Reframing traumatic memories, why it’s important to always keep trying…

TW: Sudden Death, CPR, PTSD

There is a very special young man who I occasionally still give CPR to. Nobody sees me do it, and sadly, each time I do, I fail.

When we in the caring professions are taught to give CPR to others we are asked not to stop once we start. At least not until a paramedic arrives or a doctor or somebody else, more qualified, more experienced or otherwise better able to help or take over.

The first time that I gave him CPR I knew deep down that he had already passed away.

The colour of his skin, the glaze to his eyes and the shape of his body had already told me that it was highly unlikely that he would ever come around again, yet we, the helpers are taught to try, and so, we do.

We try because we have hope, but we also try because we have an obligation to give hope to witnesses and passers-by whose lives are suddenly and often irreversibly impacted by the sights and sounds of trauma and death.

I have been trying to save this man’s life for more than ten years now and last night, seemingly for no apparent reason my mind decided that we would try again. But the outcome is always and will always be the same.

When I wake I’m often sweating, crying or even shaking.

Sometimes I only stop trying to save this man because I am woken by another who has been roused by my tossing and turning or calling out.

It must be a frightening thing to see someone you love re-experiencing something difficult when they are asleep.

I’m in awe of the power of our subconscious minds to recall these experiences in such vivid detail.

I’m occasionally tempted to be angry that my mind can’t seem to let this man go - to allow both of us to rest in peace - so to speak.

His suffering ended on that day, yet I often wonder if the suffering and sadness of his loved ones had only really just begun.

Then, when I am at risk of only seeing these experiences as conduits to pain or distress, I am reminded that we in the caring professions are taught to always try.

Trying is what my mind still does, even when I’m asleep, even 10 years later.

The part of me that hopes is glad that I’m still trying.

She tells me that because I still try it shows that I still care, and that still caring makes hope grow stronger and allows compassion and forgiveness an ever increasing chance to allow me to perhaps and finally let this person go.

EMDR therapy is extremely tough. It challenges us to revisit our sadnesses and the shame we feel about the things we couldn’t fix.

It works on the proviso that the way out is very much through.

Therapists, Doctors, First Responders and ordinary folk all over the world battle intrusive or overwhelming memories or dreams every day, many in silence because ‘drying your eyes’ or ‘just getting over it’ isn’t in their nature.

I’ve accepted that I am one of those people and I am still learning to be extra kind to myself, especially at this time of year when it would be easy to let frustration, shame or sadness take over.

I remember the teaching I first received, that in letting the world see us try, as messy and as imperfect as it was and still it, even when it is difficult; it is the trying that breathes life back into hope, and that kind of hope above all else keeps us safe.

Perhaps one day in a future dream I’ll be able to explain this to this young man and his family that those of us who care only ever do our best in the moment, even when it’s never going to be enough, and even when we know it is futile, at least we can say that we tried, for as long as we could, and until we learn to forgive ourselves one day we will finally able to let them go.