As part of my nursing program, I’ve been rotating through various departments in the hospital. Two weeks ago, I began my placement in the psychiatry ward. I still have two weeks left, but already, the experience has transformed how I see patients, myself, and the deeper meaning of care. This is a reflection of what I’ve learned—medically, socially, and spiritually.
I expected the environment to be emotionally demanding, of course. But I suppose I wasn’t fully prepared. There have been days I’ve stared up at the sky just to hold back tears, and days I’ve had the most meaningful conversations of my life. Some days I return home feeling elated and fulfilled; others, like today, I leave the hospital melancholic and sad.
Still, almost every day, I feel a deeper connection to and pride in the nursing profession than ever before. I see myself in the patients—so many wrong decisions that could have been mine, so many “bludgeonings of chance” that could just as easily have befallen me. I’ve learned to appreciate what God means in a new way, and to truly be grateful—for everything. I am, indeed, privileged.
I remember, in one of our Palliative Nursing classes before this rotation began, arguing with my lecturer about why our country doesn’t need palliative care. I believed that money spent on palliative care could be better used in “more important” areas like maternity and obstetrics. I even argued, quite logically, that about 2,200 pregnant women in Kenya die each year from preventable obstetric causes—and that this alone justifies shifting all palliative care funding.
But this rotation has changed my perspective. Emotions matter too—not just rational arguments and logical priorities.
Today, one of the patients I’ve been working closely with was discharged. I’m truly happy for her—she has made great progress. But I also feel a sense of loss. There was so much I wanted to say, so much more I wished she could carry with her. I wish I had just a little more time. Saying goodbye felt heavier than I expected.
Caring for psychiatric patients, for me, has been about lending them an ear. Most of the patients I’ve worked with—those living with bipolar mood disorder, substance-induced psychosis, and schizophrenia—have so much to say, yet no one seems willing to truly listen. Over time, I think they become closed off. Then they drift deeper and deeper into their inner worlds, until what’s left is a shell—their soul cocooned somewhere inside.
It’s surprising how much of a difference psychotherapy can make. In some patients, it works wonders—more than pharmacology ever could.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll.
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.