I sat counting his respirations, and when I didn’t like what I got, I started over and I counted again. I counted a full minute. My patient slept soundly, and his oxygen saturation wasn’t just within normal limits; it was good. He was good, so it seemed, but still I watched almost nervously. I watched his monitors ready for any change I saw.
Sometimes I had feelings, you know? They were like an itch under the skin, the ones where no cause of irritation is seen, but that urge to scratch presents itself nonetheless. Sometimes I felt that way about my patients. Sometimes I felt like under the surface something awful lurked just waiting to pounce unannounced, and in my nervous anticipation I would be keenly aware of any minute change.
I had let him sleep as much as I dared. He woke, although sluggishly, and answered my questions appropriately. His respiratory rate remained stable, and so too did his other vital signs. His lungs were essentially clear, and no problems were observed with his chest tube, or his other body systems for that matter. He was fine. He was fine and dandy, and later as I watched him conversing with family I wondered if perhaps I worried too much.
It seems I’m wired that way. I’m a nervous nurse, and when all seems well I still keep watch. And especially when a voice inside my head silently urges “watch,” that is what I do. I watch, I wait, and I run through possible scenarios of negative outcomes that might come my way.
I’ve been in the medical field for eighteen years, and I’ve been an RN for eleven, but no amount of experience and time can ever take away my tense state of mind when someone’s life is on the line. Time has softened the edges of my anxiety, and experience has given me the calm, collected demeanor of a professional even in the face of a hot mess. After all, I’m certainly not the shaking, fearful girl I was my first year out of nursing school, but I’ll be honest. I still get scared sometimes, and occasionally I still shake before my extremely sick patient arrives. So despite the improvements of my clarity over the past decade, I still get nervous.
Sometimes my nerves prove negligible, and my patient sails smoothly through our time together. But sometimes I wonder if their outcome would have been as positive had I not been so diligent and watchful. I may never know. What I do know is that often times patients crash despite your rapt attention, and there’s nothing you can do. But I try not to give them the opportunity.
So I stay on edge. I don’t get relaxed, and even if I look like I am, I’m usually not. Instead I’m nervous. It may not be a panicky, wringing hands kind of concern, but it’s always an observant, expectant mode of operation.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a nervous nurse. I watch so many of my peers that I respect and admire. Some get excited at the thrill of chaos, and others seem almost unfazed by out-of-control scenarios that later cause me to question my abilities as a nursing professional. I see their nonchalant approach, and I secretly wish I could be so unconcerned, or rather unaffected.
But instead I’m a nervous nurse. I suppose I always will be. I don’t stray far from my patient’s bedside. I double-check things, and I persist at assessment of unchanging systems. Just in case. I listen. I listen to my patient, and I listen to the voice inside my head. And I remain nervous.
Tammy Renia Nutt says
Because your a wonderful nurse and more than that… A wonderful person!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much!
Kathy Nolan says
Thanks from another nervous nurse. I hate it when I go back to work several days later and my nervous feelings are validated by a bad situation. It takes all of us to bring our patients thru illness to health. Glad to have another nervous nurse on the job!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thanks Kathy!
Rachael says
Your a wonderful person. …God bless you
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you!