I love my job, but sometimes it can
be scary. I don’t mean scary in
the sense that I’m afraid for my physical safety; I mean scary in that I have a
serious responsibility to our patients.
It is easy for me to forget that.
We have incredible doctors and nurses who are, thankfully, present every
clinic night, and sometimes I can see my role as merely administrative. Shame on me.
Recently, a young man came to clinic
asking to see our psychiatrist, who wasn’t scheduled to be in that night. I sat down with him to find out more
about his situation. He didn’t
give me a lot of specifics, but it was obvious that he was struggling with some
serious mental issues. Thankfully,
I had some mental health training through Mission Waco, and I knew to ask a few
key questions: Are you having thoughts of suicide? Yes. Do you have a plan? Not exactly.
Here’s the deal: this young man had
insurance through his father’s employer.
He had access to mental health care, so I was a little perplexed as to
how I could help or why he was here.
Then he began asking me questions like: as a Christian, how did I view
mental health issues? It became
obvious that he was struggling with seeking help because he had been told that
his faith should be strong enough to overcome his problem. Suddenly I was grateful for all those
conferences and workshops that had forced me to re-think, re-evaluate and
untangle my own view of mental illness.
We talked, we prayed, and as I
watched him go, I realized that this well-educated, middle-class, articulate
young man with plenty of health insurance didn’t need our volunteer
doctor. He needed to hear that
mental health problems didn’t mean he lacked faith. He needed a fellow believer to tell him it was OK, that he
was not alone, and that God had not abandoned him.
We all need that occasionally…
