Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

Finding Joy in Nursing

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Before I started my most recent travel nurse position in a Cardiac Critical Care Unit, I had to complete some online education and checklists to prove I was proficient in the knowledge and skills I claimed. As I went through the skills checklist marking “very experienced” on almost all of them I felt a surge of adrenal. Seeing the scenarios in print made me feel like I was almost doing them, and I realized I was excited at the thought.

I frigging love this stuff, I thought.

And it surprised me a bit. At the time I was back home on vacation, lounging in my pajamas, with hardly a care in the world other than the email from my compliance office of things I needed to complete for my next assignment. But rather than being perturbed over the intrusion of my off time, I was eager to get back at the bedside. I suppose that’s what really surprised me. I wasn’t dreading returning to work as an ICU RN. I was eagerly anticipating it.

It’s not that I didn’t love my time off. Of course I did! But I also loved taking care of my patients. The thing is, it had not always been this way.

Don’t get me wrong, now. It’s not that I hated my patients. I had always enjoyed caring for people, but somewhere in the frustration over increased charting requirements, low staffing, and bosses who forgot what it was like to be at the bedside, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I wanted to. In fact, some days I had right near hated it. Some days I drug myself home and wondered how much longer I could make myself stay at the bedside. It became an exhausting, exasperating exercise in what felt like futility. Between the noncompliant patients and family members you couldn’t please, I was burned out. This made me sad. Not only sad for myself, but also my patients. They deserved more from me.

It got to where every little thing made me furious. Another “mandatory” meeting? Oh please. The double charting of restraints made me fume. New policies caused me to roll my eyes, and I got on the bus that no one cared about the bedside nurse. No one! I was a body, a number, a workhorse to be used and abused by surgeons with a god-complex. Whatever.

I dreaded going to work, and I didn’t want to be a nurse anymore. It broke my heart. I had always wanted to be a nurse, like my mother, but I told myself the field of nursing had simply changed. It wasn’t the same, and because of that I’d lost my spark.

I ended up taking a step back. I cut down my hours, and thankfully financially I could. I focused on raising my babies, and that was where my joy was. It worked for me. But I was still sad about the time I did work. Something wonderful would happen. A patient would tell me how I had changed their life. A family member of someone who almost died would spot me in the store and suffocate me in a grateful hug. A former patient would bring a gift by my husband’s work for me, and brag about the care I had provided in their worst time. I felt overflowing with pride at theses situations, but I also felt like a fraud. If these people could see how frustrated I had become at the field, they probably wouldn’t feel the same about me. No matter how kind and cheerful I remained at the bedside, I wasn’t blind to the bitterness that had crept unwanted into my heart.

And then came the time for me to return. Seasons changed, circumstances altered, and I found that a full-time return to the bedside was required.

I can do this, I thought.

I wanted to do it. But I also wanted to not hate it. One day I stood in the hot shower, extremely exhausted from my prior shifts, and I began to pray.

“Give me a joy for it, Lord,” I prayed.

That’s what I wanted. I didn’t want to just get by. I didn’t want to just be able to endure. I didn’t want to do like so many other of my fellow Americans and just countdown the days until I could retire. I wanted to love my job again. We weren’t made to trudge through life miserable. I mean, life is not easy. That’s the reality of it. But it does make a difference how you view what’s before you.

The fact was nursing had changed. I had seen it change drastically just in the past decade. There were frustrating things about the field. But there were frustrating aspects of anything. My kids could ruin a fun day with fighting and complaining, but I didn’t stop taking them places. I focused on their happy smiles, not their tired whines. I focused on their “thank you’s” and “this is the best day ever’s” rather than the pulled hair and dirty tears. That’s how I had found joy in the difficulty that’s parenting. It’s how I could find joy in Nursing too.

I began to see things differently. Instead of focusing on frustration solely, I focused on the parts that gave me happiness. I counted it all as joy. I saw myself as a servant, not a slave. I saw myself as a helper, not a doormat. I saw myself as a lifter of spirits, not one crushed by my own bad mood. I recognized the gift of what I did. I had the privilege to care for people when they needed it the most. I had the lofty task of saving lives, of changing lives. I had the opportunity to positively impact people at a time when they were at their lowest and most vulnerable. I had a chance to shine.

Did some days still suck? Of course! But underneath it all was joy. Joy that I got to be a part of something pretty darn amazing. I could make a scary situation a lot less frightening for someone. I could pull someone from the brink of death and watch them walk out of the hospital a week later. I was a ringside witness to amazing technology that could give a goner twenty more years. I got to be a part of some pretty spectacular stuff, and I got to smile and be loving to people along the way. It was a choice. And I chose joy. By God, I chose joy.

That was just the beginning, though. It was like, the more I walked in joy, the more I felt joyful. The more I focused on the good stuff, the less I saw the bad. When people griped, I walked away. I sang a happy song to myself, I had a conversation with a lonely old lady, I taught someone something new about their health, I lent a hand to a drowning, new nurse. I smiled. It wasn’t that I was blind to the problems inherent in my field. I wasn’t sticking my head in the sand. But I was seeing more than the suck. The joy was there all along. I had just forgotten how to see it. I had been blinded by my own indignation, side swiped by injustice, defeated by the doomsday talk, the wind sucked right out of my sails. But then I found it again. I found my love for nursing again.

Again, it had always been there. I hadn’t changed. The field had changed, but I didn’t change along with it. I didn’t adapt. I stood rigid. And yeah, some things I needed to stand firm on. Nurses did have rights. But we also had responsibilities. It wasn’t the dying man’s fault the budget had been cut. It wasn’t the lady with a STEMI’s fault that Medicare had changed. They still needed my best. They needed a woman who wanted to be there; not just a woman who wanted a paycheck. To be that woman, the one they needed, I had to put my focus on the people who needed me. I still saw the things that needed fixing in healthcare, but I didn’t let those overshadow the joy that came with making someone feel better.

Making someone feel better! That was the best of it. That’s where the joy was, and that’s where I found it. I reckon you can find joy in almost any circumstance. You just have to be willing to look.

What’s a Bad Day in Nursing Like?

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I walked quickly along the crosswalk, the little, illuminated, man-figure on the street sign guiding my way. My hands in my pocket, head slightly down against the smattering of cold rain, and body and mind weary from a long day at work, I made the short walk to the parking lot where I could make the much anticipated journey home. It had been a bad day.

When suddenly, out of nowhere, a car jaunted through the dark, directly at my person. Startled and shocked I froze, much like a deer in headlights, stuck to the pavement I stood awaiting my impending death. I stared in terror at the driver who had turned quickly into my path across the street, and I saw them staring back just as surprised.

I kept walking.

My heart hammered. They almost killed me! I thought.

A moment later, that is the perfect representation of my day.

It almost killed me.

As I got into my truck and drove home I felt certain I would cry. I mean, all day I had wanted to. Many moments throughout the horrendous day I had desired to duck into a supply closet and release a torrent of tears. For surely that would let loose the stress that mounted within me.

On a bad day in Nursing you may want to cry, but you don’t. I think it’s because you’re afraid you won’t be able to stop.

Yes, I had felt certain I would cry on my way home, but once alone and away from my bad day I realized I could not. There was nothing left. I felt so spent, so dry, so expended, that not even a single tear could fall. I wanted to cry. I felt like I needed to cry. Surely it would make me feel better!

But there was nothing left. I had used it all.

A bad day in Nursing can be like that.

You give all you have, you hit a wall. You think to yourself, I can do no more, I can go no further!

But then you do. Why? Because you haven’t a choice. Your patients need you.

As I drove home I thought about my day. I wondered how I could have done things better. I wondered if I had given my patients the best of me that they deserved. My guilt over human limitation weighed on me, and I knew I had to push it off.

“Lord,” I prayed, “help me to let it go, to leave work at work.”

A bad day in Nursing can follow you home. Your family can suffer, your marriage take the brunt. My children already had to deal with a tired mother after twelve hours bedside, a mother who wished to cuddle and hold her children, but often was so exhausted from a day of caring for others, had little left but to sit on the sofa like a stump. I couldn’t take home thoughts of work stress too. They didn’t deserve that.

So I tried to leave the bad day behind me. I imagined it floating from my body and being left in the air behind my vehicle as I sped away, turning up the radio and smiling at the Tracy Chapman song, my bad day like dust that I shook off, exhaust from my tailpipe.

I still thought of it a little. It was as if I had to slowly let go and let it drip away, rather than the dramatic leave behind scenario I imagined.

A bad day in Nursing can’t really be quantified. You can try and say, “well, this wasn’t the worst day I’ve ever had.”

The worst day was when that baby died.

Or, it wasn’t as bad as the day I had chest pain. That day I fought for twelve hours straight to keep that man alive. Something about the stress of knowing your actions mean the difference between life and death for someone you don’t even know personally.

A bad day in Nursing isn’t something that can be walked away from. You can’t just go take a break. Sometimes a coworker can help, but usually they are just as busy as you. So you hold your urine. You count on invisible fingers that it’s been 19 hours since you last had something to eat. You try and figure out how you can make the anxious patient calm, the angry family member happy, or the condescending physician a decent human being. You hold one portable phone to your ear while the unit secretary announces another call for you on hold.

Just a minute.

Be right there.

I’ll take care of it.

A bad day in Nursing isn’t something you can check out of mentally. When you’re fed up, finished with the day (emotionally, that is), and certain your nerves can take no more, you still keep going. You can’t decide to do it halfway or to give less of yourself. You can’t go somewhere else in your head or give a mediocre, halfhearted performance of your duties. When life is on the line you always have to be vigilant and present, 100%, no matter if you feel you have nothing left to give.

That. Is. Nursing.

It is giving your all, even when you think you can’t. It’s hitting a wall, and then walking around it. It’s reaching the end of your rope, then miraculously finding there’s more. It’s being empty, yet still pouring out your tank. It’s running, even though you feel as if your legs have been cut off. It’s reaching the end of yourself, and then starting again. Sometimes it’s a time clock perseverance, where you ache for the end of your shift, because only then will it be over. The bad day, that is.

After a bad day I always question myself for a moment.

Did I do the best I could do?

How could I have done better?

And of course…

Can I keep doing this?

This morning I saw a friend on Facebook. It was someone the field of Nursing had brought me. It was someone who had happened upon my hospital bed (if you believe things just happen), and it was someone whose life had changed. They had told me it changed because of the things I had said. This person had come to my ICU bed as an overdose, another one in a string of so many before. Broken in so many ways. Some people saw a pointless case, repeat offender, hopeless addict. I saw a hurting heart in need of love. For some reason my kind words, encouragement, and love showed this person that they were capable of change and worthy of a better life. Just an ordinary day at work, nothing spectacular, yet a life had been saved and changed. This friend was still clean six years later. An event that almost ended in death had instead turned into a new life. And I had something to do with that.

That thought (the one that what I did mattered) brought me peace and joy. I was reminded that while there will be bad days, there are also good days, and what I do has an impact. I am where I need to be, with purpose, and I can meet each day with the expectation of doing something wonderful. Sure, some days will be hard ones, ones where I feel like I barely got by, or that I did horribly, but then they won’t be.

Bad days in Nursing are like nothing else you know, but the good days can have a positive impact you never imagined possible.

The Most Unpopular Nursing Post Ever

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Recently an older, male patient said something to me that made me pause.

“I want to thank you for serving me today, and doing it with a smile.”

Service with a smile. Sounded like some slogan for one of those restaurants that makes you wear lots of gaudy buttons and that hangs sports memorabilia all over the wall. I bet they sang some original yet ridiculous birthday song complete with clapping and out of tune voices.

“Thank you,” I replied. “Are you done with your tray?”

Then I hefted his heavy lunch tray into my arms, and it rested slightly on my shoulder as I exited his room.

“Please turn out the light,” he instructed. “And close the door.”

As I pulled the door to, making certain it didn’t slam loudly, a fellow nurse walked quickly through the hall.

She noted the tray on my shoulder, and she commented, “you look like a server in a restaurant.”

I always had drawn many connections between waiting tables and being a nurse, but as I carried his used tray down the hall I considered my role as a nurse and a servant. I supposed I was fine with it.

It’s a common complaint among the nursing community. Being a servant, that is. Being treated like a waitress, a maid, or I’ve even heard it described, “I’m not your momma!” Nursing is a profession, not simply a job anyone could do. You can’t, after all, walk in off the street and suddenly start titrating IV Levophed to maintain a blood pressure compatible with life. Nurses go through years of school, followed by years of on the job training to reach the level of knowledge and competence the job requires. They’re expected to monitor for minute changes in condition that could signal a life-threatening decline, they’re required to understand a myriad of medication doses and side effects, and the level of skillful performance of bedside procedures is of invaluable importance to the medical field. As such a well-trained, highly educated, and much needed provider in healthcare, nurses shouldn’t be expected to perform such menial tasks as fluffing a pillow or retrieving numerous popsicles and jello cups. How about a mint for your pillow?!

This idea we get in our heads, that being a servant is annoying or beneath us, I believe it only aids in breaking down the high respect for our profession. We feel sometimes as if we aren’t being highly regarded by the population for which we care, but I’ve discovered it’s the little tokens of servanthood that help close the circle of healing and wellness for patients.

I’ve been there myself. Run ragged, understaffed, and pulled in multiple directions. When you are literally fighting tooth and nail to keep one patient from dying, and then another asks for a box of Kleenex, it’s a flustering moment. To try and be everything everyone needs is impossible. In such a high-stress and extremely demanding (both physically and emotionally) environment it’s difficult to keep a calm head, much less be Betty Crocker or Mary Poppins. And certainly not Florence Nightingale. We’re too busy double charting patient care for reimbursement purposes! And no food at the nurse’s station! But I digress.

The point I’m trying to make is that while, yes, it’s difficult to be a servant, that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. It’s actually ok to be a servant to mankind. It’s actually our calling. If you hate people then serving them through the field of nursing might not be something you need to do. After all, people come to us typically in their most desperate and vulnerable state, and service with a smile might be that one simple thing that makes being sick a little bit easier.

I can remember once taking care of a patient when it really hit me how my attitude affects those around me. This particular lady was a walkie-talkie. She didn’t need to be in the ICU. I had a patient in the next room on a billion drips, tubes everywhere, knocking on Heaven’s door, and here was this lady asking to get up to pee. Again. I sighed and said something or other, to her request. My words didn’t matter as much as my face. Because while my words said “yes, I’ll help you,” my attitude said, “I don’t have time for this.” And perhaps I truly didn’t. There never is enough time in the field of nursing. But what struck me at that moment was how I must have made her feel. As a women myself who uses the bathroom frequently, I wondered how I would feel in her shoes. I would likely feel like I was a nuisance, like I was bugging the staff, like my needs weren’t important. No one should ever feel that way. We have to remember that.

I’ve discovered that patients won’t remember when I did chest compressions and helped bring them back to life. They won’t notice the dangerous med error I caught. They probably will never realize how I advocated for them on the phone with their difficult to deal with physician. They won’t even know if my patient in the other room is far sicker than they may be. What they will remember is how I treat them. And contrary to popular belief, we don’t treat people well for better patient satisfaction scores. We treat them well because it’s the decent thing to do. We treat them well because being sick sucks. We treat them well because that’s what we’d want if it was us or our family in that bed. We treat them well because that’s our job. And treating someone well means having a servant heart, a heart that gives of itself for the betterment of someone else.

It’s easy to forget that.

Nursing is a difficult, frustrating, and often times an overwhelming vocation. Yet it is also a privilege. People come to us at their worst and they say, “help me. Will you please help me?!” They place their life and future health in our hands. Sometimes they place their garbage or their bedpan in our hands, but that’s just a small part of the whole picture of making people better.

So sometimes I’ll carry trays, and other times I’ll start an IV to give much needed hydration and pain meds. Sometimes I’ll spoon feed someone who can’t use their hands anymore, and then I’ll also assist the physician in inserting a tube in their side to drain fluid so they can breathe. Sometimes I’ll give a bath to someone, because being clean just makes you feel good. I’ll hold the hand of a patient who is scared of dying, or I’ll educate family on how to use a feeding tube. Regardless of what I do, it will be a service, and it will be one I provide with a smile. Somedays it’s hard to smile. It’s hard for nurses, and it’s hard for the patient who doesn’t feel well. Maybe it’s even hard for that surgeon who’s always grumpy. Yet I’ll still serve with a giving and forgiving heart, a heart that steps into the shoes of someone else, and a heart that remembers an integral part of my job is serving others, in all capacities. That is why I’m here.

A Generation That Hates Mondays

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We’re a generation that hates Mondays. Have you noticed that? Monday Memes abound, and when Sunday evening draws to a close the majority of America falls into a state of silent dread, downtrodden for the walk into whatever workplace that awaits them the following morning. I wonder to my self sometimes, was it always this way?

What are we working for, or who are we working for? When did we become so discontent with our station in life that the thing we spend the majority of our time doing (work) becomes the thing we dread the most? Worse than death and taxes, it seems work has taken first place as the most certain thing we absolutely must face. And we face it with a deep-set frown.

I mean, you gotta work, right? Someone has to pay the bills, pay the second mortgage, finance the Disney trip next summer, and keep the kiddos in designer duds. We live to work, we work to live, never imagining there could be a different way.

We’re afraid to do the things we really love, the things dreams are made of. I went into the nursing field over packing up and heading to Hollywood because my dad insisted the medical field was the smart choice, the reliable choice, the vocation that would bring in a steady income. Because that’s the world we live in.

We don’t chase dreams; we chase paychecks. We don’t create a debt-free life. Instead we create the life we’ve always dreamed of, complete with price tags we can’t really afford. We pack our lives and over-sized homes with things we don’t really need, but things that might fill the emptiness we have over doing a job we don’t really enjoy.

Or perhaps we forget who we’re working for. Generations before us had a pride for their jobs, whatever they were, because they knew they were working (in essence) for their families. Today we’re usually working for a newer car, a bigger lawn, or to payoff our caviar dreams. We work for vacation, not for the satisfaction of a job well done. We work overtime for those coveted vacations that photograph well, the ones to even make the Joneses green with envy. We work day in and day out for those paltry two weeks that are so jam-packed with all the things we’ve been missing that we’re exhausted from our time off. Is there any Monday worse than the Monday after vacation?

Is there a way we could hate Mondays less? I mean, Monday isn’t really any different than Tuesday, or Friday for that matter. As a nurse I can be off on a Monday as easy as work a Sunday. So it’s not so much Monday that we hate, but rather what Monday represents. And typically Monday represents the return to something we’d rather not return to. It’s a return to a job we hate, a job we gripe about endlessly, yet are afraid to leave. We’re afraid to make a change, as if we truly believe that the evil we know is far better than the one we do not.

So, we’ll keep robotically returning to something we dread, living life like a replay reel. Just like the movie Groundhog Day, we’re forced to repeat each and every day just like the one before it. Yet even in that movie, didn’t Bill Murray discover he could change the outcome of each and every day?

Can we be the change?

What if we stepped out in courage to conquer something new?

What if we listened to the still, small voice in our head that told us of a different way?

What if we stopped working to have more stuff we didn’t really need?

Or we stopped losing sight of the joy that existed in every single day?

Maybe we could open our eyes to the little things that blessed us, instead of trudging in a trance to the beat of the same glum drum.

Maybe we could pay off debt instead of creating more. Maybe we could create time off instead. Maybe we could create the opportunity to chase a dream.

Because I’m still over here trying to figure out when in the world The Great American Dream stopped being about living your dreams?! And instead it became about striving in stress to create for yourself what someone else said is “your” American Dream.

We forgot how to step outside the box. We forgot how to focus on what’s important. We started one day working for all the stuff that will rust and ruin, instead of cultivating and creating a legacy to leave behind.

And you see, a legacy doesn’t have to be what the world says is “great.” Sometimes most times the greatest legacy you can leave behind is family and friends who have learned from you to cherish life as the gift it is. They know you don’t just cherish Saturday and Sunday, dragging themselves through the rest of the week in a disillusioned fog. No! They cherish every day. They work for the things they cherish in all of those cumulative days, and if it’s not worth cherishing then they don’t waste their time working over for it. They won’t work tirelessly for another man’s dream. They’ll create their own.

So why do we hate Mondays? Perhaps it’s because we’re uncomfortable. We’re uncomfortable living a life that fights for dreams we didn’t dream. Instead we’re working for dreams that society created for us. They’re dreams of paper and sand that will collapse before we ever obtain them. And even if we do grab a little handful, won’t the wind eventually just blow it away?

Perhaps if we were working for our own dreams, working for relationships with those we love, and working less because we let go of the paper dreams, maybe then we wouldn’t hate Mondays quite so much.

I mean, it’s worth a try, right?

Ask yourself, what are you working for? If you died tomorrow and it wouldn’t follow you to Heaven, then perhaps it’s not worth working so laboriously to obtain.

I don’t know, but maybe Monday can just be another day.

3 Ways to Know if You’re the Grumpy Coworker

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Have you ever worked with someone who so obviously hates their job that they literally reek with the stench of dissatisfaction? I can recall starting out as a new nurse many, many years ago and working alongside a chronic complainer who hated our unit. I didn’t even realize it was that bad until she continuously brought it to my attention, and I’ll always remember something my charge nurse stated after the disgruntled nurse trudged away.

She said, “you know, one bad apple can totally ruin the barrel.”

And to this day I realize she was so right. A grumpy coworker can ruin your entire day, or even ruin your workplace in general. As I’ve recently been almost infected by the rants and rages of another unhappy peer I’ve started to wonder if these disgruntled people even know how bad they’ve gotten. I mean, do they realize that they’re the bad apple ruining the barrel? Probably not. I think when you’re unhappy with your job it can creep up on you, pile up day after day, and finally just turn into a trash pile of discontent.

So being that gal who doesn’t desire to be around Negative Nancy any longer than necessary here’s a friendly checklist to let you (or someone working alongside you) know if you’ve become that grumpy coworker. After all, in the end only you can change your circumstances.

1. Constant complaining. If every single time you open your mouth nothing but complaints pour out, then you might just be disgruntled. No one is asking you to take on more than is fair, or to persevere silently through cruel and unusual treatment. In fact, if you’ve been unjustly assigned more work than you can handle then please speak up. Be the change! Take it straight to management! But here’s what not to do. Don’t grumble and gripe incessantly to anyone who stops long enough to hear you. We all work hard. That’s why it’s called a job rather than vacation.

Here’s the hard truth. If you truly have something to complain about that speaking loudly the injustice will solve then by all means put it in writing. Do something about it. And if taking your concerns up the ladder does not induce change then move on. Otherwise, if your consistent moaning is just to make yourself feel better, please stop. I mean, I’m all for venting. It’s good for us all, but in moderation. When every spoken word is a whining complaint it only serves the purpose of bringing the entire crew down. If you’re griping about duties that are part of a job description you agreed to then you don’t have a right to protest.

It’s pretty simple. If the job no longer meets your satisfaction then find a new one. No reason to persist in something you obviously hate, and no point in poking holes in the ship the rest of us are sailing in.

2. No respect for the job. When you can no longer treat the position you hold with the high regard it deserves then it’s time to try something new. Especially in a job like the medical field, we are professionals. When you accept the mantle of responsibility to care for other human beings you must walk in the manner that entails. There’s a pride that most any profession has. Most job positions involve serving others. So whether you’re a nurse, waitress, or sanitation worker you accepted the responsibility to do a job to the best of your ability for the betterment of someone else. Your service to your fellow man is something you should be proud of, but if you’re having trouble finding that sense of accomplishment then perhaps it’s time to take a step back and reevaluate what you want to do in life.

If your behavior reflects poorly on your title or position in general then you’re doing a disservice to the entire profession by continuing in your job. These may be harsh words to hear, but sometimes you have to be selfless. In your discontent you may be only thinking about how the job is negatively affecting you, but have you considered how you might be negatively affecting the job?

Which brings us to…

3. It affects how you treat others. If you are working in a job where you take care of people in one way or another, and you’re finding that you hate the people you serve, then it’s time to change your vocation. No one deserves maltreatment. No one deserves disrespect. If your customer, client, patient (or whatever you want to call it) is coming to you for help and you’re bitter and angry, then change jobs now! No one, and I repeat no one, wants or deserves a disgruntled employee. To inject your bitterness on someone else is unfair and downright rude. Am I right?

Here’s the thing. Only you can change your circumstances. I’ve been in jobs I didn’t enjoy, and the worst thing I did was hang around. If you’re unhappy then find something new, go somewhere else. Don’t be afraid, and don’t feel stuck. I’d rather take a pay cut than persist in an unhappy situation for years to come. If you’re the grumpy employee, quit! Find another job. And if it’s your coworker who’s displaying these characteristics then you might want to print this out and put it in their locker. Believe me, they’ll thank you for it in the long run. We all will.

Do You Regret Becoming a Nurse?

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“I’m stuck!”

These were the words I spoke to my husband, and it surprised even me that I had spoken them out loud. Yet there they sat, out in the open, uttered in angst, and unable to be taken back. It was true, though, and even as that saddened me, admitting my frustration was freeing.

In all honesty, at that moment, I wished I could just stay at home. With young children, that’s where I wanted to be at the moment. I envied those women who could lament over daycare being too expensive to justify working out of the home. I held a job that brought a substantial enough income that my paycheck outweighed what I might have to pay a sitter, and while that didn’t sound like a problem to most, as a burned out nurse I was just looking for any old excuse to be able to step away from the bedside. As it stood, I had built a life (and the bills it included) around my salary as a nurse. I depended on my payday to make ends meet.

I was stuck in the life I had created. I was working twelve hour shifts at the bedside because the schedule I could create worked best for my family at the time, but even that wasn’t enough to make it worthwhile for me. I was exhausted with homeschooling and staying up with a baby. Dragging myself to work in between my home responsibilities was just too much. I dreamed of being a bartender again, or even working in a PVC pipe factory like I had at the age of 22. Anything sounded better than Nursing. I regretted that I had ever left vet med school to pursue a career caring for humans.

This was where my mind was five or six years ago, and I think if we’re being honest, we’ve probably all been in this place of our career at one time or another. It’s that barren place where the good doesn’t seem to outweigh the bad much anymore. Nursing is often a thankless vocation, and one day you look up and can’t remember the last time it seemed rewarding more than exhausting. After all, the hours were long, the patients were often overly demanding, the families unrealistic in their expectations. The charting had quadrupled, the staff had been cut in half, and the responsibilities multiplied. And the fact that by responsibilities we were talking life and death, that didn’t help matters. Even if you were exhausted, you couldn’t allow that to affect your performance. Otherwise fatal consequences could ensue. That would wear thin even the most sturdy individual.

Nursing was hard, no matter how you looked at it, yet you still loved it. Deep down, in that place where the light that loved Nursing still burned, you enjoyed the field. It just seemed burnout could cause the flame to flicker. It brought frustration, often, but occasionally even regret. Why did I ever become a nurse?!

Last week I walked into the room of a chronically ill elderly woman. I knew in my heart she wasn’t going to get better, and I think she did too. I had taken care of her a handful of times, including her first day admitted, so we held a special bond. In her prior moments of fear I had offered comfort. She liked it when I sang or hummed softly while attending to her needs. She said it calmed her nerves. To see her genuine smile when I walked in the room was nice, and seeing her daughter’s joyful reaction to my presence added to the feeling. Once outside of the room, the eldest daughter and I, we walked in silence to the ice machine, acknowledging without words the fact that mom was looking worse. We came across her physician in the hall, and together we all advocated for her care. I beamed with a contented feeling of accomplishment for getting my patient what she needed. It felt good to do good, if that makes sense.

Later, when I returned to my familiar patient’s room she commented, “you know what I’ve noticed? It always seems like God puts people exactly where they need to be exactly when they need to be there.”

It was an “aha” moment for me. She wasn’t just talking about the doctor, but also me. I was right where I needed to be, and not just on that particular day with that particular patient. I was right where I needed to be caring for people in their most vulnerable and difficult times. I was using my gifting to help others, and with that came a sense of purpose and feeling of pride that far outweighed any passing emotion of regret I had felt in the past. Over the past year or so my heart had changed. It had turned back to Nursing. The passion and calling that led me to the field had returned, my joy for the job had increased, and my flame had been rekindled.

Nursing is a challenging job, but more so than that it is a responsibility for the lives of others that can easily leave you exhausted and disillusioned because of the demands that weigh heavy on your heart and mind. Without the perspective and awareness of the valued part you play in changing and improving lives, you can easily come to a place of burnout, and possibly regret. At this point I’m grateful that my candle no longer flickers, but instead burns bright. That’s not to say I don’t get tired, frustrated, and stretched far too thin, but I am able to realize with pride that I have been placed exactly where I need to be, at exactly the right time.

What Your Friends May Forget About Your Nursing Job

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Just about everyone knows a nurse. The Nurse Friend is your buddy you can ask medical advice, even if they’re quick to say things like, “I can’t diagnose you.” Something about those scrubs are simply inviting. Heck, last night in line at Dollar General the cashier saw my ceil blue scrubs and started seeking my medical advice, listing her symptoms one by one. Point being, if you’re a nurse, your friends know it. They realize you know a thing or two about healthcare, and there’s usually no shame in asking your opinion.

Your friends and family will also know you’re the one to beware of at dinner parties. After all, not everyone appreciates the graphic or gross humor Nurses carry, and that’s okay. Most of my friends and family know there’s a chance I’m going to recount some crazy stories if the opportunity arises. And they also know watching a medical scene on television in my vicinity is an experience all it’s own. I just cannot keep my trap shut when the actors are tapping lightly on someone’s chest and calling it CPR. And don’t even get me started on why in the world they didn’t intubate Jack on This Is Us after all that smoke inhalation! My husband listened with a smirk as I yelled at the television because he gets me. He knows as a nurse I can’t not correct the TV. Most of my friends and family do too. But what’s something they easily forget?

I recently found myself in a situation that brought to mind a reality of my job that my friends and family can forget not being in the healthcare field. I didn’t fault them for it. It simply served as a reminder to me that I hold a job that’s outside of what’s considered normal in society. After all, isn’t it normal to seek safety in the face of calamity?

I’m currently working a contract as a travel nurse in South Carolina. I was blessed that my travels had brought me to the middle of the state rather than the coastline this time of year. As Hurricane Florence reared her ugly head it became apparent the area in which I was located would be under a State of Emergency. Immediately my friends and family began checking on me. I was so humbled and appreciative of their concerns for our safety, but as I spoke about staying I had a lot of people not understand my position.

“You need to leave!”

“Why aren’t you evacuating?”

“It’s not worth it to stay!”

These were the things I heard. And even as I explained that we were two hours from the coast, I still heard these comments. Again, I was honored my friends and family cared for my well-being, but I also had to remind them all of something they had forgotten about me.

I am a nurse.

Nurses don’t get to call into work when the weather is bad. Snow days don’t happen, and solely seeking shelter isn’t usually an option. Those situations that, thank God, don’t normally occur (such as natural disasters) actually require nurses to report to duty. Hospitals create call lists to bring in extra help in the case of emergency. So while your local bank may close, your hospital does not. That’s right. Schools let out early, stores shut their doors, and most businesses close down. Hospitals do not. When a storm hits, snow falls, or, Heaven forbid, a bomb goes off, people do not suddenly and miraculously heal. Doctors don’t declare, “you’re all better. Go home now.” And the ER doesn’t start sending people away. Business continues as normal. The business of being sick, and the business of being taken care of until you are better.

As a nurse I hold a job that I have to show up for. I can’t leave early and abandon my patients. I can’t not show up and expect no repercussions. Ethically I can’t not do my job just because the conditions are less than ideal. I’m not a hero! I get scared just like anybody else, and for the record, I hate driving on ice. I love my life and being present for my family just like anyone. Nurses just hold this peculiar position where we are held to a higher standard, we are expected to sacrifice for our patients, and yes, even in dangerous situations our bosses expect us to show up to work. It’s a tough spot we find ourselves in because we too want to do what’s best for us personally, but then we’re also bound by the profession we chose. Someone has to care for the sick. They don’t disappear when safe driving conditions do. As a nurse, your friends or family may forget that. And that’s okay. After all, nursing isn’t a conventional gig. Not every job entails holding hands, holding back hair to keep it out of vomit, holding wads of gauze firmly over a gushing artery, or holding medicines in your palm that can jumpstart a heart.

In my recent situation I never felt I was in any real danger. I won’t try and guess what my feelings or actions would have been if I had. My hospital offered overnight accommodations while working, and they even offered a place for my family while I wasn’t since we weren’t from the area. I was pleased with how they handled it, and as we received evacuees from the coast, I felt honored to be in the medical field. I felt then and feel now honored to be a nurse. Even if that means I have to make it to work no matter what.

Your Ministry as a Nurse

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I still felt tired after a three day stretch of twelve hour shifts, but I smiled with anticipation for a day with family. It was an overcast Monday afternoon as we drove to the zoo, and I looked contentedly out the window as my husband drove. He was talking about the Old Testament and things he’d been reading there recently, and I listened lazily while watching the green fields and patches of crowded forests zip by my window. I smiled at his words, and I reflected on the day before when I had been working at the hospital bedside.

Nursing is an exhausting field. I don’t ever want to be one of those people who complains all the time, but it is. Sometimes I feel like more is expected of me than is humanly possible, as if I’m expected to be more super-human than not. In fact, on my drive home from work I had imagined this nursing post to be much different than what it’s become. Sunday night it was going to be titled, “Nurses are Super, But Not Super-Human.” I didn’t realize God would later whisper to me, but you are.

What I mean is that so often you feel like you are falling short at the bedside. You feel like there’s not enough time, that you’re missing something. When you’re rushed, maybe receiving too many admissions, too many discharges, and not enough space in between, you feel frazzled, like you’re coming undone. Nursing is one of those jobs where missing something can be detrimental, and mistakes can cost you more than pride. They can cost you a career, a life. These are things we don’t like to talk about. Much is expected of nurses, and it’s easy to keep piling it on their shoulders until something horrible happens.

I recently saw someone comment on a nursing page the phrase, “it is what it is” in response to someone’s concern over issues in the field. Reading their response made my feathers ruffle, and it brought to me the same anger as the phrase, “put on your big girl panties and deal with it.” As if nurses were just expected to swallow their medicine and ignore unfair work conditions. Sigh.

No one can deny that problems exist in healthcare staffing, and that the expectation of medical staff is unrealistic much of the time. These facts could often threaten to push you over the edge into burnout and job dissatisfaction. They certainly could make you forget that your job was more than you assumed it to be. I’ll admit, I forgot at times. But my husband’s words on this fuzzy Monday brought it back to the forefront for me. As he spoke about Old Testament laws and the Sabbath he proposed a thought.

He said, “nowadays people minister on the Sabbath. That’s what you do. Kinda like a pastor. You just minster a little bit different than a preacher is all. I think God smiles at that.”

I thought about the woman I took care of that weekend. She had seemed so downtrodden when I went in her room first thing on Sunday morning.

“You look like you’re just tired of all this,” I surmised.

She answered in agreement, “you don’t realize how long this has been going on!”

I had taken her hands and asked her if she was a praying woman. I like to watch people’s eyes when I ask this question. The majority of them will open their eyes wide, and with anticipation. They’ll answer eagerly and hungrily just like she did, “yes, I am!”

Then, with their approval and acceptance, I will pray with them. I will allow the Holy Spirit to speak to me the words they need to hear right at that moment. There’s usually tears, gratitude, and a much more cheerful day thereafter. It’s interesting to see their physical body respond positively as well. In this particular case the family had later thanked me profusely, and the patient had reiterated her own gratitude before I left at the end of my shift. I hadn’t done anything extraordinary, but I suppose to her, at the time, it was super.

I thought of the young man who held my hand tightly as I told him goodbye. He had looked me hard in the eyes as he said, “you’re the best ever!”

I had prayed for him before bed. I had prayed that he knew the Lord, and asked God to show me how to find out.

I had asked him on Sunday what kind of music he liked. When he answered “gospel,” I had laughed joyfully. I shared that I had prayed for him, and he had cried when I told him that.

I had not done anything out of the ordinary. I had not cured his ailment or taken his disease away. I had, though, treated him with kindness, love, and respect. Perhaps that was what he needed most. Perhaps, to him, that was super.

I thought of my patients, I contemplated my husband’s words, I looked out the window as small houses passed by, and I smiled. I guess I was a minister. I was a nurse, and I healed bodies. But I also healed hearts, minds, and spirits. I wasn’t super-human, yet the job I was privileged to serve in was super to the people I took care of day in and day out. This revelation didn’t make the problems go away, but it did lift me out of them long enough to see the amazing impact I could have on others in the midst of it all.

God Doesn’t Care What You Do

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If you’ve ever worked with me in the hospital setting then you know I love to sing. In fact, patients often refer to me as the “singing nurse.” It makes me feel happy, calms my nerves, and keeps me motivated in my work. Recently I was singing at a new assignment and the charge nurse asked if I had ever sang professionally. Alas, I had not. I get asked this question a lot, though. I don’t consider myself a Celine Dion or Mariah Carey, but I guess my voice is decent enough that strangers think I should get paid for it. Who knew?!

So, recently as I was having this discussion again I explained why I had never taken the leap into musical performance beyond the shower and hospital bedside. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pursue it as a career. Actually as a young woman I had wanted to sing and act, but I had never stepped out in that direction. Fear and my father’s suggestion to pursue a “high demand and high paying” vocation like my mom (an RN) had pushed Hollywood from my mind. I didn’t figure I could succeed anyway, so I didn’t go for it.

Sometimes I question what my life would be if I had. With such a love for music and drama in my blood I knew God placed those feelings there, and I sometimes wondered if that was what God had for me in the first place. Had worldly fear distracted me from some calling He placed in my heart? Had I missed the mark of where He wanted to use me? Was I doing what He wanted me to do as a job?

I didn’t know, but I did know this…

God didn’t care what I did!

He did, though, care how I did it.

Many times in life you can miss the mark because of fear or worldly distraction, but we must always remember that an all-knowing, omnipresent God who knows beginning to end holds our life in His hand. Despite missteps or mistakes, He’s always known and redirects our paths for His purposes. We can’t put too much weight on ourselves, but understand He always works it out for His purposes and to our best interest.

In the end it doesn’t matter what I do as a job, but rather how I do the job I have. No matter my work or vocation my biggest role in this life is to be a light of God’s love and spread His heart wherever I go. Whether on a stage or at the hospital bedside, it’s my attitude at work and of service that matters to my Father. I have no regrets for the direction my life has taken, and I am grateful for each moment.

Colossians 3:23-24 (NIV) Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.

So, I sing at work. I sing because it makes me happy, and it seems to make those I encounter happy as well. Perhaps that’s all God wanted in the first place. Whether on stage or off, to sing with a joyful heart.

How I Burned Out as a Nurse

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For years I thought about writing this post. At different times of my career it was composed differently, but each version always contained basic truths.

Nursing was hard.

Nursing was rewarding.

I couldn’t keep doing something so exhausting.

It was exhausting to think of doing anything else.

At some points of my nursing career I dreamed of writing a blog about how I had finally moved on to something else, and I guess that thought was the most anticipated while simultaneously disappointing post idea of all. I even wrote articles about how I could hate something I loved so much. But I think the worst season I endured was when I couldn’t even write about nursing anymore. There was a time when my angst with the field grew so prodigious that it spilled into my writing, painting only negative strokes, and it cut me to the core when a nursing reader pointed out the fact I didn’t want to admit.

“This is horrible,” she commented. “You’re obviously burnt out!”

My initial reaction was anger. How dare she accuse me. She didn’t know me! Didn’t she realize the field of nursing was hard?! Didn’t she know how difficult it was, and that sometimes you had to vent your frustrations?! She must be in administration! I surmised, trying to make myself feel better. But then it hit me like a ton of bricks. She was right. I was burned out.

I felt almost defeated. I saw so many kinds of nurses. I saw the ones who fed on adrenaline, who lived and breathed medicine. They carried gym bags with their credentials emblazoned on the side, and they wore t-shirts with sassy sayings about saving lives. Then I saw the old nurses trudging through their shift, full of complaints, spreading their disdain like poison. They obviously hated what they did, but after so long in the field felt stuck. I wanted to be the former, but I feared becoming the latter. At the time I was neither. My heart wanted to love nursing, but I just couldn’t. I had hit a wall where my purpose was lost. It was horrible.

Around that time I cut down my hours at the bedside. I changed to PRN, working maybe one day a week. I had found a direct sales job that made it possible for me to earn income otherwise, and I worked just enough to keep my feet wet while allowing me distance from the field. The pride I had felt over being a nurse never went away; I just experienced a drought in my career. It was a dry place where I didn’t love it anymore. Not even a little bit.

I’m not sure what shifted exactly, if it was the time away or more than that. All I know is that the time I did spend with my patients started becoming enjoyable again. I had always loved the people part of it. Excluding those difficult patients. Boy, if you wanna make waves, try blogging about demanding patients! People pull out the pitchforks. It was my first million-read post, though. So there’s that. But I digress.

The point is, I realized I really liked making someone’s day. Being sick sucked, so when I could make someone smile it felt great. When I explained something in a way that made a confused family member finally understand, I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. When I could get the difficult patient to comply, where people before me had not, I felt I was serving some higher purpose. God began to speak to my heart about how much I was needed in this job. And when I finally felt purpose again, not just like a warm body filling a staffing spot, I began to thrive in my job.

Currently I’m working as a traveling nurse. I fill positions needed in ICU’s across the country. I bring all my kids and my spouse, going from job to job in an RV. Working three 12 hour shifts is still exhausting, but it no longer beats me down. Wherever I go now I can bring a little, joyful singing, a happy smile, and a helpful demeanor. I can enjoy the rest of the time off with my family exploring our new surroundings, rather than being overly tired and worn down from a career choice I hate. I can see my purpose, I can share it with those who need it most, and I can finally start writing about nursing again with a smile on my face.

If you’ve ever felt burned out from nursing, or perhaps, if you’re feeling it now, know you’re in good company. Nursing is hard. Sometimes it feels like an abusive relationship you can’t escape! It’s okay to get burned out as a nurse. We’re human after all. And perhaps it’s not for everyone. We’ve all worked with those people who would better serve elsewhere. But if there’s that part inside you that wants to love it still, like I did, then know that there is another side to the season you find yourself in. Take a break. Try something new. Find your purpose, your reason for being a nurse, and let that motivate you. Let it resound inside you the truth that you are valuable, needed, and making a huge difference in the lives of others!