Today, I treated your forehead laceration, a painful reminder of the violent encounter you endured. As I carefully stitched the wound with two layers of sutures, I reassured you that the scar would likely blend with your eyebrow over time. I helped you apply makeup to conceal the bruises on your neck from where he had choked you. I kept a close eye on your airway for any signs of swelling, and I discreetly jotted down the contact information for local shelters and support hotlines, slipping it into your shoe for safekeeping.
I offered to call the authorities for you at least ten times. I expressed my concern that the next time you might not make it home. Today, I patched up your visible wounds. But tomorrow, when the injuries become deeper or more extensive, we might not be able to protect you.
You came in today alone after fainting during your shift at the local cinema. As a college student, your family lives far away, and no one was there to hear the news I had for you: the blood tests indicated a potential cancer diagnosis. When I mentioned the need for hospitalization, blood transfusions, and possibly a bone marrow transplant, I could see the shock on your face, and I wondered if you truly comprehended the gravity of the situation. You requested a note to excuse you from your final exam tomorrow. That may be the only document I can provide for you. Today, I managed to identify a life-threatening condition and initiate treatment. However, tomorrow, when you face complications from chemotherapy, we risk failing you again.
I reviewed dietary recommendations for managing type 2 diabetes with you. Surprisingly, you were already well-informed, having arrived at the emergency room with dangerously high blood sugar levels and blurred vision. You shared that your monthly insulin and supplies exceed $1,000, and as a senior on a fixed income, you’ve had to make sacrifices. When I asked how you managed, you explained that you stretch one week’s worth of insulin to last the entire month, administering less than prescribed. You asked, “Isn’t something better than nothing?” Today, I connected you with a social worker who secured a voucher for a month’s worth of supplies. But tomorrow, when your blood sugar spikes due to rationing, you could face a critical situation, and we may fail you.
Today, I guided you through a sensitive examination, collecting evidence of the assault you suffered. I took swabs and samples from various areas of your body, documenting the bruises and wounds. I provided medications to prevent pregnancy and transmission of STIs. I apologized for what happened, emphasizing that this was not your fault. I allowed you a moment to shower, perhaps to help wash away the shame and vulnerability. Today, I offered you comfort and dressed you in clean clothing. Tomorrow, I will stand up for you and others who have faced similar traumas. However, when the nightmares return, and you struggle to find peace, we may still fail you.
Today, I cared for you as if you were my own child, changing your diaper, brushing your hair, and engaging you with nursery rhymes. I read to you from your favorite book and reassured you of my love. As I tucked you into bed, I reminded you that you are cherished. Today, I was your caregiver, and I will continue to advocate fiercely so that no one else experiences such failures in the healthcare system.
For those considering starting a family, you may find helpful resources like the BabyMaker and Healthline’s guide on IUI beneficial. Additionally, for more insights on related topics, check out this resource.
In summary, the fight against healthcare inequities is ongoing. As caregivers, we must remain vigilant and advocate for our patients’ needs while addressing the systemic issues that contribute to their struggles.