First Day of Psych Clinical

Well my first day of psych clinical was a week later than the rest of my group’s – the night before what was supposed to be my first clinical, I randomly got sick and spent the entire night in the fetal position with the worst abdominal pains I’ve ever had, afraid to move for fear of throwing up. Needless to say, I had no business being 1) around non-sick people and 2) on my feet for 8 hours. Luckily my clinical instructor was really understanding and let me make up what we did while I was already at clinical instead of coming in another time. For the majority of the last month or so, every time I’ve thought about my psych clinical it has been with intimidation – and even though that hasn’t completely gone away, it has been further alleviated by experience; I think not knowing what to expect was a large contributor to my apprehension. We talked with the patients we were assigned for about an hour; my girl was shyer than I expected and didn’t really elaborate much on the questions I was asking, which made it pretty hard to get a good assessment. In her defense, I can’t empathize in any way with her situation, so I can’t imagine talking to stranger after stranger and living somewhere like that away from my family. I felt like some of the things she said were rehearsed from having told so many people, but I do think I connected to her, at least a little bit. She actually said she wanted to be a drug/alcohol counselor in the future, which, if true, shows that she knows she's capable of getting herself out of the situation she's in; I hope with all my heart that she makes it there some day. We also sat in on the treatment team, and it was really interesting to hear the nurses, doctor, social worker, etc. talk about where each patient had come from and what their plan with them was. But as interesting as all of it was, it was mostly sad; talking about how many of these kids had come from abusive homes and/or from a family with a lot of history of mental disease, I couldn’t help but think that these poor kids didn’t stand much of a chance at normalcy. The cycle seems to be perpetuated over and over, and I wonder (though I hope not) if the children of some of these patients are going to be in the same situation 18-20 years from now. It’s just really frustrating and eye-opening, especially having come from such an easy childhood; I literally called my mom as I was leaving and thanked her for always being there for me and, although no parent is perfect, doing a pretty damn good job. I just can’t imagine how people can abuse or neglect or not actively love their children, and I certainly can’t understand people who abuse the system and provide another shitty environment for these kids who just deserve a decent chance. I don’t pretend to understand why some people (like myself) are born into wonderful, loving families, while others are born into the situations they are; of course I’m grateful that I’m the former, but it doesn’t seem fair. I’m not going to make any definite decisions until I’ve experienced more, but I’m keeping psych nursing in the back of my mind. I’m still a little intimidated by the boys, since they are all bigger than me and there are more of them, but I definitely had a good experience this week and look forward to what more I can learn.