Band-Aids
Last week I dealt with a very challenging case with the hospital. A women had be brought in to the hospital for care. While there, her husband died in an accident at work. However, the woman who was brought in seemed to be experienced some memory. Therefore, this woman was finding out, time and time again, that her husband had died. This meant that every time someone informed of the death of her husband, she received the information like it was new for the very first time. Ultimately, this woman experienced the death of her husband over and over and over again.
In addition to this, the hospital saw that every time this women was finding out and as her memory began to stay that she would, like anyone, get worked up at the thought of losing her life partner. Therefore the hospital placed the women on several drugs to number her hurting heart. But the fact of the matter is that while the hospital desired to keep her calm and drugged, her husband was dead and reality would soon set in.
But this type of behavior goes far beyond the hospital. Like my employment as a Behavioral Assistant is a prime example. Many of my clients have life issues that often times evolve the whole family. But the state/county wants us to come in a work with just the young person. How effective can one be in impacting the life and behavioral practices of a youth without the presence and willingness to work by the parent?
I must say that rather then placing masks or band aids over pain, over our hurts, over our realties, we must try and face them head on. I realize they are challenging. I realize that often times its like jumping from a cliff. But as long as we try and mask these realities we attempt to fool only a portion of our head and heart from what we know good and well is happening in our lives.
I hope this summer to realistically discuss my own realties. And look at how I have tried to cover them, removed them and overlook them. Its time to face the music. Its time to face the crowd. Rehearsal is over and the real show has just begun.
Blessings to you,
Courtney L. Clayton
