It's the sound of IV alarm.
Or maybe it's the smell of handsanitizer.
Sometimes it's circumstances. Like being an inpatient caregiver again. Having the pressure of needing to assimilate information quickly and accurately. Needing to understand complex medical information so you can be the best patient advocate possible.
I can tell you from personal experience that PTSD is very real for Childhood Cancer survivors, caregivers, and siblings.
To this day, the sight of an infusion room makes me want to vomit. And doing rounds yesterday damn near sent me into a panic attack. Because this sucks. It feels like diagnosis week with Benjamin all over again. Like 10 years never happened. And all I can think this "I shouldn't have to do this again. I did my time damn it."
I have skills. Skills I shouldn't have. Skills I don't want. I know how to pack a Chemo bag in 5 minutes (I swear it was easier when we just had the bag ready to go). I know the ER drill FAR too well. I told the doctor at rounds not to dumb down the report because I understand just about all the terminology. I know how to get a non compliant patient to eat. I know how to ask the right questions from the nurses because they know waaaay more than the doctor.
I don't wanna know this stuff. I wanna be ignorant of resistant bacteria and fluid overload. I want to trust doctors again (I got no problems with nurses... they know what they're doing).
In short, I want off this ride.
Labels: caregivers, Childhood Cancer, PTSD
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