Living in fear

I’m feeling very fragile today, and everything made me cry this morning. I think I know part of the reason.
Two days ago I had a hypoglycemia patient. He didn’t start out as hypoglycemia. He started out as a routine transport home, but I took his blood sugar before we left and it was 411. Right then, I know I should have stopped and insisted on a hospitalist sign-off before I took him, but I didn’t. I didn’t even think about that in the moment. The nurse was frazzled and rushing to get the patient out, and we were in kind of a hurry because it was our last call and it was all the way to Waseca and we didn’t want to be late getting done. It was a new partner and, of course, I got weird about that.
So the nurse just gave him some insulin and we left.
That was my second mistake. I should have waited and said we had to wait 15 minutes to see if the insulin was working properly, but I didn’t. I just loaded him and went.
Then the next time I took his blood sugar it was more than 450, and at that point I knew we had to turn around and go back, but I had the worst time pulling the trigger. Seriously, you would have thought I was getting ready to ride a barrel over Niagara Falls the way I hemmed and hawed about it.
And the reason, of course, was fear.
All the “what ifs.”
What if I’m wrong? That’s the biggest one.
What if I’m wrong and this turns out to be nothing and then I look stupid? What if there’s something I overlooked? What if I’m just not waiting long enough? What if I don’t know?
And then all the catastrophic things attached to “what if I’m wrong.” He’ll get a big yard bill for nothing. He’ll get an extra ambulance trip for nothing. I don’t know how he pays his bills because he’s a VA patient, but they haven’t got the shit together for him yet.
The problem is, the answer was so clear. He had a ridiculously high blood sugar that was not being affected by the insulin, and especially after I found out he’d had a second dose that I didn’t know about. Well, that’s the medical part of the story.
But the point being, I’ve been stressed about it for two days.
Even after I pulled the trigger and did the right thing and turned around, I still had to call my shift supervisor for essentially reassurance. Reassurance. I was just a fucking nervous wreck. I couldn’t give the report. I fumbled it. I sounded like an idiot on the phone.
Then when I got there, the nurse treated me like I was stupid too, which never helps. Then the patient screamed at me and refused to sign the tablet, and I didn’t put it together with deteriorating mental status at the time. I was just confused because it seemed so out of character for him.
Looking back on it, I made all the connections, but at the time I realized I wasn’t connecting things in real time.
Oh shit.
And I’m starting to take this as evidence that I can’t do the job. Maybe that’s not accurate. Maybe there’s things going on I don’t understand in my brain. Maybe I need a medication change or something. I don’t know. I don’t know what I need. I don’t know if anything’s going to fix me. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do the job, which predictably is making me sad and weepy.
Now that I think about it, this is totally predictable. It’s what I should have expected.
I’m so tired of being ruled by fear. I made one stupid mistake like 10 years ago and it’s overridden me and followed me ever fucking since.
So I had therapy today too, and we talked about it some, and I realized how many of my important decisions in life have been ruled by fear. I don’t want to be afraid all the time. When you’re afraid, you’re never free. You’re always controlled by the thing you’re afraid of.
And I’m tired of always living like this.
Probably the bravest thing I ever did was when I left Ted, and I remember feeling so afraid and so free at the same time. In that moment I was afraid, but I didn’t let it ruin me. The freedom was stronger.
And I want that in my life.
I want to feel alive, and to feel free.