As a Child Life Therapist, I have worked with countless children and families throughout their medical experiences. I have stood by while parents have been told the worst of news. I have witnessed procedures that have been far from ideal, with huge amounts of distress from the child, parents, and health care workers. I have danced that fine line between promoting honesty and instilling choice and control; while not wanting to provide too many details that may frighten the child. I have hugged parents who have lost children and openly wept on my way home, reflecting on the grief and loss experienced by others.
On the other side of the coin, I have celebrated wins, both big and small: first smiles after major surgery; the completion of a blood test with a plan that just ‘worked’. I have watched children develop autonomy over their medical experiences through medical play. Children and young people who have been so proud of their achievements in overcoming the unthinkable and walking out of hospital after a long admission.
The joy of this role is that we do get to see both sides of the coin. We get to be a small cog in a massive wheel of health professionals supporting children in their medical journey. And every day I am grateful that I can offer support in both the best and worst of times.
In my professional role, I can use my understanding of child development, play theories, mental health, educational pedagogies, and experience to navigate the medical world. And yet, despite all my knowledge and professional experience, the role of Mama to my children throws me into unchartered waters during medical encounters.
To begin, I need to acknowledge that both my children have been blessed with primarily good health. I acknowledge that my experience in the health care system is far from the nightmare that so many families face with long-term conditions, serious injury and trauma. However, they are my children, and my perspective and emotional journey of health care encounters has been vastly different as a Mama Bear.
The first time I had to take my oldest to hospital, he was two years old. An accident on an inflatable bouncy castle led to a badly sprained ankle. We waited in emergency for almost three hours before trying to get an x-ray. My distressed baby refused to lie still, and the results were inconclusive. Three days later, we had to go back and attempt another as he was still not weight-bearing. He was traumatised from the first experience where they had asked me to hold him down so they could get the image. This time however, we had a very different technician who was gentle, warm, and used bubbles and distraction so beautifully that we successfully got the x-ray. First note to self – providing support to your own child when they are distressed is a whole other experience.
The second time and undoubtably more distressing, was when we had to call an ambulance for my youngest who had severe croup and was struggling to breathe. I knew that it was up to me to be the calm one here. I had to regulate my emotions and fear while I was watching them gasp for air. I dug deep. I knew that they would feed off my anxiety and so I forced myself to breathe slowly and provide reassurance through words and touch. Inside I was dying! I couldn’t bear to watch my little one struggling and it was breaking my heart. The trained professional with lots of experience disappeared and I was just Mama. We got through it, and everyone was praiseworthy about how calm I was in the circumstance. I WAS NOT CALM! But good on me for doing an Oscar worthy performance.
What I realised in these moments, and during all my further health care experiences with my children, navigating blood tests, intra-muscular injections, vaccinations and the dreaded mental health system; is that, as parents, we are so inextricably connected to our children, that it is often hard to separate ourselves from the experience. I know that I need to be the calm one. I know that I need to advocate. I know that I need to provide choice and control. I know that I need to help explain to my child what is happening to them and make them feel safe and secure. But I also know that I am human. And that the love I have for my children sometimes makes it difficult to be that person in stressful situations. So, sometimes, I need to take a step back. I need to remind myself that I can support my child but that it is also ok if I am not feeling the same confidence inside as I am showing on the outside. I also need to remind myself that I can ask for help if I am feeling completely overwhelmed. Talking through our concerns with someone, and acknowledging our fear or uncertainty about situations, can help us take back the power that is lost in the unknown.
I think we need to normalise the abnormal when it comes to medical experiences and our own children. Sometimes we are thrown into situations that are so far out of our ‘normal’ experience that we are left feeling out of our depth. And while the situation is not normal, our responses are usually far more normal than we think. Hang in there! You are doing great! The Royal Children’s Hospital has some great resources to help parents support their children through medical encounters. Always reach out if you feel like you need extra support. You may not always feel like a superhero or Oscar worthy actor, but first and foremost you are a parent, and these abnormal feelings are very normal!
Kate Strickland is a community-based Child Life Therapist with a background in Occupational Therapy and Education. She works with infants, children, and young people along with their families in managing the stresses associated with health care encounters, procedures, hospitalisation and medical trauma. Visit healingheartsbeyond.com.au for more information.