Comparative Compassion

I used to have no compassion for humanity. I grew up dysfunctionally. I know most of us did. I had some very large ingrained false beliefs about myself and every other living soul. "There are very few women you should trust to confide in, and no men. The men will always let you down, and the women will eventually get jealous."

I grew up independent. I learned from my mother that if you rely on no one but yourself, no one can let you down but you. I learned from my father that you should feel guilty if you don't offer to help -even though you'll never do it right- and you should never ask anyone to help you.

Horses probably saved me from crime and failure. Sounds bizarre, but I was raised by horses from the ages of five through nine (See my next post if it will hold your attention). From the ages of nine through seventeen horses were still top on my list, but I had allowed another human being besides my mother into my guarded circle. At age nine found a surrogate father figure and I adopted him as my self-proclaimed Dad, he and my mother also saviors of my psyche. It helped that he always had an ever changing variety of mustangs and range horses to ride at his house. Subject matter for another post at another time perhaps.

All of my days, until I discovered boys, or rather they discovered me, late bloomer that I was, were spent with animals over humans. I was crawling on all fours and grazing with the horses, crowing with the roosters, hatching a baby chick from a nearly frozen egg in the oven, racing the cloud shadows bareback on a burro, riding off cross country for the weekend on a horse or running with the dogs. My mother wanted me to compete in horse shows. I enjoyed training my horses but never liked the shows much because of the people. I had daydreams of riding across Mexico or at least, Texas just my horse and I.

Why not be a veterinarian you ask? Quite simply, I cannot watch an animal go through surgery. I once helped prep a cat for surgery. I was allowed to stay and observe the operation. Before the initial incision was made, I had to leave the room. I cried. If I see an animal is hurt, or even being spayed apparently, I'm in tears. Ever watch Animal Planet? I don't, I am ALWAYS in tears. Even if it is a happy story.

( I've already had A and P, but if I have to take it again before I am through with P.A. school and I have to bring my own cat to cadaver lab, I'm screwed!)
Now, any real life surgical/trauma/ER/ambulance show...I'm all over it and never loose a drop. People usually hurt themselves. Not always, but most of the time. Whether it be through lifestyle, (drugs, alcohol, tobacco, high fat diets) risky behavior, or sheer stupidity. I know, you gotta live a little, but the point that I'm rambling to make is that it is hard to have compassion for people when often it is their own fault.

Working in the O.R. has somehow changed my lack of compassion. Most of the time. Skin poppers with painful abscesses, tough shit. Oh, don't worry, they'll slice it open and irrigate it out and risk contracting your hepatitis and/or HIV anyway, for free, but don't expect one iota of compassion from me. Twenty somethings with lymphoma, compassion.

If I am assisting on someones surgery and I have time, I try to meet the patient and introduce myself in the pre-op holding area. But usually I am helping with turnover and double checking supplies and equipment for the next case, so I often meet them for the first time when they roll into the operating room. I like to be there for induction . I have seen so many patients trying to be stoic and keep their fear to themselves while the terror in their eyes betrays them. I can spot them very well. (A by product of dysfunctional upbringing lacking verbal skills is the ability to read non verbal signals with amazing accuracy). I typically hold their hands, no one has ever refused their hand, and if I see the terror I ask them if they are okay. Sometimes they simply nod their heads as the mask descends for pre-oxygenation. Sometimes it opens the door for them to ask a barrage of questions that only a few moments ago, when the Anaesthesiologist and RN asked, they couldn't think of, and sometimes, they just start crying and finally confess their fear. I really feel for the latter. I myself am terrified of general anaesthesia even though I know better. It is the whole issue of giving up control for me, and having to place ultimate, intimate, complete trust in another. This is also why I don't fly by the way- another offshoot of dysfunction.

Sometimes I forget that the patient who lies before me probably has some form of family who cares a great deal about them. Seeing a distraught family members tugs at my compassion strings and has the ability to really upset me. For all of you armchair Freudians I'll let you analyze why.

After having seen youngsters with brain tumors, grandparents with renal cell carcinoma, paraplegic teenagers, results of other teenagers driving drunk, and countless other people with a wide array of diseases/injuries that are in no way their own fault, you begin to soften a little on the inside even though your outside must sometimes remain hardened.