Skip to main content

Peace Out PCH...




Now that is has been a couple days since I said goodbye to PCH I figured it was time to express just what it all means to me. I spent three years at PCH. As I look back on the last three years it is hard to believe that I survived it all. When I started at PCH I was terrified. I had some serious doubts in myself and how I was going to walk into the building where Mckenna died every shift, how I was going to be around sick children, broken children, children who are alone, children who are abused, and children Mckenna’s age. I just didn't know how I was going to handle it all and I would be lying if I said it wasn't challenging. It was one of the hardest, most challenging things I have ever done.

 In the beginning I really struggled to work there. I would cry every shift, have flashbacks, I would be distant, closed off, shut down, just to survive the shift, my life, everything. I wanted to quit many times, I would look for jobs and even put in applications but I would never follow through with quitting. I guess it never felt “right”. I wanted it to feel like the right time and no matter how much I complained, something kept me there and I guess I am thankful for that voice that kept me there as long as it did.

After some point, though I can’t pin point when it was, I found a peacefulness working there. I no longer cried going to work, I wouldn’t dread each shift with every ounce of my body, I was more talkative with my coworkers, patients, patients families. At the time I thought this was great, I reached the place I never thought I could or would and it was a great accomplishment. And then my mom died. My mom’s death was devastating to me and I found myself going back to the days from when I first started. The flashbacks started again, I would cry to work every shift, and it would take over half the shift to recover.I recognized that it longer was serving a purpose for me and I was no longer growing and becoming, I was falling and going backwards. I don't use the word hate very often if at all, but I truly began to hate it. Working at PCH, working nights began to take its toll and I knew I needed to quit. It was no longer peaceful, it was torture so I set out on a couple missions which brought me to where I am today.

 My last night was a great night with great people, great nurses, and lots of conversations, laughter and peace with my decision. It was time. I clocked out, said my goodbyes, walked through the old PICU where Mckenna died, down the hall one last time and out the doors feeling free. It was almost euphoric, I was happy, excited and in that moment I knew that I fulfilled my goal and I don’t regret ever working there and I don’t regret waiting to leave and I most definitely don’t regret quitting.

I lost a lot while working at PCH, but I also gained so much. Leaving PCH wasn’t a hard decision. I have seen things that are heartbreaking, sad, amazing, humbling, and unforgettable, but I no longer feel the need to be there and to put myself through what I have when I first started. I want to live life and for Mckenna to be proud of me for challenging myself yet knowing when it was no longer benefiting me. I lost a piece of me the day Mckenna died in that hospital and even though it did not bring her back, it did put together a small piece of my heart with a scar. I will never forget my time at PCH, I will never forget how it forced me to grow, I will never forget the last three years and what they brought me. 


Peace out PCH….

*The* Room Mckenna died in.
 (No patients were on the floor when I took this picture,
the unit was empty)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Closing the Book of my Childhood...

Growing up I went to my Nana and Papa's house frequently. She would keep us weeks at a time in the summers. Nana was for a grandmother but also didn't take any back talk or attitude. When I was 10 years old, I moved in with Nana and Papa. My room was downstairs, without a door and had the washer and dryer in the room. Eventually they put on saloon like doors for a little privacy. I lived there until I turned 13. Big years living with your grandparents. Vital years really, but I wouldn't have had it any other way. I always felt connected to my Nana. We were a lot a like. I still wonder what she would think of me now and how I turned out. I would help around the property, help plant cactus (and laugh hysterically together after because we were so sweaty and gross), helped feed the animals, water the trees, water the plants, ride my bike all the time. I actually played out doors every day. Sometimes I was allowed to eat ice cream for dinner when no one wanted to c...
6 comments
Read more

Graduation, Weeping Willows and Love

I have often thought about the analogy of trees and wind. Trees need to be flexible when the winds blow or they would break and not survive the storm. Rigid, stubborn trees trying hard to go against the wind grow tired, weary and broken. Fluid and flexible trees go with the flow of the wind, bending and bouncing back after a storm.  When I began my journey of becoming a social worker I was the stubborn rigid tree trying hard to control everything around me falling apart in the process. This became more of a challenge than allowing the wind to do what it does and go with whatever direction it goes. It was exhausting. I would come unhinged quickly, shut down and not stay with my emotions. Friends have told me that they saw it happen right before their eyes. 2 years ago I started the MSW program. I was fragile, unstable, rigid, shut down, broken and lost. I never thought the day would come for me to get my Master’s. Graduation felt like a million years away. Every class...
Post a Comment
Read more

10 Years Without You Mom....

10 years ago today, I experienced the second worst day of my life. I found my mother dead in her bed. Even 10 years later, when I say those words it takes my breath away. I know it's not a very delicate way to say it but it's the truth. I don't relive every detail like I did for many years. For years, following her death, I couldn't get those images out of my head. Every detail from the moment I unlocked the door, to the funeral home taking her away. Each moment played out often. What an absolutely awful day it was.  The days leading up to her death also haunted me. I always felt I didn't do enough. She died sad and alone in an apt that was horrible. I had reached a point in her alcoholism of distancing myself. I couldn't handle the heartache and the broken promises and the constantly finding her drunk and the drunk phone calls. I distanced myself and she died. The what if's, the shoulda, coulda, woulda's were ruthless. I still hear her voice the last ti...
Post a Comment
Read more