Kavya Samudrala shares about her unique experience working at a hospital.
Every week, when I check into my shift at the hospital, I’m an anomaly. I am one of the only people in the building who is not worried about another person. This differentiates me from the patients, many of whom are critically ill, or their loved ones who sit in the waiting room with their elbows digging into their knees, hands folded in prayer.
I’m unlike the nurses who run through the halls yelling “code!” or the doctors who wipe away their fatigue and try and paste on a reassuring smile. But as insignificant as I am in the hospital environment, the things I am tasked with, like directing visitors and helping deliver labs, often make me feel properly integrated with the community.
However, I then reluctantly come to the conclusion that I don’t actually understand what these people are feeling at all. The ugly truth is that as much as I would like to relate to the people at the hospital, I am unable to. My smiles, which aim to be reassuring can seem patronizing, and my body language, which aims to be comforting, tends to be awkward.
Empathy isn’t innate, and never has been; it’s learned from watching the people around you. But in some cases, even years of observation can’t compare to experiencing it yourself. I won’t be able to properly comprehend the emotions going on in the minds of every patient, loved one, nurse, doctor, or other worker at the hospital until I’ve been in their shoes myself.