I work in sheltered housing, specifically for vulnerable elders, thought we do have some residents in late middle age.
It is a weird job. Almost to easy for words, and allowing me vast amounts of free time for other things. But it has a down side. We have residents who are in their final years.
This sometime last night or this morning, one of our residents had a fall. I was the one who found him.
Already very ill thanks to a combinations of compromised immune system and the side effects of the cocktail of anti retro-virals and other drugs, he died in the early afternoon.
As a result, I am not exactly doing so well, with irrational fear of HIV infection(despite no contact with the residents blood), and a heady mix of guilt(that I couldn't do more) and grief. Those of you who have gone through bereavement or who work in the care professions, I could really do with advice on how to stop my mind working away at this.
You already give so much of yourself simply doing this job that few others would. Life does not allow us to see the future for a reason.
Offers hugs
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I wish I had any advice to offer. I do not now and will most likely never work in that sort of profession. My empathy would be too strong and it would be very hard to deal with the issues you must now face. My primary form of advice, which would be prayer, I know from previous discussions is not an option for you. Might I suggest focusing your mind on other tasks, to the exclusion of other things. Be it video games, meditation or even motorcycle maintenance. This I have found works quite well at allowing one not to think of the other issues that maybe effecting me on a daily basis. You, as well as the person who have passed are in my prayers. I hope you accept that as it is meant, not in offense, but rather sympathy for your plight.
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I understand how it is hard to not blame yourself for "not doing more", but you need to put that irrational blame aside. None of us can put off one person's death forever, and to try would be even more cruel than letting the suffering person go. Try focusing on the positive part of this event: that you, a caring person, were the one who found the resident, and that you did what you could to help. You helped ease his last day.
Crimson Jester's advice to seek other tasks outside of work is also good, and I'll add that friends, family and coworkers can help you. Maybe there are coworkers at your shelter who have seen a lot, and can also help you deal with your grief?
Also, don't be afraid to ask for a day off to go to a different environment (not just sitting at home) where you can get a new perspective and let your fears subside.
*hug*
Working in the care industry myself, I know what you're talking about. Lying there in your bed, thinking whether you could have done something better is stomach-churning. And with death, there are no second chances, no explanations, no hope.
What you have to do is accept it. People die. In fact, everyone dies. No matter what you or anyone does, every single one of the people you care for are going to die. It is possible that you could have done something differently, but you have to know when your actions could have impacted the situation as a whole. An elderly person falling is a type of event that's very hard to deal with effectively, simply because you have no way of knowing when it will happen. When it does happen, it's because that person's sense of balance has grown dull. Age does it, neural disease can do it. Usually, it's these factors plus medication that does it. So: It's not your fault. You couldn't have known. And if you couldn't know, you couldn't have done differently, right?
I think maybe you should take a day off, if you can. Do something you enjoy, see a movie is usually good because it's distracting. Spend the evening with friends/family. And then, when the time comes, go to his funeral. We hold funerals for a reason. Many health care workers do not go to funerals, which is sad, because those who do deal better with the loss. If you feel weird doing so, remember that you too had a personal relation to the person, and that most funerals are short on visitors anyway.
*hugs*
I have been working with mentally ill high-functioning adults for several years, and I have lost more people both on and off my caseload than I care to think about. The most recent loss was a little over a month ago, of someone who had with with me since I first started this job who succumbed to cancer. In a twist of fate we had ended up living across the street from each other after I got married, and I got very much used to seeing her from time to time at the supermarket and in the neighborhood. What helps me get through this and other losses are remembering the good times that I shared with the people on my caseload(and off), the crisises that I was able to help resolve both big and small, and just the normal, boring every day events that most people take for granted that were a real triumph for some of these individuals. Don't worry about doing more, because we can always do more if we put our minds to it, but then we run the risk of our work losing quality along the way and we find something new to beat ourselves up about. Just be who and what you are- a professional.
I've been there. I can provide specifics if needed, but I've walked in those shoes.
The residents you work with have numerous, serious problems. No matter how much effort you devote, you will NEVER be able to prevent things from going wrong on your watch.
Don't blame yourself. There's a temptation to think "if only I'd done this or done that, none of this would have happened." You can second-guess yourself into an ulcer or burn yourself out trying to control situations that never truly were in your control.
The pain you feel is proof that you're the right person for the job, the one who cares, who truly tries to make things better.
Be grateful that they at least had a life.
I work in a pediatric ER. Not a trauma center, but in my several years I have experienced the death of a child under my care. The youngest was 3 weeks old, and the oldest was 17 (motorcycle accident).
I remind myself that for every seriously ill or dying child I've encountered, I have cared for at least 100 more that was able to go home.
We work in a tough industry, and I am sure many people couldn't handle what we go through almost every shift. But I am glad for the people I do work with, as they are all a caring group, and I can rely on them to be there for me should a serious situation arise.
I hope you can get through this; just remember that what you do helps others in a way they could most likely never repay.
Hang in there!