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jayfurrI spent today on a patient floor of a major cancer research hospital, assisting with the go-live process as our customer, the hospital, upgrades to a newer version of my company's software. I'm not a clinician, nurse, charge entry person, or anything meaningful like that -- but I train the users on the customization and usage of our software and every warm body helps during a go-live week.
The floor I was on was specifically an infusion floor. It's where patients receive their chemotherapy. Patients checked in at a desk for their appointments and then went off to see a nurse, lie down on a couch-like bed, and receive their medication.
Meanwhile, I stood behind the desk and tried to look neutrally helpful, staying out of the way of the hospital's actual employees but being available for software support if issues came up. It would have been really, really unprofessional for me to say more than "Good morning" or "Good afternoon" to any patient who made eye contact; the last thing anyone needs at a time like that is me trivializing their situation by trying to make idle banter with them. So I didn't. As I said, I tried to look neutrally helpful; the fact that I was wearing red fleece vest with the name of the hospital on it made me look like I belonged -- perhaps it was my job to hold up that wall I was idly leaning against, you know?
But I really wanted to express some sort of commiseration, some sort of general supportive platitudes, but what can you say? I'm not even supposed to breach patient confidentiality by leaning forward to read their names off the screen a few feet away from me as the access management clerk checked them in. I know what HIPAA means and I know how to comply with it.
So I held up that wall, smiled neutrally if a patient made eye contact with me, and offered up the occasional banal greeting and observation of the time of day.
Cancer sucks. Every demographic group imaginable wandered through that floor today. Young, old, fat, skinny, white, black, brown, probably even blue people got cancer in 'em too. I wish I could do more to fight it; at times like that I often reflect that my getting out and walking sixty miles in three days, or even walking sixty miles in one day (as I've offered to do if people help my wife Carole reach her $2,300 fundraising minimum between now and March 21), doesn't do a thing to really fight cancer of any kind. About all I can really say about it is that it gets me somewhat more fit and helps keep the weight off. What really counts, of course, is any fund-raising I'm able to do and the research that it pays for, but try as I might, I'm just not as persuasive as some of the ladies I've met on 3-Day events, the ones who've raised $23,000 while I'm patting myself on the back for having raised $3,000. Sure, every bit counts, but what I'm getting at is that I really feel like a twerp, looking at all those people coming in to get infused and thinking "I should be doing MORE. This is MY fault for not doing more."
As if my walking alone's going to do a single damn thing to rid those people of cancer. What a self-important little twit I am.
The floor I was on was specifically an infusion floor. It's where patients receive their chemotherapy. Patients checked in at a desk for their appointments and then went off to see a nurse, lie down on a couch-like bed, and receive their medication.
Meanwhile, I stood behind the desk and tried to look neutrally helpful, staying out of the way of the hospital's actual employees but being available for software support if issues came up. It would have been really, really unprofessional for me to say more than "Good morning" or "Good afternoon" to any patient who made eye contact; the last thing anyone needs at a time like that is me trivializing their situation by trying to make idle banter with them. So I didn't. As I said, I tried to look neutrally helpful; the fact that I was wearing red fleece vest with the name of the hospital on it made me look like I belonged -- perhaps it was my job to hold up that wall I was idly leaning against, you know?
But I really wanted to express some sort of commiseration, some sort of general supportive platitudes, but what can you say? I'm not even supposed to breach patient confidentiality by leaning forward to read their names off the screen a few feet away from me as the access management clerk checked them in. I know what HIPAA means and I know how to comply with it.
So I held up that wall, smiled neutrally if a patient made eye contact with me, and offered up the occasional banal greeting and observation of the time of day.
Cancer sucks. Every demographic group imaginable wandered through that floor today. Young, old, fat, skinny, white, black, brown, probably even blue people got cancer in 'em too. I wish I could do more to fight it; at times like that I often reflect that my getting out and walking sixty miles in three days, or even walking sixty miles in one day (as I've offered to do if people help my wife Carole reach her $2,300 fundraising minimum between now and March 21), doesn't do a thing to really fight cancer of any kind. About all I can really say about it is that it gets me somewhat more fit and helps keep the weight off. What really counts, of course, is any fund-raising I'm able to do and the research that it pays for, but try as I might, I'm just not as persuasive as some of the ladies I've met on 3-Day events, the ones who've raised $23,000 while I'm patting myself on the back for having raised $3,000. Sure, every bit counts, but what I'm getting at is that I really feel like a twerp, looking at all those people coming in to get infused and thinking "I should be doing MORE. This is MY fault for not doing more."
As if my walking alone's going to do a single damn thing to rid those people of cancer. What a self-important little twit I am.
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Date: 2010-01-19 06:43 pm (UTC)Be a little kinder to yourself. Realize that you can't do much, maybe even that you've made yourself too big a part of the picture in your mind. Then humbly ask God for forgiveness, and then forgive yourself. And if you're ever home, start volunteering at Hope Lodge, where you can make more of a personal difference.