I was away presenting at a nursing conference last week. I was discussing the provider as a patient in the context of both serious mental illness and the need to bring nursing practice back to the basics. If we, as providers, focused on the core of what we do as nurses, creating a consistent therapeutic milieu in interaction with both patients and colleagues alike, it will make it easier for colleagues to seek assistance when they need it. Essentially allowing the provider, the “hidden patient” if you will, to feel safe enough to be provider one day and patient the next.
I used my story as a case study named Carly interwoven throughout the presentation. At the conclusion we discussed her remission and I did choose to share that her story was actually that of my own. While I had hoped the question and answer session would be more of conversation regarding how we can focus on these “hidden patients”, I understand the audience seeking more history and questions regarding the case study presented.
The question I struggled with the most was how much support my kids had throughout the process and the impact my disorder had had on them. I answered truthfully in that they have received a tremendous amount of care and support from husband and were protected from my illness. I shared that they are incredibly resilient little guys.
The truth is there is a lot in what I also did not say. They are getting older. My husband and I won’t always be able to protect them. I live with so much guilt sometimes over having children to begin with. Which is ridiculous when you think about it, since my symptoms and diagnosis came following my final pregnancy. We were done having children at that point. No one had that kind of foresight and if they did, they failed to share it with us. I have guilt because of social media keyboard cowboys who from time to time have taken to telling me via this blog that people with bipolar disorder shouldn’t be parents. Fortunately they have not been as cruel to me as they have to other bloggers I know. I have guilt because I am not always the type of mother I envisioned I would be when I first learned I would be having my oldest. I have guilt because I think I live in a perpetual state of role strain regarding the family unit.
My children will eventually start to ask questions about why I might be isolating. They might start to ask questions about why I am excessively irritable. They already fail to understand my noise sensitivity, which does affect them. Have you ever tried to explain to elementary school boys that they are too loud? Successfully getting them to lower volume is an Olympic feat.
My oldest has already started to explore basic principles of neurobiology and mental illness to “better understand you, Mommy” as he puts it. He put together a PowerPoint presentation on this topic, presented to his second grade class in May 2016, which caught the attention of the International Bipolar Foundation. I didn’t discuss that in answering the question of the impact my disorder has had on the children. I didn’t discuss that because it makes me insanely proud and incredibly guilty all at the same time. It leaves one feeling conflicted. Is my child growing up too fast because of me?
In the end, there is no right and there is no wrong. Parenting is a matter of feeling out what fits for each family whether mental illness is present or not.