Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

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.

When I Realized the Truth About My Husband

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We’ve been married almost a decade, and I thought I knew everything there was to know. I certainly didn’t anticipate any secrets. Yeah, we’ve been through a lot of changes over the years, but nothing quite like the last nine months or so. Our lives have been altered drastically this year alone, and I found myself trying to make my way through the midst of one of those shifting sand situations right at the exact moment my husband sent me a text I wasn’t expecting.

Ok, let me rewind a minute and get this just right. Friday morning, I guess it was, I was driving down the dark highway on my way to work. I chugged coffee from an insulated thermos, hoping it would provide the fuel I needed to make it through the day. See, the prior day had been what you might call a challenge. No, let’s be honest. It was hard. It had been a bad day at work. It had been one of those exhausting, uncontrollable days you often have when you work hands on in healthcare. After a day like that it’s hard to go back and do it again. So I found I was trying to encourage myself about it, and naturally I was praying too.

As I thought about how challenging my previous shift had proven itself, I also began to think about my life surrounding it. As a Travel Nurse in my first week at a new assignment I was still learning a new, computer charting system, but also learning where they kept the saline flushes. In the middle of all that I remembered feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, and when I finally found the time for a lunch break I had retrieved a text within. It was from my husband who traveled on assignments with me, and kept busy homeschooling our children, among other things.

It read, “I️ just want you to know I️ love you so much. And I️ don’t say it much but I️ very much appreciate what you do for our family. Hope your day goes well and can’t wait to see you tonight. No response needed I️ know you’re busy, but you are loved and appreciated. 😘😘”

In the middle of me running around like a chicken with my head cut off, and trying not to appear like a chicken with my head cut off, he had sent this message.

Later he sent another. He was wondering if I needed any of my scrubs washed since he was doing a load of laundry?

Towards the end of my shift he sent another text. He was just wondering if tacos sounded good to me for supper? That’s what he was cooking.

I had worked a long day, but when I got home I was welcomed by a kiss, clean house, a fragrant candle from Target burning on the counter by the door, and the wonderful smell it created when mixed with the background aroma of freshly made tacos. We had munched those, watched a favorite, Netflix show, and he had rubbed my tired feet on his own accord.

So as I drove down the road on this dark, Friday morning thinking about work, thoughts of my husband overshadowed any trepidation I felt about the new job. And it was at this moment I felt the Lord speak to my heart the truth about my spouse.

He is your gift.

That’s all He spoke, but the revelation was enough. My husband was a lot of things. He was my best friend, he was my partner in parenting, and he was often times a voice of reason in my rambling thought-life. But he was also my gift, my gift from God, given to help improve my life here on earth. He wasn’t “the other child I raised,” like I sometimes heard woman say. He wasn’t just a roommate to pass time with on a daily basis, and he wasn’t simply the significant other I laughed with yet also fought with about bills and child-raising. He wasn’t my life-saving anchor, he wasn’t “The One,” and he wasn’t my reason for being. The sun didn’t rise and set in his lap, but neither was he just someone to help keep me from feeling alone. Instead, he was my gift. That was the truth of it. An all-knowing God had brought our paths together, again over the years, and he had placed us both into one another’s life as the helpmate, encourager, and inspirer the other needed. My husband was that gift I needed, especially after a long, tough day, and I was blessed to have him.

In life we don’t always encounter perfect situations. In fact, in this world we seldom do. But there’s one thing we can do. Instead of focusing on the less-than-perfect particulars of life, or the straight-up awful situations, we can weed through it all to see the gifts from God that are all around us. Many times that’s a spouse. For me, I know it is. In a tumultuous, changing life you can take your support system for granted. Or you can realize the truth that your person is a gift from the Lord, given to you to be the hands and feet of Jesus. In the middle of such a horrible day, I had no doubt the Holy Spirit had prompted my husband to reach out to me and serve me so selflessly. My gift had listened.

Dealing With Difficult Patients

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I can recall taking care of a patient once who was younger than myself, and naturally when I saw the age I wondered what terrible diagnosis had led to the downward spiral of his health. As the report continued I couldn’t quite pinpoint why he was so sick, but it became apparent once at the bedside. He was the reason he was sick! Have you encountered this type of patient before?

“Just leave me alone,” he yelled!

Even as I tried to explain myself in a soft, reassuring tone, he still refused my care. He didn’t want his vitals taken. He didn’t like being turned. The SCDs were annoying. And he didn’t want to take his medicine right now. Except the pain medicine, that is. He refused finger sticks and lab draws. He scowled at his caregivers and just wanted to sleep. Naturally, my immediate response in caring for someone who doesn’t want my interventions is to bristle like an angered porcupine.

In fact, at one point I remember saying, “fine. Maybe you should be your own nurse since you know how to take care of yourself.”

And I left the bedside angrily.

Trying to take care of noncompliant patients is probably one of the hardest things we do as nurses. It’s aggravating to see that same “frequent flyer” grace your floor again because they haven’t been following the medical advice of their provider. They’re the diabetic patient whose family brings them a six pack of Mountain Dew. They’re the ones who set their alarm to wake themselves when pain medicines are due. They’re the CHF patient eating fried chicken from the local gas station, or the morbidly obese patient who refuses physical therapy to regain strength, day after day. They’re the Hypertensive Crisis who didn’t fill their prescription for Lisinopril, or the COPD exacerbation who still smokes two packs a day.

With this particular patient I listened as another staff member called him a name I had honestly thought myself, but I couldn’t stop thinking, what happened?! I mean, what made this guy just decide he was going to let his health go down the toilet? And at such a young age? As I contemplated this question I realized that surely he didn’t want to be bed bound. Surely he didn’t want to go through the painful procedures his body now required. So what had happened in his world that made him give up on a full life? It’s a question we should always ask before we write a person off.

I’ve realized over the years that a big part of being a nurse, and more importantly a decent human being, is the ability to try and walk in another person’s shoes. It’s not easy. I think it first really began to occur to me when I saw my coworkers talking about an overdose patient. They called the woman crazy, and I guess it hurt me because I come from a family full of generations of people who had problems with addiction and suicidal ideation. When I saw this patient I saw a hurting mother, not simply a crazy, attention-seeker who had caused her own problems. Yes, she had been the cause of many of them, but did that mean she truly wanted them? I doubted it.

So, back to my young fella refusing care. As I stared at the computer, scouring his history, I realized there really wasn’t a physical cause that accounted for his physical decline. He had just stopped caring about his life. And how sad was that?! What I had in my bed was a hurting individual, and he wasn’t just hurting from the physical ailments his own noncompliance and neglect had caused. He was hurting emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually. I couldn’t even get him to accept a thermometer under his tongue, so it was unlikely I could cure his scarred psyche. I wasn’t under some delusional savior complex, but I was willing to try and lay down my own anger and offense to offer him the only thing I could provide that he couldn’t really refuse. It was the thing he probably needed most.

Love.

I approached his bedside again. I approached in a spirit of love. Despite his erroneous decisions and disrespectful demeanor, I approached him with an attitude that he was worth something. Even if he had caused his own problems he still was worthy of respect. I did not know the road he had walked, or what had led to this moment. I just knew being sick stunk. I spoke with kindness, I empathized, and I didn’t really explain my purposes for the interventions I needed to perform any differently, but I suppose my own attitude and assumptions were different. So in turn, he responded differently. He accepted my care and allowed everything he had previously refused.

It’s not easy taking care of noncompliant or difficult patients. It’s easy to get angry and feel taken advantage of just for doing your job. It’s easy to be offended, and no one faults us for doing so. We’re all humans just trying our best. But it’s also easy to only look at things from our view. He’s refusing my care! Right?! The harder and more challenging part, though, is to try and take the focus off self and see the patient. Why are they this way? What must they have endured to get to this point? You may never know the answer to those questions, which is hard, but asking them opens your heart to take care of even the most apparently difficult patient.

I always consider myself a work in progress, and this is just another area I know I could improve. I’ll never advocate taking abuse from patients or their families, and I’ll never suggest we should be martyrs for the cause. Nurses should stand up for fair treatment for ourselves and our patients. But perhaps sometimes that fair treatment starts with us. We desire the world to see the hard road we walk as caregivers. Shouldn’t we also try and see the hard road our patients have traveled?

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!

What God Would Say to Nurses

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Recently I was thinking about eternity. You know, Heaven. I often think about what it will be like, and I anticipate a place described as having no more tears or pain. I mean, who doesn’t? But then I’m reminded of my job. My vocation, my skill, my calling, that thing that I’m good at will no longer be a thing. If there will no longer be sickness, disease, or pain then that kind of makes my job as a nurse obsolete in the hereafter. While I look forward to a time where illness doesn’t exist it did make me wonder about my choosing of a career that won’t be required in a perfect world. The thing is, even in an imperfect world I have days where I question my career!

Don’t get me wrong; I love Nursing, but it’s hard. And it’s hard not to question your career choice when it’s so challenging, when it’s so exhausting, when it’s so difficult to keep doing something in the face of ever-changing medicine and an overgrowing patient population. You love it, but some days you wonder if you’re really making a difference, if you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing in life, and if you’re still where God wants you to be. Just being honest.

Well, since I work as a nurse at the bedside full time, and I’m starting back to work tomorrow after an extended vacation, I was overjoyed when the Lord spoke to my heart this morning during my quiet time in His still small voice.

This is what I felt like He spoke to my heart, and if you’re a nurse then perhaps it will speak to yours as well.

You’ve been thinking a lot lately how your job will exist in Heaven. And it won’t. But I want you to understand it’s important now.

The healing, it is a portal, a symbol of my ultimate healing. What you do opens the gateway to what I’ve already done. I have restored health and life for eternity. In this life you bring my healing, a foretaste of the divine, a prelude of the eternal healing that exists for all.

Take privilege and honor that I chose you for this task. It isn’t for the weak! You hold the key, and the key is light.

You are the light of the world. Believe it.

One day all will be healed. Until that day I have you.

When they see you, they see me.

Nursing can be a difficult and taxing calling, but it is just that; a calling. Nurses are called to be the hands and feet of Jesus, but even more so we are called to show the light of the Lord. We are afforded the opportunity to offer healing on this side of Heaven, until ultimate healing is available. The days can be long and hard, but to know I have been handpicked for such a task as this by My Father gives me renewed purpose and joy. I pray you receive it also.

The Hardest Part About Nursing That Nobody Knows

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I was recently helping another nurse clean up an incontinent, elderly patient. She was so weak and deconditioned that she couldn’t help us turn herself even a little bit, and she wasn’t a small lady either. I stood straight and tall as I held her weight, trying to save my back, and my coworker grabbed washcloth after washcloth to mop up the liquid stool that had pooled underneath the woman. The aroma of diarrhea that can only be associated with a gastrointestinal bleed permeated the air, and we worked quickly since the patient’s lungs wouldn’t allow her to remain flat for long.

The patient’s daughter stood against the far wall. She exclaimed, “Gosh, Momma, that stinks!”

But to us she commented, “I don’t know how y’all do it, day in and day out. Y’all are better people than me!”

Nurses, she meant. And it was true; we did deal with poop on a daily basis. As an ICU nurse, and not having the assistance of auxiliary staff, I personally changed and cleaned all my incontinent patients. Then I helped my coworkers clean theirs too. Antibiotics made people sick to their stomachs, and yep, bleeding was common also. Then of course the Gastroenterologist would have us give them medicine to make them totally evacuate their bloody bowels! It could get pretty crazy. But that wasn’t the hard part of my job. Not even close.

So many times my patients would ask me how long I was there until, and when I responded, “oh, about 7:30,” they’d get wide-eyed.

“That’s a long day! 12 hour shifts, huh?!” They’d ask incredulously.

If you’ve followed me for any length of time then you’ve heard me talk about The Nurse Hangover. It’s that fog you find yourself in after a string of consecutive 12 hour shifts. It’s crazy. And yes, it’s hard. But it’s not the hardest thing I do. Not even close.

My poor husband gets to hear me vent about things like increased charting requirements, billing reimbursement and how that affects my job, or the dreaded white board. I’m still amazed people get paid just to check and make sure I keep that information board updated in the room of my sedated, ventilated patient who never has visitors. But I digress. The administrative duties of my job that prevent me from spending quality time at the bedside are aggravating, but they’re not the hardest part of my job. Close. But not really.

I can still recall what I consider one of my worst days. I have never been so emotionally and mentally exhausted than I was after watching my postpartum patient at risk for DIC hold her dead baby and cry. She dressed his 36 week old body in the blue, striped sleeper she was supposed to have him wear home, and she sang to him while she stroked his small, cold head. There was nothing I could do.

I still remember holding a homeless, nineteen year old daughter as she broke down against me. Her devastated tears soaked my hair, her flakes of skin from out of control psoriasis covered my dark scrubs, but I didn’t care. All I could do was hold her as she looked over my shoulder at her dead mother on the bed. The mother she didn’t even know was sick. She had no family or friends nearby, no home, no money, no food, and now no mother.

I still remember the day I coded a new admission 30 minutes after her arrival. It happened so quickly. As I began cleaning her up after the code was called and she was pronounced dead, all I could see was her grown son, scared, and kissing her on the cheek just a little while ago. “I love you, Mom,” he had said. He didn’t even know yet she was dead. I broke down crying. I had seen so many people die, had done so many codes, but that day I broke when I pictured a loving son’s last moments with his mom. Maybe I was thinking of my own mom who I never got to tell goodbye.

I can still remember standing with the doctor in the hall as he explained to a mother that her 25 year old son was brain dead, that there was no hope for recovery. She collapsed on the floor in hysterical tears. She just kept wailing, “no, no, not my baby!”

So many days I have stood at the bedside for hours, never leaving, changing the numbers up and down on multiple IV medications to make the numbers on the monitor stay in the realm of something compatible with life. I’ve walked in to assume care of a patient who was breathing like a fish out of water far too long, and then looked at his face and realized we graduated high school together. I’ve held a lot of hands after deciding to remove life support, and I’ve prayed with patients more times than I could possibly count. There’s a lot of things about Nursing that are difficult, perhaps even disgusting to some. Many days I get highly aggravated at documentation requirements or problems with supplies and the pharmacy. The days are long, and after a shift where I’ve fought tooth and nail to keep another human being on this side of heaven, haven’t eaten lunch, or barely had time to pee, I will think I need a huge pay raise! When we’re short-staffed, dealing with that family member you just cannot please, or getting swung at by an agitated patient, it’s tough work! But I tell you this… those things don’t even touch the surface of the hard parts about this job. You can think you know why it’s hard, but unless you’ve stood at the bedside and comforted a gentleman as he weeps for his wife of 56 years taking her last breath, you really have no idea. That’s the hard stuff. That’s the stuff we don’t talk about. That’s the stuff we try to leave at work, but when we pull into our driveway after a particularly trying day, where we faced the things we could not change, and we finally let the weight of it hit us, that’s what’s hard about Nursing.

What We Nurses Must See

by

“She’s the one who saved my life today.”

I looked shocked at the older man who matter-of-factly described to his family my job in such a flattering fashion. I had not considered it that way at the time; I had just acted. That’s what I’m supposed to do. But as I left the room later and turned quickly before I started to cry too, just like my patient’s daughter, I realized that yeah, I guess I had saved his life.

I stood at the nurse’s station half an hour later giving report on this man. A man who a couple of hours before had been in respiratory distress, his heart racing at a beat far too fast to last, his eyes bulging with that look of fear and dread someone has when they’re feeling like they might die. He was the man who “had the difficult, demanding family” per the report I’d received at the beginning of my shift. He was the gentleman whose leg I had patted earlier as I told him honestly, “I love you.”

Whenever I heard in shift report that a patient and their family were difficult to please I took it as a challenge. I used to take it with dread, but over the years I’d learned to take it with a grain of salt, or to take it as an opportunity to use my gift. I don’t know if it was my friendly smile or my slow, southern drawl, but for some reason folks just found it difficult to be mad at me. I was what they called “a people person.” I found that strange since I’m a self-declared introvert. I felt uncomfortable talking to acquaintances at a social gathering, but put me in a frightened, sick patient’s room and I flourished.

I had entered his isolation room slowly, announcing my arrival. I had briefly pulled down my mask at the door because I wanted him to see my smile. It was genuine. I had pulled up a stool so I could sit level with his face, and I had grabbed his hand as I spoke. I spent an extra amount of time I didn’t have answering his son’s many questions, and then I had repeated the same answers to his daughter, even though she was present the first time I spoke them. I enjoyed giving people the answers they were seeking.

That afternoon when I had rounded with a specialist I grinned under my mask. It always made me feel good to hear the same reassuring answers I’d spoken before repeated by a colleague. It didn’t bother me that they trusted the words more after they came from a physician’s mouth. Instead I just focused on the fact that I had been given the first opportunity to provide what they needed. It’s like he was reiterating what I had said, and that made me smile. My smile made me remember my prayer that morning in the shower.

I had been so tired. Waking up early, twelve to thirteen hour shifts, and a family to attend to as well. It’s no wonder I was tired, but some days did feel worse than others. Some mornings were more difficult to get going. Some mornings were filled with angst for the upcoming day. Some mornings you just didn’t feel it. You didn’t want to do it. You wanted to crawl back in bed. The thought of others depending so highly on you caused almost a sense of dread. You didn’t even know if you could keep your eyes open on the drive in, much less be held responsible for life and limb.

In the shower I had prayed about my career. “God, if you want me to be able to keep doing this I need you to return my joy for it.”

Ha. When I stood at that man’s bedside, after a day full of decreasing his apprehension and increasing his and his children’s knowledge on his health, and I listened to him describe me so loftily, I felt the joy. I felt the purpose. I felt the calling. I felt the pride, but you know, the pride in a good way. I got to do something really special. It wasn’t just special because it was Nurse’s Week and they were giving us some compression socks for our trouble. It was special because people said I saved their lives, because people cried happy tears over my efforts, because they said thank you for helping them finally understand their dad’s prognosis and listening to their fears. I felt joy that I could be given the power to do that; to lessen anxiety, to give back a heartbeat, or to simply hold the hand of a dying man if no one else was there.

There’s joy in realizing your purpose is higher than yourself. Sometimes you just have to be reminded of that. Nursing is exhausting, often exasperating, and endlessly demanding. But it’s also so much more. It’s the tears of gratitude, it’s the life-saving grace, and it’s the high calling that allows you intimate entry into people’s lives to make a difference they will never forget. He told me that as I left, you know. He said, “I’ll never forget you.”

Me After a 12 Hour Shift

by

It had been a long day. I guess anybody that works twelve hours will say that, especially when it’s really 13-14, but who’s counting, right? Plus it had been a chaotic day, one of those days where the patients without adequate pain medications ordered are suddenly writhing in pain, or the kind of day where your patient gets extubated and reintubated all within the same hour. Yeah, a day like that. It was one of those days where you hug and kiss on the cheek of a grieving wife, and one where the loss you’re surrounded with at work makes you melancholy for family you’ve lost personally throughout the years. Yep, it was a very long, physically and emotionally exhausting day.

For me, though, life exists beyond the bedside. So after a 13 hour day I’ll think of an errand I need to run, and with two baby showers in the next two days a quick run to the store was in the cards for me this particular night. I drove the short distance, thanking the Lord it was short, and tried to focus. The thing was my brain felt fuzzy, kinda foggy, and it took a bit of concentration to pay attention to traffic and compose a shopping list in my head. I honestly felt beat. It seemed like every light cruelly turned red, or that cars in front of me refused to go something even resembling the speed limit. They puttered along oblivious to my exhaustion, and I realized at that moment I’d give a small fortune just to go straight home.

Once I’m in the store I quickly try to grab some ingredients for an easy yet delicious party dip. I backtrack through aisles for things I missed. I stand near the salad dressings looking for soup mix that wasn’t there and I ask myself, what in the world are you thinking?!

Finally I have my merchandise all collected in my basket and I make my way quickly to the checkout. I try not to curse under my breath when no express lanes appear open, and I shuffle resigned towards the long line coming from the one open lane. Here’s where it really starts to unravel.

As the checker asks kindly for my discount card I rattle off an old number not even attached to my current, customer rewards account. I rack my brain for the right number and recite it eventually. But it’s at this point that I realize I forgot a gift card. I look eagerly and desperately for what I need to be nearby.

“What kind of card are you looking for,” she asks kindly.

“A Visa gift card,” I answer quickly, not wanting to hold up the line.

“They’re right there on aisle three,” she offers.

I rush off towards a display of gift cards on the next checkout aisle. I see a plethora of restaurant selections, but that’s it.

In the background I hear, “aisle three.”

I stumble off frantically towards checkout 3, looking up towards each checkout light. 5, 6, 7. I realize I’m headed the wrong way and change directions to make the numbers go down, but I begin to get more frustrated when I realize only Amazon cards reside along the checkout lane marked with an unlit 3.

Behind me a gentleman says kindly (and perhaps a little too slowly), “aisle three, ma’am. She said aisle three.”

I look dumbly towards the numbered grocery aisles and an end-cap of hundreds of gift cards look back at me. I race towards them mumbling to myself, feeling quite stupid, and I scan up and down, up and down, but no Visa gift cards.

Beside me steps the same checker, “here you are. They’re right here.” And she easily finds a display of Visa and MasterCard gift cards to my left.

As I later shambled shamed out of the store I realized that I was basically useless after a twelve hour shift at the critical care bedside. Thankfully, I was abundantly present while there. In fact, it was like I was always on point, ever watchful, and constantly on guard just in case my patient headed south. And maybe that’s why I was like a head full of mush once it was all over. After being at the ready for an entire nursing shift, I required a good unwinding and solid night’s sleep before doing it again. It amazed me to think of the serious issues I managed while at work, yet how I crumbled in the face of a grocery trip afterwards.

I felt almost sorry for my young kids who had to put up with me once I got home. I would throw together a quick supper for myself. Thankfully my husband had already fed the children. And then I would sit useless on the couch until I passed out for bed. They would ask me to play this or that, but other than cuddles I was basically beat. I was grateful I only had to pull three of these shifts a week, for my sake and my family. It was beyond exhausting. It was emptying. It totally drained me.

On this particular night, as I changed into my pajamas, I remembered that I should sign the note to accompany my gift card I had purchased for the baby shower the next day. So I fumbled through the kitchen looking for the card, and it was at that point I realized it was nowhere to be found. My mind went backwards to the checker scanning my gift cards. My other purchases already waited in a grocery cart.

“Do you want to hold these or me put them in a bag?” She had asked.

“In a bag is fine,” I had answered quickly.

And in a bag, at the checkout, they had remained. I couldn’t even be surprised that I had neglected my hard-fought gift cards and left them behind.

We’ll just call it shift brain: the waning remainder of mental capacity following a long, trying, nursing shift.