[ tw: self harm ]

When a Doctor in the ER Questioned Why She Should Help Me

Editor's note: If you struggle with self-harm, the following post could be potentially triggering. You can contact the Crisis Text Line by texting "START" to 741-741. One morning last summer, I woke up to find blood seeping through my pajamas.

themighty.com

We deal with cases like this in the hospital from time to time. As someone who's had to deal with The Darkness (not to the point of serious injury, but enough to not trust myself around sharp objects), naturally I empathise with these patients. But of course I am an emotionally constipated mess irl so the best I can do is to silently offer support and hope that my actions are able to convey my intended message of "I feel you, bro". I do my best not to judge the youths who shyly raise their sleeves during a routine blood draw to reveal the telltale scars over their wrists, not to chastise those who get admitted to hospital after swallowing a fistful of pills. I feel a sort of kinship towards them, but also a deep unsettling fear - am I capable of carrying out these actions myself?

Most healthcare staff don't react that way, as the article unfortunately points out. We're a judgmental and gossipy bunch. Selfharm injuries are usually treated with an air of cold dismissal. "What a stupid thing to do", "Why do we bother treating him/her", etc. It's hurtful and nasty, but most people's minds are made up and so I act the silent coward in fear of being judged. (On a more positive note, though, is the fact that we have trained professionals in the psychiatric/counselling department who have a more sympathetic ear. I should probably set up an appointment someday? Maybe?)

And since we're on this (apologetically dark) topic, here's an anecdote I've never had the chance to tell anyone. It's from my work experience in a morgue during medical school years. To put it briefly: 10-year-old girl, cause of death: suicide by hanging. Assisting in the autopsy was uneventful, but was followed by the worst part - having to deal with a grief-striken mother who kept insisting that her daughter was so happy the day before, taking selfies with her family at dinner. It felt horrible, and I wondered what sort of sorrow and misery this child had experienced (and evidently had kept hidden) that was so overwhelming that she couldn't bear to live with it any longer. It still bothers me til this day.

Oh bloody hell, I didn't mean to make this post so miserable. I'm sorry omg.

One thing that does bring me a lot of comfort these days is the Sad Ghost Club. Because it helps to know that you're not alone.

it's ok