Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

A ‘Clerical’ Perspective on Caring for Cancer Patients

2011; Wolters Kluwer; Volume: 33; Issue: 12 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1097/01.cot.0000399776.22906.1d

1548-4688

R. Hart,

Palliative Care and End-of-Life Issues

Robin HartI can't say I'm just like everybody else. Obviously, I am not. Talking to other people makes me realize I think outside the box. Taking it even further, I speak it. Sometimes this isn't necessarily a good thing. I get a lot of “looks” and “you're crazy” stuff. I say what a truly feel, and that's what makes me who I am, unique. For me, there isn't always a connection with every patient, their accompanying family member, or friend – basically their support group. I would say about 80% of people who come into the office I “connect” with. The majority are confused, concerned, and afraid. So although I love my job, I truly hate this crap. Yeah I call it crap because I'm not clinical, I'm clerical. I don't understand the medical ins and outs of cancer, and this stupid disease angers me. I don't think I'm special, but I know I'm here to do something special. I don't know if I've already done it or if it is yet to happen. For example: You know how some couples just look like they are supposed to be together, like they “match up” perfectly? That is Mr. and Mrs. Z. They are just so cute! I remember when they came in, and I just loved her hair – even tried to get mine cut like hers. I commented on it the first time, second time, and I'm pretty sure the third time they came in. She just beamed…but so did he. I could see him standing there just to the right and behind her, smiling and shaking his head. You could see he agreed she was a looker and was proud of her. Each return visit, there were fewer smiles. More testing led to treatment, nauseating treatment. Loss of hair. Loss of hope. You never know, and yet...you do know. “There's my girl!”, he would say. “You're like one of our own daughters”, she would tell me. God it hurt! I was lucky enough to get to see Mr. Z about a month before he passed on. I had just come in the building, and my eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness from being out in the sunlight. I heard a familiar voice ahead of me and saw a small, frail figure accompanied by a walker. That all too familiar hurt in my throat commenced as I desperately fought back tears and forced a smile. “Hey there Mr. Z!” “There's my girl!”, he replied. I leaned down to gently hug his neck. Idle, uncomfortable chat ensued. This would be our last encounter. “See ya soon, Mr. Z”, as he left the building. I entered the elevator, I knew — I just knew. I pulled myself together before going back to the office where more patients had arrived. There they sat, waiting to be called next. I smiled...”Hey Mr. A, how ya doing”? I give Mrs. K a hug and tell her how pretty she looks in blue. If I can make one patient smile for one second and leave their worries behind, I feel my purpose has been fulfilled. It is not only clerical care I provide, but also compassion.