When I was a student, I looked at all of my mentors through rose-tinted glasses. To me, they were superheroes—fountains of prehospital knowledge who made everything look easy. Yes indeed, there was no situation too hard for them to manage, and no question too difficult—they either gave me the answer straight up or intentionally withheld it, opting instead to set me on the path to enlightenment. ‘… That's an interesting question Barry, but I want to know what you think the answer is,’ or my personal favourite—’… that's a good question Barry, that will aid you in your reflective journey; however, to give you the answer now would only inhibit this vital process and your growth as a student paramedic.’ To me, my mentors were the barometer with which I gauged ‘perfection’, and that one day I would be as cool, knowledgeable, and savvy as they were.
Jump forward 4 years—I am a newly qualified paramedic (NQP) over a year into my practice on a busy shift. A student has just asked me a question and I know, deep within my very soul, I have no idea what they are talking about, or what the answer to said question is. Instead of throwing their questions back at them as a means to avoid looking incompetent, I decided to come clean and directed them to a real mentor who almost certainly knew more.
Following this shift, I did some reading around the topic so I was better prepared for the next student, or indeed the next patient. This short encounter highlighted to me the benefits of mentorship, and how it can push us to be better as clinicians, and teachers alike. It also gave me a sense of how my mentors must have felt being on shift with me when I was a student; always asking questions, and always pushing to know more. You definitely needed extra energy and/or coffee to get through a 12-hour ‘Barry Challenge’ shift. I fondly remember my third-year mentor laying down some ground rules for the night shift—‘Barry I have one rule: after 12 am, I am no longer your mentor, I am just a broken soul, a shell of a man trying to survive a very long night shift. Please do not ask me any questions beyond this point’ (I subsequently forgot this vital rule, asking a question about left ventricular hypertrophy at 4 am—it was not met with joy). My first-year mentor insisted I provide him with at least 24 hours' notice of any questions or topics that I wished to discuss, from which I was not allowed to deviate while on shift.
Looking back on these experiences, it is clear that my mentors were just as human and, at times, as vulnerable as I am. With another year of NQP still looming, in the words of Star Wars' Darth Vader, I am ‘not a Jedi yet’. However, that's okay because I have slowly come to realise that I never will be. I used to convince myself that attainment of the ever-elusive ‘perfection’ that many of us strive for would make me ‘acceptable’ to my peers. However, if there is anything the last year has taught me, it is to let go of this construct entirely and to finally embrace ‘the work of becoming yourself’—the ever-extending journey.