I have seen my fair share of bullies in the healthcare field. Since my first foray into the healthcare arena in 1985 to this day, I have seen healthcare workers from management to ownership, from clinical staff to line staff, use their positions to control and bully people who are, in many cases, tragically susceptible to this treatment, often because of the healthcare system design itself.
When you require a form of support and services in order to stay in the community and, in some cases, stay alive, it is hideously unconscionable that you are subjected to this kind of treatment.
I know of one community-based provider for brain injury that may still have one management employee who locks the doors when he begins his workshops and, if one of the participants needs to use the bathroom, they find themselves locked out of the workshop when they return. They are told that they should have gone to the bathroom before the workshop. Never mind they are deserving of respect and dignity.
I know of another program director in New York State that last I heard still tells new employees that anyone who has suffered a brain injury is incapable of thinking. Having been shot in the head myself and living with a bullet lodged in my brain, I am utterly baffled as to how I can write these words to you, much less write any damned thing in the first place, were this program director, who I will call Biff, correct in his observation..
I once asked Biff how was it that I am able to think.
Biff said, “You’re abnormal, Peter.”
I said, “I’m well aware of that, Biff. But that was true long before I was shot.”
A week or two after this conversation with Biff, it comes to my attention that a young man with a brain injury was refusing to leave his room. I go to Biff and say, “Why don’t I go talk with him and see what’s up?”
Biff says, “Go ahead if you think you'll do any good.”
I go to see this young man. He is 19 years old. He had been an athlete and suffered his injury when he was hit by a car. My dialogue with this young man went something like this. I’ll call him Paul
I knocked on his door, “Mind if I come in?”
“Come on in,” Paul says.
I say, “Listen, first thing I want to tell you, the last thing I plan on doing is try to get you to leave this room. You cool with that?” I knew people had been pressuring him to leave his room because they felt that was what he was supposed to do.
“I’m cool with that.”
“I wanted to know if you would teach me something.”
“Sure… What do you want to know?”
“Can you teach me, help me understand what stops you from leaving the room?”
“Look at me,” Paul says, his voice suddenly choked with emotion. “I leave this room, walk 10 feet, I can’t find my way back. One day I’m this really good athlete, next day a car hits me, it was a car that hit me?”
“It was.”
“One day this fucking car hits me, now I can’t remember shit, my balance sucks, I’m not an athlete anymore and I can’t find my way back to my own room, it’s scary as hell.”
I say, “Thanks for helping me understand, bro. Can I ask a favor of you?”
“Sure."
“All right if I come to see you, we can hang out here all you want.”
“I’d really like that."
I got up to leave. I say, “It was really good meeting you, Paul.”
He stands. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Can I get a hug?”
“Not a problem,” and I give this 19-year-old boy who is understandably afraid to leave his room because he couldn’t find his way back a hug.
I go and find Biff and relate my conversation with Paul to him. I conclude by saying, “You still want to say that’s not thinking.”
Biff looked at me and said, “That’s not thinking, that’s feeling.”
I say, “You're stupid, you know that, right?”
There are and always will be bullies among us. But there is good news. There are canyons of courage in the hearts and minds of those of us who have been wounded in life, physically, emotionally and spiritually. And if there is any universal truth to any bully, it is this, they are cowards.
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When you require a form of support and services in order to stay in the community and, in some cases, stay alive, it is hideously unconscionable that you are subjected to this kind of treatment.
I know of one community-based provider for brain injury that may still have one management employee who locks the doors when he begins his workshops and, if one of the participants needs to use the bathroom, they find themselves locked out of the workshop when they return. They are told that they should have gone to the bathroom before the workshop. Never mind they are deserving of respect and dignity.
I know of another program director in New York State that last I heard still tells new employees that anyone who has suffered a brain injury is incapable of thinking. Having been shot in the head myself and living with a bullet lodged in my brain, I am utterly baffled as to how I can write these words to you, much less write any damned thing in the first place, were this program director, who I will call Biff, correct in his observation..
I once asked Biff how was it that I am able to think.
Biff said, “You’re abnormal, Peter.”
I said, “I’m well aware of that, Biff. But that was true long before I was shot.”
A week or two after this conversation with Biff, it comes to my attention that a young man with a brain injury was refusing to leave his room. I go to Biff and say, “Why don’t I go talk with him and see what’s up?”
Biff says, “Go ahead if you think you'll do any good.”
I go to see this young man. He is 19 years old. He had been an athlete and suffered his injury when he was hit by a car. My dialogue with this young man went something like this. I’ll call him Paul
I knocked on his door, “Mind if I come in?”
“Come on in,” Paul says.
I say, “Listen, first thing I want to tell you, the last thing I plan on doing is try to get you to leave this room. You cool with that?” I knew people had been pressuring him to leave his room because they felt that was what he was supposed to do.
“I’m cool with that.”
“I wanted to know if you would teach me something.”
“Sure… What do you want to know?”
“Can you teach me, help me understand what stops you from leaving the room?”
“Look at me,” Paul says, his voice suddenly choked with emotion. “I leave this room, walk 10 feet, I can’t find my way back. One day I’m this really good athlete, next day a car hits me, it was a car that hit me?”
“It was.”
“One day this fucking car hits me, now I can’t remember shit, my balance sucks, I’m not an athlete anymore and I can’t find my way back to my own room, it’s scary as hell.”
I say, “Thanks for helping me understand, bro. Can I ask a favor of you?”
“Sure."
“All right if I come to see you, we can hang out here all you want.”
“I’d really like that."
I got up to leave. I say, “It was really good meeting you, Paul.”
He stands. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Can I get a hug?”
“Not a problem,” and I give this 19-year-old boy who is understandably afraid to leave his room because he couldn’t find his way back a hug.
I go and find Biff and relate my conversation with Paul to him. I conclude by saying, “You still want to say that’s not thinking.”
Biff looked at me and said, “That’s not thinking, that’s feeling.”
I say, “You're stupid, you know that, right?”
There are and always will be bullies among us. But there is good news. There are canyons of courage in the hearts and minds of those of us who have been wounded in life, physically, emotionally and spiritually. And if there is any universal truth to any bully, it is this, they are cowards.
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