I just felt so flustered! I walked into the supply room and let the door close behind me. I was all alone. At last. Silence. No beeping, no ringing, and no one calling my name. I savored the lack of sound, but hurried on to the task of gathering more equipment. There was always something I needed, and if I needed it badly then it would definitely not be at hand. I would need to run and retrieve it. Like now.
I placed my finger on the scanner to read my print and allow access into the cache of patient care supplies. It seemed even gathering a ten cent, plastic comb required my identification. Everything did! Medicines, naturally. But I also needed to scan my credentials for charting, getting into the elevator, and grabbing lunch. Without my badge I was incapable of existence within the brick walls that now encased me.
So I placed my index finger on the scanner to retrieve a single 10cc syringe. And it failed to recognize my print. The odd beep of non-entry rang strangely in the silence. My brittle, dry fingertips cracked from repetitive hand-washing and alcohol-based hand sanitizer had no prints left on them apparently! I had forgotten my keyboard password to gain access to the urinals long ago. When a password is required for twelve different operating systems which require the password to be changed monthly, it gets kind of hard to keep them straight. I felt like I needed to have another kid just so I’d have additional password options in my head.
I tried again. Unsuccessful! And then I broke into irrational tears. It wasn’t the denied access to bags of salt and sugar water in itself that caused my breakdown. It was a compilation of events throughout the day. In that brief moment of allowable self-pity I cried out to God. “Oh Lord! I’m not cut out for this at all!” I gathered my resolve off the floor, ran my index finger across my hairline to try and grease it up, and finally gained access to the non-slip sock stash. I grabbed a 10cc syringe, heck, I grabbed two. I stuck them in my abnormally large pockets and walked my support-hose-wearing self back onto the unit like a boss.
Then I saw the call-light of the room I had just left to get supplies for going off. Even as I had chirped, “I’ll be right back.” And it all came crashing down on me.
It’s like that some days. I feel so many emotions bombarding me. I feel rushed. I feel pulled in several directions all at once. Worst of all though, I feel incompetent. I feel like I don’t cut the mustard. I feel like I’m not doing a good job. At all. And I wonder, Oh God, did I pick the wrong career?
It’s not my back that’s aching. It’s not my morbidly obese patient who is immobile and incontinent of her bowels every 15 minutes. It’s not the family members that ask me questions, so many questions, questions outside of my scope of practice to answer. It’s none of those things in that moment of questioning God. I’m not questioning Him exactly. I’m questioning me!
When the patients are really, really sick, or when they’re all better and need to go home, but especially when they die; I question me. I question if I have what it takes. I question if I’m doing right by them. I question if I did my best, and if I could do better.
Sometimes my job at work reminds me of my job at home. After an especially rough day of chasing a preschooler and toddler, I lay in bed at night and I reflect. Or as I’m rocking the youngest I will pray, “Lord, couldn’t I have done better?”
I think of my raised voice when the kids did something really crazy! And I’m disappointed in myself. Did I overreact, or could I have reacted differently. I think of more children, a pack of little boys to join the gang of girls, and I fear I don’t have what it takes.
The same twisted emotions rack me on the job site. I’ll feel frustration and empathy all in one thought, and that makes me feel a little crazy. I’ll feel self-doubt over my ability to nurse well, or wonder am I compassionate enough?
I’ll honestly sometimes feel as if I might explode from pent-up anger. I’ll feel like if I don’t release my frustration I might just start to whistle shrilly like an old tea kettle, but then I open my mouth and kind words fall out. Sweet words that I didn’t realize were there at all. And the strangest part is that as I speak them I realize I mean them! “I am sorry for how hard this is. I can’t imagine how hard it must be, but I do understand.” I walk away after a tearful pat on my hand, and a “you’re so sweet” is bestowed upon me, and I pray silently, am I God? Oh dear Lord, I hope I am, cause I feel like I’m failing! Miserably.
I look at the clock and countdown the hours left on days like that, and then I feel guilty in a part of my heart for doing so. I have to remind myself then that everyday isn’t a good day. I can’t leave skipping and singing each time. I guess some days I just have to be grateful I made it through to the end, and as I trudge to my car feeling like the hot tears might come again (but this time in relief), I just have to say, “I did okay, right God? You got me here for a reason. I’m sure of it.”
And then that’s what it comes down to for me. Not just at the hospital, but in every facet of my life; every job, every responsibility, and every thing be it a good day or a bad one. Understanding God’s will. Being still and taking hope in His plan for my life, even when I can’t see it.
I stand in the shower feeling the blessed hot water pour over me, and I pray. Before I can go forward on any given day, I ask for His guidance. Then I relax in the fact that He goes before me. And when I falter, when I fail, whether actually or simply imagined, I take strength in His presence. As I feel my own strength and patience and abilities pour into a pitiful puddle on the floor, I continue because He carries me.
There is no fear of the unknown. There is no unknown to one who knows all.
I don’t always feel this, but I know that it is so. I know that it is so. I repeat it to myself as often as I need. And I keep going.
Amy says
Thank you so much for this, Brieann. As a mom and a nurse, this hits so close to home. I so often have those days where I feel I’m failing at the task at hand (they come more often the older my kids get, interestingly enough) I’m a shower prayer too 🙂
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much. It seems to be the best place. 😉
Jane says
This is everything I used to feel working too! I still do feel inadequate for the tasks God has given me, but I found He was always taking over when I felt I was losing control of any situation. Today I care for a partially paralyzed husband who seriously injured his cervical spine in a fall in the bathroom. We are all alone in this, except for God who has never left either of us. He didn’t promise to fix anything, just to be there until the end of time. I cling to that promise daily.
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much for sharing this with me. I’m so happy you recognize His hand on your lives. Know that I am now praying for you both in this difficult time. I pray for His peace to fall like rain, and for His strength to be made perfect in your weakness. I pray for comfort when you feel you’ve reached the end of your rope, and that you will feel The Lord lift you up in these moments.
Jane says
Thank you, I pray for you as well, I have been in that walk, but in the midst, there is healing, even in your spirit as you care for others. Be still and know He is God, I prayed everyday before I began my shift, Into Thy hands I commend my spirit, my skill, my staff, my patients and their families, help me to do all I can do this day to make a difference for them. Also, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, it helps everyday. You are what He created you to be, He prepared you to be His hands and feet. He will not fail you!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much. I too pray “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!” It gives me such peace. Thank you again for such a wonderful, thoughtful comment. I take your advice whole-heartedly.
Casey says
How cold and uncaring you might be if you didn’t feel these things, or have these thoughts. God bless you sweetheart, continuously. For in these trials (some big some small-combs) He grows in you.
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much for the kind comment and for understanding my heart.
Sherry Kinsman says
After 6pm the radiology staff upstairs went home leaving only the single tech down in the ER. That person covered the entire hospital-nursery, units, floors, ER, morgue, etc. It was truly a teaching hospital in every aspect of the word. I got to experience it first hand at it’s worse. So I did what any other crazy young woman would do…I locked myself in the darkroom & cried. When I came out there were 3 physicians standing there getting ready to pounce…I beat them to the punch. “I’m 1 person who can only do 1 person at a time. So whose patient is the most important.” Amazingly they calmed down & I did 1 at a time until they were all done. At that moment I started thinking what other career path I could choose. But by the end of the night, I felt proud & very accomplished. I have reflected back many times to that night, thanking God for that incredible learning experience. It gave me confidence to continue forward. That was 38 years ago. Several years ago at the age of 52, I passed my nuclear medicine boards. So yeah, that night was worth it & has afforded me to help provide for my family & has given me the opportunity to move around without the fear of not finding a job. Even though I didn’t understand it at the time, God knew what I needed to help me stay the path…to help walk in His will. Stay the course & stay calm; you’re doing just fine! Joshua 1:9
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much.