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nursing
  • Children, Resiliency and Mental Illness in the Family Unit

    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. 

  • Learning to Savor the Small Moments

    I have found as I navigate this bizarre world of both patient and provider that it is the small moments that can make the biggest impact. We often are not even cognizant of the impact until much later, but they make an impact and a difference in our journey and path we forge trying to achieve the wonder that we call remission from symptoms. This week for me has been fragile, full of triggering moments leaving me feeling as if I’m dangling on a cliff’s edge one moment and then left speechless with a small moment of how far I have come the next.

    I encountered a woman this week who is the twin of a nurse I had during the last psychiatric hospitalization, back in June 2013. She was a kind white haired woman who took the time to sit with me during her shift and check in. She talked with me about how we were nearly neighbors, told me things about common threads we wove, and talked to me at length about sometimes how long it can take to find the right cocktail of medication for bipolar disorder. She knew because of a family member. She shared that with me. She shared that when it works and you find the magic combination it’s like Christmas morning.  It did not take as long for me to find the magic combination as it took for her family member. I digress. I was so excited when I saw this woman this week for I was sure it was my former nurse. I wanted nothing more to embrace her and tell her how her words helped me and were an integral part of the reason I am here today, doing what I do. She is one of very few providers from my inpatient stays who made a difference and I wanted her to hear that and see it in the flesh.

    I had one horrible psychiatric hospitalization in February 2013 that left me feeling disoriented and not ready for reentry when I came out. My husband, when he picked me up, handed me a Starbucks venti chai latte extra hot with soymilk along with a brand new iPhone 5 fully loaded with all the apps he thought I would like. Both have been my crutch ever since and typically not far from my hand. The other night, my youngest (by two minutes) informed me I spent too much time with my phone and that it was going to stop. I looked at him and agreed. Last night, I picked up all the boys and took them on a date. No phone. We had a ball. I learned so much about them and we laughed, played games, and talked through our meal. I didn’t pick it up again until I was in bed for the night. They have slowly been learning I am a safe, dependable parent, but now they can learn I am a present parent too. I just have to figure out what we can do tonight – phone free and without my crutch.

    The best part about my job as a psych APRN is when a patient finds their own small moment that is pivotal for them, helped them see the hope in a situation they thought otherwise and they bring it to me. My patients don’t know my story; they don’t understand the passion I pour into my career to see them succeed, as it is irrelevant to achieving remission for them. And they definitely don’t get to see my happy dance after they leave on their small moment days. But it’s there.

    Now I just hope my front office staff never figures out YouTube.