patient perspective – trust and vulnerability
This is why I came to work here.
A man almost in tears, grateful to be heard. Grateful to be taken care of. Dismissed by his boss on the outside. Dismissed by doctors on the outside. Dismissed by medical staff at another prison. Of course, all this experience of his being dismissed is his experience. And here, he’s feeling like someone is listening. And it’s not just me…it’s his PCP (primary care provider) and one of our medical doctor that helps with addiction. He feels supported.
He expressed that he didn’t want to fall into his addiction anymore and feared that his physical pain would send him there.
He appeared so vulnerable. I felt like I wanted to swoop him up and comfort him with a hug. To let him know that it’s going to be ok. Of course we can’t do that.
He said he had family support and they love him. He knows others here that don’t have that. He nearly tears up as he voices this acknowledgment.
I tried to normalize his experience with the orthopedic doctor. I hate to say this in case there’s an ortho reading this….but. When you’re in their presence, you can feel like you don’t matter whether your wearing civilian clothes or dressed in orange and restraints. Especially if you’re dressed in orange and restraints.
The residents worry that the surgeons won’t do a good job because they’re judging them–for being in prison. That’s understandable, right? It’s hard because we get to know them as more than the guy in orange. We see them wearing a blue shirt and denim, or white T-shirts, grey shorts and tennis shoes. They become real humans with experiences, feelings and families. The surgeon doesn’t get to see them this way.
But neither did my surgeon years ago. She looked me in the eye as I asked her a question. She had come to speak as an adjunct instructor in one of our orthopedic courses. Then she looked down at my cast on my foot/ankle and said, “oh I remember you.” Worst bedside manner. She told me I needed surgery, I’d be scheduled in 2 days, and then immediately walked out. I never saw her again until that day in the lecture hall (by the time I was in surgery, I was completely knocked out, so I only saw the medical assistants pre and post surgery).
So whether you’re in orange or civilian clothes, you can feel dismissed. You can feel unheard.
I shared this with him. I know it’s not completely the same but I wanted to normalize the situation. I wanted to normalize his experience. I also acknowledged, I could never feel what he was feeling. But, I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone.
Trust is something that’s earned. I do believe I earned his trust that day. He didn’t say it in so many words. His near-tears and him voicing his gratitude to me for listening to him, for acknowledging his pain….this is why I’m here. To help those that haven’t been heard. To help those that have been dismissed.
*just to note. Images are not from the prison as no devices are allowed in.
Prison PT 
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