Focus on the Flame: A Look at Burnout After a Few Years

Not too long ago, a doctor asked me if I felt my job was obsolete with the invention of the iPad. My observing intern looked at me, eyes wide, mouth agape, waiting for me to respond. Only moments before rolling back to the operating room, this patient and I were shooting Nerf basketballs, pretending to be Stephen Curry and LeBron James. His port—named Raphael, after the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle—was about to drink some “milk” and he was about to snooze for a little while so he could get his IT chemo. These were things an iPad wouldn’t know. I smiled and said “Not really,” and continued my plan for supporting the child.

My intern and I later debriefed, recognizing the fact that for such an educated man, the doctor was uneducated about the field of child life. So we taught by example. The next time I had a patient with a new diagnosis of osteosarcoma, I asked about collaborating with him to teach and explain. He obliged, but stood close by as I educated this 10-year-old girl. He watched a light bulb go off in a way that didn’t when he’d taught her parents only moments before. Not only did she understand, but she was already processing and coping with the news. He caught me later and said,“Hey, the way you explained that was pretty incredible!” My intern joked later that an iPad couldn’t do that either!

My perspective could have shifted at his questioning of my position. I could have let his misconception squelch my chutzpah. I could have said, “Yeah, I am worried about my necessity as a child life specialist now that parents or nurses can simply hold an iPad in front of patients to block an IV start.” When we feel burned out, we tend to retreat to unhealthy, inaccurate, negative thinking. But some self-reflection directs me to what I know to be true: We are not replaceable. That day, I rekindled my fire.

Child life specialists know about perspective. Just yesterday, a patient’s grandmother asked the nurse if she could give her grandchild anything for pain. The 2-year-old was crying and inconsolable. The nurse didn’t have orders to give anything else, and shrugged her shoulders. Utilizing what I know, I grabbed a bottle of bubbles and a baby doll. I quickly introduced myself, presented the doll as a quick rapport builder and started blowing bubbles with this child. She immediately calmed down; she even tried to catch a few bubbles. A hush fell upon the room and the grandmother leaned in to read my name tag again. I heard her whisper “child life specialist,” making a mental note. I explained that the bubbles could not only provide a calm activity, but that they could also help her granddaughter practice deep breathing. I modeled for a few more rounds, and then handed the bubbles over to the family. Just like that, it was all better. It was a textbook child life encounter. Where some may say “nothing to be done,” a child life specialist says “what else can we try?” A grandmother felt helpless, then empowered.

Utilizing what I know, I grabbed a bottle of bubbles and a baby doll. I quickly introduced myself, presented the doll as a quick rapport builder and started blowing bubbles with this child. She immediately calmed down; she even tried to catch a few bubbles. A hush fell upon the room and the grandmother leaned in to read my name tag again. I heard her whisper "child life specialist," making a mental note.