A Day in the Life of an Occupational Therapist

As an occupational therapist working on a physical rehabilitation unit, I’ve seen a lot of things. Things I never thought I would see. I’ve seen people who’ve lost both limbs to a concrete girder falling and crushing their legs. I’ve seen people who were parked on the side of the road become paraplegics after another car swerved and hit them. I’ve seen a woman who was run over by a man in a truck thrown into the back of his pickup and dropped off at the ER. I’ve seen girls who were shot in the face by their jealous boyfriends. I’ve seen patients stood up by the family members who promised they would take them back home.

You’d think this would get me down. In fact, a new nurse once asked me how I could stand it. “Don’t you feel  sorry for them? Doesn’t it make you sad to come to work?” The answer is no. No, it doesn’t make me sad. It’s not that I don’t feel sorry for them; it’s that I know they are with us to recover, and that they will be getting back to their life. The only difference is their life might be a little bit different than it was.

Part of my job is to teach people independent living skills. That can be interpreted in a million different ways, but the main thing I do is teach people to do the basic things that they would like to do themselves, such as, eat, bathe, get dressed and go to the bathroom. It’s not a glamorous job. It’s not even a well-known job. Half of my patients who have been with me for several weeks still refer to me as their nurse or physical therapist, but I don’t mind. Occupational therapy is kind of a misunderstood profession.

“Occupational therapist? You mean I have to go back to work?”

“Occupational therapist? But I’m retired!”

“Occupational Therapist? I didn’t get injured on the job.”

I’ve heard them all multiple times during my ten years on the job. Each and every person seems to think they are the first one to cleverly make a play on words using my job title. Like any good OT, I indulge them with a chuckle before informing them that no, I am not there to wash their back, but here is a long-handled sponge to help them do it themselves.

Yes, I’ve also been called an occupational terrorist.

My favorite part of the job is not discharge day. It’s the ‘coming-back-after-a-few-months’ day. There is nothing like seeing someone walk down the hall, looking like anyone else you might see on the street, except that the last time you saw them they were wearing a giant neck brace and hobbling along with a walker and a helper. They may not like me when they are here but, once they leave, I become their best friend.

“Erica helped me tie my shoes again.” (Never mind the fact that they protested every step of the way.)

“Erica gave me a reacher so I could put on my pants.” (Ok, they left out the part where they pinched me multiple times out of frustration.)

“Erica helped me strengthen my grip so I could write.” (Never mind the tears of pain and the shouting during treatment.)

Yes, I love my job. Even when my patients don’t love me right away.


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About the Author Erica Jacques is an occupational therapist who works on a specialized spinal cord and brain injury rehabilitation unit. By day, she helps her patients achieve a greater level of independence in their daily routines. By night, she is a freelance writer, sharing her expertise to improve the quality of life of her readers. She lives in Central Florida with her husband, young daughter and dog.

Comments

Posted by bugfellow | Mar 23-11 9:37 AM