I recently received an email from a reader who is studying to become an RN. She was seeking my counsel, and had a handful of legitimate concerns over the future of her career choice.
After much consideration I replied as best I could, but even afterwards I thought of her. She reminded me of myself in a lot of ways, and I imagined what it would have been like if I could have given myself the advice that I now possess after being in the field for over a decade. What would I have said?
I think it would probably sound a lot like this.
I know that you’re struggling right now, and as you drink cup after cup of coffee at the Waffle House while pouring over your Community Nursing textbook you’re starting to question “your calling.” You’re wondering, Man! Is this really what I’m supposed to do?
I know you’re working full time to pay the bills, and staying up late to complete assignments. I know the clinicals are grueling, and that one professor is even worse. And I know all you’re wondering right now is if it’s going to be worth it in the end.
You’re wondering if you have what it takes. You’re hearing stories from other nurses, and you’re questioning your motivations. You don’t want to end up hating what you do, and you can’t even see a light at the end of the tunnel. Heck, you’re wondering if there even is one?!
I understand, and I want to tell you a few things. I want to be honest with you because, well, you’re me, and we deserve that from one another.
So here’s the thing. It’s not going to get easier. I’m sorry.
When you graduate nursing school you’re not going to suddenly become stress free. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. That is when the stress will really begin.
Your first year out of school you will feel hopeless, helpless, and like a complete idiot. You’ll wonder what you learned in school because it certainly won’t be what you’re faced with.
You’re going to be sick to your stomach with nerves, and you’ll lose a lot of weight. You’ll blame it on your body getting used to twelve hour night shifts, but it will mostly be because you’re scared to death.
You’ll pray, cry, and wonder how doctors can be so mean. Subsequently, I’ll tell you this. Don’t call a doctor in the middle of the night with noncritical lab results. Hopefully I saved you a reaming, but honestly, probably not.
That whole first year you will think you made the wrong decision for a career, but you’ll also be privileged to work with a really great mentor who helps you forget how miserable you are in your feelings of inadequacy.
Towards the end of that first year you’ll receive a card from the family of a patient who passed away. They’ll hand deliver it along with a blanket she crocheted before getting sick, and as they express how much your kindness meant in their hour of grief you’ll begin to think, maybe I am cut out for this after all.
In your second year you’ll try something new, away from the hustle and bustle of critical care. And when you discover you don’t like it you’ll question everything all over again.
As a side note, you’ll also discover that you’re actually pretty darn good at those skills you wanted to get away from, and you’ll realize the thrill of getting an IV on the first try, or showing a new nurse how something is done.
Over the next few years you’ll discover the hectic pace of a day shift on a Monday. You’ll realize that while your pay is so much better than waiting tables like you did while in nursing school, that some days it just doesn’t seem like enough. No amount of money seems like enough.
You will see nurses you admire, and those you never want to be like. You’ll work with crews who are cohesive and team players, and then you’ll struggle through quite the opposite.
You’ll see the grossest thing ever, and the coolest thing ever. You’ll not be surprised that it’s one and the same.
Also, I’m sorry to tell you, but I think you’ll want to know; your Mom is going to die. And every day that you care for a dying mother it will re-break your heart into tiny pieces.
One day you’ll realize how your own loss has softened you, making you more empathetic to the pain of others. It may take a while to see this, just so you know, but you’ll be okay.
You’ll experience so many days of utter frustration, but then a lot of days you won’t.
You’ll cry with your patient’s family, and you’ll want to just run away to escape their pain. But you won’t.
You’ll also laugh, and cut-up, and sing lots of songs. Lots of songs. And you’ll enjoy your patients as they enjoy you.
One day you’ll look around, and you’ll realize you’re not the new guy. You’ll be kind of shocked instead when you realize people come to you for answers. But whatever you do, don’t let that go to your head because you’ll mess up something big the very next day.
You’ll never stop messing up or learning from your mistakes. It will just be less frequent than that first year. That’s something to look forward to, right?
You’ll push fervently and intensely on someone’s chest even as you hear their ribs crack. Six months later you’ll beam with pride when they walk onto your unit for a visit.
You’ll hold someone’s life in the palm of your hand. And you’ll also bring them their dinner tray.
You’ll titrate dangerous, cardiac medications to sustain vital signs compatible with life. And you’ll also braid a woman’s hair whose arms are too tired to do it on her own.
You’ll step on a series of body fluids, and even likely wear them on your clothes. Your hands will be in places you never thought possible, and you’ll probably put a tube or two there also.
You’ll hold hands. You’ll pray. You’ll eat your weight in homemade cake.
You’ll drive home consumed by racking sobs over your twenty year old, brain dead patient who was taken off the ventilator.
You’ll run into an old patient in the grocery store, and you’ll gush shyly as they proclaim to the checker that you’re the “best nurse in the whole wide world!”
You’ll experience a range of emotions from A to Z, and some days you’ll questions things just like you are now. That won’t change, and though I want to think this has helped, it probably will not. So I can only tell you one thing to do. One very important thing.
I want you to be silent. I want you to remove yourself from the stress of school, and the worries for your future. I want you to step away from thoughts of finances and family obligations. Step away and focus on the calling.
Focus your mind on that spark that resides inside you, that force that tells you this is what you must do. Find it, and hold on to it tightly. You’re going to need it.
That drive and determination to nurse will not only get you through the rest of your schooling, but it will also carry you through your entire career.
When you don’t think you can handle the stress of another “bad” day, the light of your calling will be there. It will be what illuminates your way. Plus, there’s good days too. There’s always the good days.
As you transverse through the remainder of your semesters, pulled forward by your calling, I want you to remember a few others things for the future.
Smile, and smile often. Your friendly face, compassionate demeanor, and words of encouragement have more of a healing touch than you know.
Sing songs, hold hands, and laugh heartily. When someone yells at you, because they will, turn the other cheek. Place yourself in others’ shoes always, and try to understand the stress of being sick.
Above all, never ever stop caring. Like your call, the light of your caring and compassion will make each moment better than it could have ever been without it.
So as you sit straining to focus on nursing diagnoses, try to remember what you’re older, somewhat wiser self has stated. But for now, just stop skipping that class after lunch. You’ll never pass Nursing Research at this rate!
Sincerely,
Your Older, Somewhat More Clued-In Self
P.S. Yes, it will be worth it.
Nancy Gregory says
Beautifully written and perfectly written. We’ve all been there and still are. 🙂 Thanks for the reminders. I just sent my mentor a thank you note, all these years later. I pass on her guidance now. 🙂
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much Nancy.
Stephanie K says
Thank you. Just..thank you.
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
You’re welcome. Thank you.