing it again tomorrow. It's common to have 5 minutes with a patient because they showed up late. I would see up to four people in an hour with no break for hours. Sometimes I'd have 12 patients back to back. If that's not your thing, it doesn't matter because you'd be quickly replaced with another provider.
Consider this scenario:
Your first patient has depression and is uncontrollably crying. The second one just was placed back with her abusive family. The third one just told you she's been raped. The fourth one is bubbly and happy. The fifth one is having a panic attack. The sixth one has a plan to kill her friend. The seventh one is mad at you because it took them 2 weeks to get in to adjust ADHD medications. The eighth one is actively hallucinating in your office. The ninth one just was put in a group home after their dad went to jail. The tenth one has a plan to kill himself. The eleventh one is a six-year-old who has needed surgical repairs for abuse. The twelfth one is mad at you for being five minutes late.
As a human being, I want to process each of these interactions. I want to cry for the kids who just told me the worst traumas of their lives, and I want to cry for the moms who are blaming themselves for not protecting their children. I want to comfort them. I'm no doubt a highly sensitive person. The levels of empathy I am capable of have helped me to connect with families, but at the same time... it wears on me too.
I once received news that my adolescent patient passed away. I broke down in tears and I was still expected to put away my heavy heart and see the patient waiting in the lobby.
As a healthcare provider within these workplaces, I have no choice but to reset myself every fifteen minutes to a fresh face and a fresh mind. I need to be alert to make a new medication decision.
This is why providers cannot stay at places long. This is why providers cannot be consistent. It is not sustainable.
If I say I feel this is not safe or that I do not feel comfortable, the administration tells me not to stress because they "cover my liability insurance." They forget the fact that if something happens, that guilt will be sewn into my soul for the rest of my life. They forget when I have hard cases, I stay up at night worrying about those kids.
I do not want to give this type of care. I need time with my patients. I will no longer accept that type of care as my norm.
That is why I decided on Paperflower Psychiatry.
I decided to start Paperflower Psychiatry I was tired of my patients telling me that other people within my workplace made transphobic comments to them or made them feel stupid. I was tired of patients unable to get ahold of me for a serious question about side effects because my schedule was so freaking packed to the brim. I couldn't even eat lunch that day never mind returning a call.
Paperflower is my effort to move away from this.
I love what I do, and I never want to be in a position in which I feel that my only role is pushing pills. I want the sacrifices I made years ago to be a part of a helping field to feel worth it. I want to practice healthcare the way I dreamed it could be practiced.
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