As a physiotherapist and an advocate of compassionate communication in healthcare, I reflect often on my work and what I am fully called to do. I strongly believe that the only way to move my practice forward is to reflect. I used to get caught up in taking one course after another, moving forward while neglecting to acknowledge and bring all that I had learned and worked so hard to understand with me. This only led to feeling empty, lost, and not being good enough. It led to complete and utter disempowerment and it was during this time in my life that I burned out.
When I first started practicing, I felt my calling was simply to use my knowledge to help patients feel better, manage their pain, and restore movement. I defined my success by applying what I understood and how that would be enough to unlock my patient’s potential. As such, I became overly consumed by technical courses and drifted further away from a life of meaning.
The further you drift away from your inner knowing, the more you become pulled towards it. It’s like a boomerang. I took a closer look at my own world, I re-connected with myself and began listening to my inside voice and chose to step back from the noise and opinions of others. I reflected on when I became a caregiver to my dad at the onset of my career and how that shaped my life. I reflected on his day-to-day interactions with healthcare providers. I reflected on our family as a whole and how deeply we were impacted by all of it. It was during this time that my calling evolved and became even more clear.
I finally understood my deeper purpose for practicing. I finally understood what I was really trying to do but was encountering so much resistance because I was not looking intently enough. I painfully saw how my dad suddenly went from an independently functioning human being to being housebound and requiring assistance for all things, including his most basic and sacred activities of daily living.
This was especially hard on him because he recognized the support he needed but desperately did not want it. He wanted to be his own man, just as he always was. He did not want his daughter to assist him to use the bathroom, that undignified him – he was supposed to be the one caring for me, not the other way around.
My dad often took risks for the pure hope and desire to be more independent. For example, he would risk walking from the living room couch to the front door to sit on the patio in the sunlight. It was one of the things he used to do before he fell ill – he would sit outside for hours and hours appreciating nature. While unsteady and unsafe, it was his risk to take because it meant that much to him. The reward for reaching the patio chair and sitting outside on his terms meant everything, even if it could have resulted in a fall or injury, which it did once or twice.
During this time, I realized and I’ve since held onto this calling for a long time now that my deeper purpose for practicing is to be present with my patients along their health journey and to guide my patients to achieve their highest level of functional independence with what matters most to them. I promised myself that I would support patients with the care plan that they and their families agreed upon as safely as possible. I promised myself to be clear and transparent on what I recognized as unsafe and risky but would try to empathize with patients’ desires to reclaim and regain their independence.
For some patients, independence looked like returning home and being with their family as they were battling a terminal diagnosis or chronic illness – just being able to be in their own home would mean everything. For others, the freedom and ability to move meant that they could physically support their basic needs of daily living independently again. For some other patients, it also meant that they could socialize again or return to work or sport and provide for themselves and their families.
It was never about the movement itself, but rather, what the restoration of movement meant to them and all of the hope and opportunity it could bring. It meant uniting families again. It meant bringing people together. It meant connection. It meant that their journey could continue and not cease because of injury, diagnosis, or even prognosis.
One of the legacies I hope to leave is being the provider who could connect with patients who were seemingly unreachable. My dad was often regarded by healthcare providers as resistive to care, but now I understand that it is not one-sided, and we as care providers need to better empathize and reflect on our own biases, perspectives, and clinical interpretations to allow patients the opportunity to be fully themselves.
If you are a healthcare provider who is feeling stuck and unclear when it comes to your practice, begin reflecting on your own life and how it could be influencing your practice. Also, remember at the very core of every patient’s concern is a loss of independence in some functional and meaningful capacity and a longing to return to a life he or she was living before everything suddenly changed. If you could simply be present with them and help them move the needle forward toward what you understand that they desire, it could change their entire life for the better.