Oranges and me, the NP

So, as most of you know, I am a psychiatric nurse practitioner.

I deal with patients every single day. I count the victories, the patients that are sober for 10 years after having a forty year history of alcohol dependence. The patients that are off probation, keeping their job, saving their marriage and generally doing great. Which is different then when I first see them. When they first come to me, my patients are usually a mess.

Then, after they come, it is my job to help them sort things out and guide them on the path of getting better. Which is great, if they cooperate. But sometimes they cooperate a little. Sometimes they don't cooperate at all.

Which is kind of tough for me to tolerate. Because I am a nurse, I care and help outline a plan to get better. But, they are in charge. It's up to them to follow the plan.

So, the last few days I've had people really challenge me with their not cooperating. The worst is then they don't cooperate and claim I don't care. That I am a vending machine to dispense pills. A tool of the man that only serves to make their problems worse. A tool of uncaring.

This is my Achilles tendon. To be accused of not caring gets to me. Because if there is one thing I do do, it's care.


And that's all I got to say about that.