I remember the feeling of scrolling through Facebook immediately after getting the news about Lauren. This time it was even worse. How could the world possibly continue to go on when I feel like my world is ending? Suddenly, everything else you thought was important no longer holds any value. The stress of work, money, difficult relationships, family feuds, overbearing HOA’s, all of it, completely irrelevant. I remember wanting to delete Facebook immediately in a knee jerk reaction because not even one ounce of my being could care any less about what the fuck Donald Trump was doing to piss people off today. I didn’t want to read about the superiority complexes of so many keyboard warriors in “mom groups”. I don’t care about your workout, your diet, your vacation, or how your meal delivery service dinner turned out. I just found out my baby is sick, and you want me to care about your life?
I have really tried to perfect my ability to just scroll past this stuff. Sometimes I hide posts that hit a nerve. I try not to engage, even though online it’s so very easy to sit here on my couch and pick a fight. Sometimes it’s easy, in person, too. Sometimes someone strikes a nerve with you and you can’t help but say something equally insensitive. But most times, you have to bite your lip, smile, nod and walk away.
I had a patient just a few days after finding out about baby boy. She was an older woman who was very obviously unhappy. This particular day, she was stressed out not because she was in the hospital, but because her cat was home alone. Her teenage grandson had said he’d go over and feed and check on the cat around 11:00am. At 12:30, I happened to be in her room talking to her and giving her some medications. She was so upset that she hadn’t heard from her grandson yet, and “he’s probably useless just like his father”. She continued to vent, which of course I allowed her to. It’s part of my job, and one that I usually don’t mind. She kept going on and on about how terrible her life was. She repeated on three different occasions, “you have no idea how horrible I have it”, “my life would make anyone else’s look like a walk in the park”, ‘you’ll never know what it’s like to have a crappy life like me”. I hope my facial expression didn’t give away to her how I was feeling. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to tell her, “I’m carrying a baby I just found out is going to die, but you keep telling me about how your grandson is a piece of shit because he hasn’t given you a status update on your god damned cat”. But alas, I didn’t. I nodded, attempted to empathize (very poorly I assume), and eventually got to the point where I had to make an excuse to leave her room. It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about”. I don’t take my personal life to work, or at least I try very hard not to. My patients are still having a crappier day than I am, because they’re the ones in the hospital, and I’m the one working to take care of them. But regardless of that, it’s still a struggle to carry other people and lift them up, when you feel like you can’t even take care of yourself.
So don’t feel guilty. You don’t have to own other peoples’ problems. You don’t have to be everything to everyone else, when you have completely lost your identity in your own struggles. Don’t feel bad about unplugging, disconnecting and telling people you need some space. Caller ID is a wonderful thing. Don’t pick up the phone if you know the person on the other line isn’t going to be able to support you in the way you need to be supported. And cut out the people who aim to give you opinions, advice and resources that aren’t helpful. Lean on the people who get it. Find your person. Or your people. Immerse yourself in them, and allow them to take care of you, even if it’s uncomfortable. If they’re around for you, they want to be. They may not know what to say, but maybe being present and not saying anything at all is the best they can offer. And maybe it’s exactly what you need.