I stood at the bedside of a critically ill patient, conversing with a colleague. We discussed the numerous IV Vasopressors on-board, and what options were available to optimize heart function while maintaining kidney function.
It was a dance; single, smooth steps to hopefully maneuver the dance floor as gracefully as possible without tripping over any toes.
“Will I ever be as smart as you guys?!”
I turned in surprise at the question from a nurse orienting on our unit, and I felt a slight blush rise up my cheeks. I also felt a strange sense come over me, as if I were an imposter standing at the bedside.
Certainly she didn’t mean me!
After eleven years transversing through the complicated arena known as intensive care I had to admit it had gotten easier. I no longer feared coming on shift for example. But still…
I still had a lot to learn. And so many days I felt as if I would never catch up to an ever-changing, always evolving field.
It was a dance. Some days I led, but other days I followed. Many shifts ended with me feeling like the most graceful performer on stage. Yet others ended with me licking my wounds where I had fallen clumsily.
And someone had asked if they’d ever be as smart as me?!
Sure, some days I felt incredibly wise. But other days ended with me certain I was a blundering dunderhead.
I flew triumphantly through some code situations, while others concluded with me wanting to bang my head up against the wall for what I could of, should of, would of done better if given a second chance.
Some shifts I emerged from the building feeling like a game-changer, a life-saver, a calculated risk-taker. Then other times I slinked slowly off the unit surrounded by a cloud of defeat, an aura of loss, and a feeling of uncertainty for my abilities competing with a certainty that I had chosen the wrong career.
Sometimes I knew all the answers it seemed, but more often than not I still had questions. Lots of questions. And I knew without a doubt that I couldn’t do what I did without the assistance of those around me.
“Will I ever be as smart as you guys?” She had asked.
I honestly hoped she’d be smarter. Certainly smarter than I felt on even my most brilliant of days.
The fact was I didn’t feel special, or above and beyond. I felt capable, but often times incapable. I felt sufficient in my duties, but honestly, often times I felt terribly insufficient to perform the weighty task assigned me. When handling something as lofty as life and death, many times I felt very, very small.
I stood at the bedside of the critically ill patient, watching multiple monitors, titrating cardiac drips, and I was hopeful. Not all the patients that came through my area pulled through, but many did. And though I felt small, in essence God had placed me in the midst of something very big. My responsibility was huge. Perhaps I was doing okay.
Maybe I didn’t always feel like the smartest, the best, the most efficient, but I was where I needed to be. I did what I needed to do. I did the best I knew how. Of that I was sure, and maybe that was what she saw.