This is my first blog...ever. So please be merciful in your critiques. But I've found that so many of my friends and family members have blogs now, it's about time I get one too.
I have recently started working at the Utah State Hospital. My official title is a Psychiatric Technician. My duties vary, depending upon which unit I'm assigned to each night. Oh yeah, did I mention I'm working the graveyards? Well I am. This job has been a first in many ways for me: first time working graves, first time (but hopefully not the last) working at a hospital, first time that I've been verbally abused on a nightly basis (by the patients), and the first time I've willingly put my life in danger nightly, just to name a few. Interestingly, I believe it's been the combination of all of these factors, as well as the long hours of pondering that a graveyard shift allows, that has really opened my eyes to a few truths.
One day I was working on a unit with an older man who had a reputation for being somewhat difficult. He requires intensive care, and can be very unpredictable. That morning, as I stood behind the main desk of the unit, I watched this gentleman come out of his room. He proceeded down the hallway at a snails pace. His hair was uncombed, obstructing my view of his face. His shirt was dirty and it was very probable that he'd worn it for a few days. His hands walked down the hallway walls, feeling their way towards the desk, as if they were guiding him instead of his barely open eyes. He finally sat down in one of two plastic chairs that were sitting against the wall only a few feet from me. I'm not sure if this was his desired destination, or if he'd just been too tired to brave the wall-less five feet he would've had to have crossed in order to reach the next available seating option. Either way, there he sat. I watched him for a long time as he sat motionless, hunched over in his chair, a vacant seat next to him. I began to wonder what he had been like in his 20's or 30's. Had he played any sports in high school? Did he attend college? Was he ever married? Can he remember his life before his illness? As I sat there, watching this man, a passage came to mind:
Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep market a pool, which is called in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having five porches.
"Just as the lame man at the pool of Bethesda needed someone stronger than himself to be healed, so we are dependent on the miracles of Christ's atonement if our souls are to be made whole from grief, sorrow, and sin."
I have recently started working at the Utah State Hospital. My official title is a Psychiatric Technician. My duties vary, depending upon which unit I'm assigned to each night. Oh yeah, did I mention I'm working the graveyards? Well I am. This job has been a first in many ways for me: first time working graves, first time (but hopefully not the last) working at a hospital, first time that I've been verbally abused on a nightly basis (by the patients), and the first time I've willingly put my life in danger nightly, just to name a few. Interestingly, I believe it's been the combination of all of these factors, as well as the long hours of pondering that a graveyard shift allows, that has really opened my eyes to a few truths.
One day I was working on a unit with an older man who had a reputation for being somewhat difficult. He requires intensive care, and can be very unpredictable. That morning, as I stood behind the main desk of the unit, I watched this gentleman come out of his room. He proceeded down the hallway at a snails pace. His hair was uncombed, obstructing my view of his face. His shirt was dirty and it was very probable that he'd worn it for a few days. His hands walked down the hallway walls, feeling their way towards the desk, as if they were guiding him instead of his barely open eyes. He finally sat down in one of two plastic chairs that were sitting against the wall only a few feet from me. I'm not sure if this was his desired destination, or if he'd just been too tired to brave the wall-less five feet he would've had to have crossed in order to reach the next available seating option. Either way, there he sat. I watched him for a long time as he sat motionless, hunched over in his chair, a vacant seat next to him. I began to wonder what he had been like in his 20's or 30's. Had he played any sports in high school? Did he attend college? Was he ever married? Can he remember his life before his illness? As I sat there, watching this man, a passage came to mind:
Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep market a pool, which is called in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having five porches.
In these lay a great multitude of impotent folk, of blind, halt, withered, waiting for the moving of the water.
For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had.
And a certain man was there, which had an infirmity thirty and eight years.
When Jesus saw him lie, and knew that he had been now a long time in that case, he saith unto him, Wilt thou be made whole?
The impotent man answered him, Sir, I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool: but while I am coming, another steppeth down before me.
John 5:1-9
For a second, I could imagine the Savior, sitting in the chair next to this plagued man. I have no idea what the Savior would do, if he would heal him, sit with him, or just comfort him. But I did realize that this man, just as the man at the pool of bethesda, needed somone to "put him in to the pool" to be healed. And suddenly, the gravity of my job hit me. I realized that I was that person, that I had the opportunity to act as an advocate of the Savior, to do as the Savior would, to these patients. Obviously, I can not heal the mental illness these people suffer from, but I can help to quiet some of the fear and dispell some of the lonliness they feel.
As I started to make personal commitments to always treating these patients as the Savior would, I was reminded that I lack a very key element...Empathy. Only the Savior, who at the garden of Gethsemane suffered for everyone and everything (including mental illness), could truly understand the aggravation and pain a mental illness can cause to a patient and their families.
Therein lies one of the true miracles of the Atonement: That we can know our Savior is a personal Savior. And that we can depend on the individuality of the Atonement to heal us, heart, body, and mind.
"Just as the lame man at the pool of Bethesda needed someone stronger than himself to be healed, so we are dependent on the miracles of Christ's atonement if our souls are to be made whole from grief, sorrow, and sin."
Jan Underwood Pinborough, Ensign, 1989
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