Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

If These Walls Could Talk

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I heard weeping. It was soft at first, as if trying to be kept at bay, but it suddenly grew in volume and intensity. It wasn’t the tears of a simple disappointment, like ruining your favorite pair of jeans with a bleach incident. No. It was guttural. It was the sound of pent-up grief spilling over.

It wasn’t an uncommon sound. Not in the ICU. Not for an ICU nurse of twenty years. Yet, despite the familiarity for myself, I still felt my eyes sting. Her cries. Oh my goodness, the pain underneath each whimper; it made my own heart break.

I knew what was transpiring. Even though I currently sat at my patient’s bedside, as I had for days, the poor woman too sick to be left without watchful eyes for more than a few minutes, I had been next door. One room over, but hundreds of miles apart in terms of prognosis. My lady was improving, slowly, but as I always say, slow and steady wins the race. Not so next door.

Fifteen minutes prior I had heard someone call out, “you got some atropine in there?”

I walked one ICU room over, perusing the bedside monitor as I entered. It was serious. Nothing on the screen was compatible with life. I began increasing the IV medications dripping into the patient’s veins, hoping to stave off the impending doom. All in vain, the EKG line went flat. The nurse at the bedside began compressing his sternum to keep the blood flowing, and I ripped open the crash cart to draw open the medications to try and bring him back to us.

In a flash the room filled with warriors, wearing scrubs and flying into action. One round, two rounds, three rounds.

“No pulse. Asystole. Resume compressions.”

With an entire room full of helpers, I had excused myself from the bedside. They had enough hands. Some nurses thrive on the adrenaline of a code blue, but I had seen so many through the years, far too many to count, that I was fine to sit this one out and allow the other professionals to drive.

They got him back, and I’d like to say it stayed that way, but it did not. His heart stopped again. The family stood in a huddle outside the room, holding each other. One young woman was in the floor, her grief too heavy for her legs to hold, and that was the source of the painful wails. A chaplain brought a chair. Someone else grabbed some tissues and water. These were the things we could do. We couldn’t save the loved one in the bed, anymore than we could take away the pain that released itself in heart-wrenching tears.

When I first heard the crying in the hall, after nearly weeping empathetically myself, it occurred to me how often these halls held the tears of grieving family. They cradled the disappointed spouse after hearing bad news. They steadied the angry son who couldn’t believe there was nothing more that could be done. Many times, thank God, these halls even expanded with the joyful laughter of miraculous recovery. If only these walls could talk!

They’d be shouting emergent orders from a physician, “get the RSI kit now!”

Or the muttering of an exhausted nurse, on the fourth day of a string of twelve hour shifts, “just an hour to go.”

There would definitely be a lot of questions.

“How did this happen?”

What do we do now?

What would momma have wanted?

And plenty of expressions of surprise, coupled with confusion and disbelief.

“But he was doing better. He just asked about the dog.”

“She’s only 28 years old! Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children!”

“I never knew he was so depressed!”

There would be expressions of hope.

“Dad is a fighter. He’s gonna make it.”

And expressions of love through surrender.

“Mom wouldn’t want to live like this.”

There is so much these halls could say, if only they could utter words, but they’ve kept the secrets whispered within their walls under tight lip. I sometimes wonder, on days like today, if the walls stay silent simply because they don’t have words. Some of the deepest pain of loss is spoken through silent tears, agonizing cries, and even resigned sighs from the warriors who lost the last battle. Maybe the walls don’t talk because even mere words would be too difficult to express the emotions that course through its halls. Perhaps silence, a listening ear, and a space to lean on is the best these walls can do.

Nurses, Why Are You Surprised?!

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Nurses, why are you surprised?!

When a community treats its nurses like it treats its fast food workers, this is what happens. I mean, they don’t wanna flip the burgers, but they’ll be first to complain and ridicule the people who won’t. They desire someone else to take the orders with a smile, work the holidays and weekends, yet stay silent about the wage that isn’t appropriate to the task. You won’t catch a senator running the burger joint drive-thru anymore than you’ll spot them cleaning someone’s granny’s butt, yet they will make the decisions about how it should be done, or how it should be compensated. So, why are you surprised?

Healthcare has become a business of customer service, with profits based on satisfaction scores, but the difference in us and say, a department store, is we also are distracted by the tiny hindrance of keeping people alive while we smile, in between the deliveries of turkey sandwiches and warm blankets. No other career will you be expected to cater to the public’s fancy in such a palate-pleasing manner while also being held legally liable for a simple, human mistake that could end in catastrophic harm. In other words, make sure the customer is always right, but also make sure that you are. In healthcare you can lose your job for customer dissatisfaction, but you can also lose your home and livelihood if your math calculations aren’t up to par. Maybe that’s why we’re surprised. Hmmm.

Twenty years I spent at the critical care bedside, giving my everything to my patients. And while I experienced seasons of burnout, I never stopped loving it. I love it still. But I couldn’t do it anymore. In November I took a 50% pay cut (as in my hourly pay was cut in half), for the same amount of fulltime hours, but in an environment that was less stressful than direct patient care. So, what led me there after 20 years?!

I tried to be nice and say it was things like an aging back, and while it’s true that 20 years of turning obese men to clean their bottom has destroyed my spine, that wasn’t the main reason I had to step away. It’s not the main reason we see a shortage in healthcare across the board. Heck, we never minding wiping pee and poop off people who didn’t appreciate us for it. It was the fact that you, the politicians, the administrators, the voting public at large, don’t appreciate what we sacrifice for our communities. Y’all, that hurts.

The past two years were like a knife in my back from a longtime friend. I saw the public as a whole, who had no problem before messaging me late at night for advice about their sick kid, suddenly decide I had no idea what I was talking about. They trusted me to take care of their father after open heart surgery, but they rolled their eyes at my opinions on a pandemic.

We said, “we’re drowning!”

They replied, “the numbers are a lie!”

We begged them to wear a mask, stay home, or even, God forbid, consider a scientifically proven vaccine.

They laughed. They shared memes making fun of the science they had trusted us to treat them with for decades, and they even used our own faith against us. That probably hurt the most. As a woman of faith, personally, who loves Jesus and people, I couldn’t understand how my service to others in love suddenly meant so little. Ok, I’ll admit it; I was surprised.

Those like myself, working in the ICU, under horrible conditions, to work tirelessly and fruitlessly, combating a virus we couldn’t defeat, were forgotten.

I remember reaching out to family and friends afar, expressing the pain of what I was witnessing, and it was met with monotone, false sympathies.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was that bad. I’m so sorry.”

“Meanwhile, let’s remember what’s really important here. This is all a hoax to take away our freedoms and religion.”

So, while we hurt, they swept our lamentations under a rug, shining the spotlight instead on political platforms.

In the midst of our distress, many frontline workers fell away, and to boost the bodies required to fight a pandemic, they increased our compensation. Finally! I always hated it took half a million people dying to prove we’re worthwhile.

But now the dust somewhat settles. Remote workers return to the office, mask mandates are removed, school is somewhat normal operating procedure, and Johnny Q. Public (or politician or administrator) remembers what they’re paying the exhausted frontline, while conveniently forgetting what brought us to this point. Why are we surprised?!

Why are we surprised that the people who complain about the wait at the drive-thru, while thoroughly refusing to work at the drive-thru for minimum wage, are the same people complaining about the wait at their local ER?! They’re not gonna wait tables for pennies anymore than they’ll hold life and death in their hands for what you make as a loan officer or insurance underwriter (who make about the same as a nurse with 15-20 years experience)! In other words, they want to ridicule the fast food workers and waitresses who refuse to serve them for a wage you can’t even pay your increasing rent and grocery bill with, calling them lazy and entitled. In the same vein, they want to call us money-hungry, accuse us of taking advantage of a national staffing shortage, when all we want is to finally be recognized for the pain we’ve endured.

While most everyone stayed home in pj’s, we went to work. When people feared an unknown virus, we faced it head on. When you wanted our advice, you took it, but when it contradicted your politics, you shamed us. When there are not enough servers at your favorite restaurant, you end up having to wait a long time. Inconvenience. When there are not enough servants at the hospital bedside, your lifesaving healthcare is delayed. Death. Death that we will be held liable for. And you are surprised we don’t want a cap on our salary?!

Don’t take something we love and guilt us into killing ourselves physically and mentally for a salary that won’t even begin to dig us out of the legal bills we are crushed under after staffing shortages hasten us to make a mistake. Just don’t.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I had to leave the hospital bedside, the critical care nursing I still love. Even a wage that blessed my family so much, wasn’t enough to compensate me in such an exhausting environment. The thing is, there are a lot of nurses like me, mentally and physically done after these past few years, no matter the compensation.

How do you think it will go if they cutback the pay for those who remain?!

Will any of us be surprised when there are no bedside nurses left?

Chew on that.

Don’t Underestimate the Significance of Your Calling as a Parent

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I fell asleep a little earlier than usual last night. After a long and stressful day at work, I was beat. I said bedtime prayers individually with each of my daughters, and then I fell asleep before my head even settled on the pillow. A couple of hours later I woke suddenly, and keeping quiet I gazed upon my eleven year old preparing for bed. I watched in a sleepy joy while she read from a kid’s devotional book I had bought for her, and then while she proceeded to read from her Bible. I fell back asleep, contentment carrying me to dreamland.

My husband and I recently had a conversation about the amazing plan God must have for one of our children. How else could we explain the course our lives had taken?! We both carried pasts that were the whispers in church circles. An addict and alcoholic having a baby?! But God’s Grace had won. I tried to commit suicide by hanging as a child, but the poorly constructed noose didn’t work. My husband had a horrific car wreck as a young man, unrestrained, that left him without front teeth, but somehow no other injuries. When he awoke in the wreckage, he had been misplaced from the crushed-in driver’s seat, to the less impacted passenger side. And these are just a couple of our miraculous survival stories. Our past problems caused us to live individual, high-risk lifestyles, but in His mercy we were protected from our own stupidity.

As a teenager, new to the faith, I had known Ben was going to be my husband. I wasn’t very confident yet in my ability to hear God’s voice, but I never doubted he was the one. The problems and roadblocks of the world would separate us. For ten years, even! But somehow what God meant to place together, no man could keep apart. In my thirties, I finally married the man I knew at nineteen God had for me.

I could drone on and on how I believe my current path was meant to be, but I’ll spare you any further details. The point is, I have seen the hand of God in my life time and time again. So has my spouse. We consider each of our children a gift from God, and we have no doubt that the Lord has wonderful plans for their lives.

My husband used to own his own business, and he even built rockets once upon a time. But during this season, he is a homemaker. He homeschools our children and does about a billion other important tasks at home, while I serve in the role of primary and sole breadwinner. Albeit untraditional, this works wonderfully for our family. I think some men might tend to feel unfulfilled in their role as a stay-at-home dad. Not simply because society has deemed it a woman’s place over the years, but because, let’s face it; full-time parenting is hard! I’ve been in his position, and it’s crazy, hectic homeschooling multiple young ones. There’s one thing that he’s done that makes it fit him so much better than it did me, though. He understands his calling.

One day, a couple of years ago, my husband commented, “God told me today that what I’m doing is important.”

As simple as that. The encouragement of the Holy Spirit gave my man peace and purpose. We knew that financially we were doing what made sense, but budget balancing won’t fill your heart with purpose. The Spirit drives my spouse to parent well, and his determination and commitment are seen in the fruit of our babies.

It’s easy to see parenting as a chore. It’s work! It’s the hardest job you’ll ever love. It’s moments of ridiculous frustration mixed with moments of surpassing joy. It’s a love/hate relationship that you’d never let go. It’s the thing you need a break from, but also the thing you miss the second it’s gone. It’s a journey of perseverance, a practice in patience, and somehow humbling to how little we know. What we tend to forget, is that it’s also a great task for the Kingdom of God. As parents, we hold in our hands the ability to mend, but also to break. We have to be intentional to keep the damage to a minimum, and passionate to cultivate a loving environment of acceptance and success. We love our children as Jesus loved us; not for what we receive in return. The greatest gift we can give our babies is the heart of Jesus. This unconditional love that carries the fruits of the Spirit. Thankfully, perfection isn’t required, just the ability to show them the perfection that exists in Jesus, and that is there for their taking within them, as His perfect love resides there. This is the calling.

My husband takes seriously his calling, and it’s something I remind myself of often also. I mentioned in the beginning my girl reading her Bible and seeking God’s truth. This is something we taught! I don’t say that in a prideful way, for I know it’s only the true work of the Holy Spirit that keeps her doing it when the lights go down and she doesn’t know her parents are watching. That’s what truly gave my heart joy. She was able to experience the peace that comes from the Lord. We set up the practice, and we modeled the behavior, and the rest God took and ran with.

Children can be taught anything. They can be modeled hate. Abusive marriages often arise from watching abusive parents. Racism is engrained, and a false doctrine of religious works can be given precedent over the grace of God. You can even “scare the hell” out of your children by fire and brimstone, if you so choose, but when the lights go out at night, it’s the peace of abiding in Him that will persevere. That’s the calling, and it’s not an insignificant one.

It’s no secret that people have taken notice of the state of our world lately. I can hardly spend a few minutes on social media before seeing the hopelessness that persists because of the current, social climate. All I can think lately is, it’s up to me. Unless Jesus comes soon, the future is my children. It’s your children. The Bible tells a parable of ten virgins who had to keep their lamps lit as they waited on the bridegroom. Half let their oil run out and their light diminish. When the bridegroom came, only those who had remained prepared were rewarded. We are the ten ladies. The coming of Jesus is our groom. We don’t know exactly when He’ll return. It might not be in our lifetime. Does that mean our light goes out when we die? No! We keep our light burning through the oil of our children. The light of Jesus shines to future generations through the preparation we make as parents. The hope of the future lives in the loving light they carry to their own children. When He comes, no matter when, I want my lamp to still be burning for His return. That is the calling. It’s one we all share.

Don’t Neglect the Little Things

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The other morning I was getting ready to leave for work when an unexpected find put a little pep in my previously, exhausted step. It was my third day at the hospital bedside in a string of 12 hour shifts as a critical care nurse, and you can bet your bottom dollar I was going to need all the caffeine my cup of coffee had to offer. I reached into the refrigerator in that early-morning kinda daze, grabbing for my favorite creamer, even as I knew the bottle was dang-near empty.

The morning before when I had made coffee to go, I really only had enough for that particular cup, but realizing I still had another shift left before I could make a grocery store trip, I tried to conserve a bit back for one more morning cup of joe. At the time I had considered leaving my husband a note, asking him to pick some up for me, but I had decided against it. I knew he would have his hands full with homeschooling three girls, doing laundry, making meals, and all the other tasks he performed at home. It wasn’t a big deal, after all. So, I had saved myself a swallow of French Vanilla for the following day, and it was this prize portion I reached for on the day in question.

I held the empty bottle of creamer in my hand, but before shutting the fridge I glimpsed a brand new bottle that I knew had not been there before. Despite the fact that I had decided against asking my spouse to take time out of his day to buy me creamer the previous morning, he had done it anyway. He had taken the time to notice my brand of creamer was low, even though he used another kind that was totally full, and then he had made the decision to pack up our three, young children and take them to the store for a single item that I enjoyed. I could do without the creamer. I could even use some of his. But he had made a small, insignificant-seeming decision to purchase me my favorite coffee add-in.

So, after I filled my coffee mug with a happy, healthy amount of cream, I did leave my hubby a note. I left a post-it thanking him for the creamer. Because, you see, it wasn’t just the creamer. It was the fact that he thought of me. He did something inconvenient for himself to benefit me in a small way. He took the time to notice my tiny needs, to consider my preferences, and to show his affection for me through that. Was a bottle of creamer the recipe for a happy marriage? Not in itself. But what it signified, now that was worth something.

Marriage can be hard. Heck, life is hard. There will be huge issues you have to work through and big obstacles to overcome, but in the midst of the enormous stuff, don’t neglect the little things. Cause it turns out, often times the little things add up to be big things. Small tokens of selfless affection over time build a large love between two people. Personally, I left for work that morning still sleepy, but somehow energized with the knowledge I’d be coming home to a man who adored me, and who showed his love for me in a million, tiny ways.

The First Step to a Good Relationship

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I’ve always been one of those gals who likes instructions. I figure most women do, and that’s why we’re a good partner for men. We have no problem following direction, which can be an asset to their ummm, lack of such. I joke, but seriously, relationships are a lot about teamwork. So, as a woman who loves a step-by-step guide, who’s married to a man who figures it out as he goes, we manage to meet in the middle of most things, creating a great balance for this complex thing called life. And since I’m the instruction manual kinda lady, I thought what better way to share some of the relationship knowledge I’ve gained through trial and error, than by giving you all an excellent first step. After all, it’s hard to make it to point C when you’ve neglected A, or even B.

I got the idea for this post this morning when I was reading the Bible. I came across a part when the Old Testament prophet Elijah said to the people, “How long will you waver between two opinions? If the LORD is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow him.”

I’m not trying to make being in a relationship akin to serving God (although, lessons are there), and I’m definitely not going to try and over-spiritualize the topic. But many times when I read the Bible it reminds me how it can impact each area of your life. This morning’s readings happened to remind me of a time that changed not only the course of my relationship with my now-husband, but also changed the course of my life. How could I not share that with you all?! It was my very own moment of discovering that if I believed in something, I needed to commit to it already.

It was the day before Valentine’s, approximately 12 years ago. First off, yes, I had waited until the last minute to buy my boyfriend a card. You see, things weren’t the greatest between us. I could blame it on so many things. I mean, I was freshly out of a marriage gone bad, with a husband who had left me. Rejection will make any girl feel afraid to open her heart to another man. I could blame it on my grief. My heart was still numb from the recent loss of my mother. I was living life in a fog, and I honestly don’t remember most days back in that timeframe. I probably drank too much, trying to numb my pain even further, and my fella certainly was no choir boy either. We both succumbed to our individual vices, two broken souls clinging to one another loosely, trying to figure out if we wanted the other person to help save us or not.

Point is, I could go on and on with all the many reasons why we weren’t in a fabulous place in our relationship, but for the purposes of this post, I’m just going to discuss the pivotal decision that started to change things for the better.

So, back to the Hallmark aisle. I love cards. Always have. It must be my love language or something. I’m a writer, after all. I love words. I love how you can take feelings and put them into words, and then gift those words. A card is an amazing way to say, “this! This is a piece of what I feel, and what you mean to me.”

So, there I was in my favorite place, and I had found the perfect Valentine’s Day card, despite waiting until the last minute to buy it. I read the words, knowing they were a perfect declaration of love, but it was some unwritten words that really shook me.

I can’t say I’ve ever heard the audible voice of God, and at the time I hardly heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit to my heart, but when it happened in the card aisle that day I had no doubt it was the voice of God speaking in my head.

“You need to mean it.”

Five words, out of the blue, that caused me to pause before placing the card in my basket, and that began a conviction in my heart. God knew I wasn’t 100 percent in this relationship. I was holding back, guarding my heart, and distrustful of moving forward. The act of purchasing the card for him was just lip service. I was saying “I love you,” but my actions were lacking. The card spun a lovely lyric of commitment, but my heart wasn’t in it. Not really.

Looking back, I wonder if my face in the card aisle reflected the shaking I was under at that moment. It was like I stood at a crossroads. I could keep giving a mediocre effort, kinda gliding through the relationship, indifferent to the eventual outcome, or I could go all in. Yeah, it was a gamble to give away my heart, but I knew I’d never achieve real happiness in a relationship without betting on us. I had all the right words to describe love. Now I just needed to want it and believe it.

The thing is, this world is full of broken, hurting people. When we started our relationship, we were certainly both those things. We had more baggage than a bellhop, but the only way to start unloading it all is to admit it’s there, and then make the decision to do something about it.

A relationship requires give and take. It takes teamwork. It takes both parties willing to work. And the first step to happiness in a relationship is deciding to put in the work. Not halfway, but 100 percent.

Heck, I’ve known people who get married with it on the edge of their thoughts, “this probably isn’t gonna work. Just like all my other relationships didn’t work.”

Well, of course it’s not going to work. Why is the percentage of marriages lower today than thirty years ago? People don’t want to make that commitment. They want a test drive. Let’s just live together and see what happens. There’s no money back guarantee with relationships, and we can’t treat them like there is.

The first step to creating a happy relationship is deciding you can be happy. It’s understanding you deserve happiness. It’s making the commitment to believe in yourself, and to believe in the other person. It’s the decision to actually try and be a better partner. It’s the choice we all make to lay down pride and selflessly serve the person we’re saying we love. Also known as, not just saying the words, but showing them with everything we have.

If you find yourself currently gliding through a tumultuous dating game, ask yourself those words. “Do you mean it?” Are you willing to put in the work? Stand at the crossroads and decide to either go all in or stop pretending just because you kinda crave companionship. Any relationship takes all that both people have to offer. If you’re not ready to give all you got, it may be time to take a step back and see why that is. It’s not fair to the other person if you’re not willing to mean the words inside the card that you’re buying.

My Role in God’s Calling for My Husband

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Yesterday I got a text message from my husband stating he needed to come by my work to grab the church keys from me. It seems he had left his Bible there on Sunday and he was missing it big time. I laughed at the thought of my hubby running around on his lunch break to retrieve his Bible, and I realized the man God was rising up in my husband’s spirit was not the same man I had married. He was cultivating a heart like David within the love of my life, and every aspect of my spouse’s character had improved as he grew closer to the Lord. As I watched him become the man God had always called him to be I felt so proud of him. One might wonder, as he grew in his desire for ministry, if I questioned how I fit specifically into it all. But no, I didn’t. I already knew.

Last month we celebrated our eighth wedding anniversary, and I grew tearful over the inscription my husband placed in the card he gave to me. The whole card was amazing, but one part really stuck out.

I could not be who God has called me to be without you by my side.

I think many times as wives we can make light over the actually enormous role we hold in marriage. We’ll focus simply on the job of the man as the head of the family and somehow forget how important we are. Wives are almost like the navigation system for their husband’s calling. They certainly help guide his steps. A loving wife inspires her mate and encourages that partner to his best. A wife helps cultivate growing ideas and shape ones that need refining. She offers insight that only the nurturing, emotional viewpoint of a woman can envision, she provides wisdom from her mind and heart, and holds a needed knowledge for the relationship. And boy of boy, does she pray! If man is the head, then woman is the neck that turns it. Woman was created from man, but she also creates in man a part of himself that couldn’t be lit without her inspiration, love, and presence there to help birth it.

I told my seven year old tonight, at her urging, the story of how her father and I met. We had actually met and fallen in love over 20 years ago, but due to our youthful indecision had parted ways back then. It would be ten years before God brought our lives full circle and we reunited in the exact place we had met. Until that time we both floundered through life searching for happiness, but it wasn’t until the Lord realigned our paths that He could use us for the other.

Now I’m not saying that my husband was an utter mess until I came along, but I will admit I was. In truth we both were struggling, yet something happened when we joined ourselves as one. It was like God created an explosion within us, and we somehow brought out in one another the best there had ever been. So while the beginning was rocky as God refined us, it still was better than it had ever been before. And somehow it continues to get better each and every day.

Our lives are fruitful because of the Lord. It is God alone that changes hearts. But sometimes often times He uses a helpmate to insure change, create courage, and inspire a life that follows the calling God has for us all. I take my role as helpmate very seriously, and thankfully my husband does too.

Why I Get Offended When You Bash the Hospital I Work For

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Sometimes I come across a post on Facebook where someone makes a long, ranting complaint about the hospital I work for, and I’ll be completely honest with you; I get offended. I do. I can’t help it. I know I shouldn’t. After all it’s not about me. I have zero control over your ER wait time, if a certain doctor is rude, or if a specific diagnosis was missed. In fact, I have never actually seen a complaint that could even remotely have to do with me specifically yet I still feel my quills bristle when someone says something derogatory against my employer. Why is that?

Well see, here’s the thing about being a nurse. I work on a team with all these great healthcare professionals, and something about being duly responsible for another human being’s life tends to form a bond among folks. I have stood in the room waiting my turn to take over chest compressions on someone’s husband, while I heard them cry in the hall, and met eyes with the grim cardiologist whose expression speaks the futility of our efforts. I’ve heard him say “let’s keep trying” even when the prognosis is grave, and we have intrinsically connected on the field of combat. Sure it’s not a war against foreign enemies we fight, but rather it’s a battle to keep families intact, mommas with their babies, and daddies around for years to come. And something about that kind of battlefield will forge a brotherhood that no man can put asunder. 

I know what it’s like to fly into work on the wing of a prayer, knowing that you have no clue what calamity awaits you when you arrive to your job, but praying without ceasing that you will do no harm. It could easily become overwhelming when you think of the very real responsibility your role in the healthcare team implies. The stress of realizing one tiny mistake could end in tragedy is enough to send any sane person over the edge, yet nurses, doctors, RTs, EMTs, paramedics, pharmacists, CNAs, techs, and a hundred other healthcare angels I’m forgetting face the challenge every single day. They get up early, most likely after working a thirteen hour or longer shift the day before, and they go to battle. It’s hard enough performing under that stress. Factor in perfectly delivered customer service and the weight on your shoulders can get pretty heavy. 

I’ve rushed around the bedside of a fresh, post-op emergency surgery patient, pounding in blood products as fast as pressure bags and gravity will allow, and I’ve watched the monitor with a whisper of “please God.” All the while my team is there with me praying, working, fighting, and doing everything in our power to get a good outcome. Something about serving with others in that environment connects you on a level few people outside of healthcare can understand. If blood is thicker than water, then stemming blood loss together is thicker than it all. 

I’ve also been in the hallway after all efforts have ended in vain. I’ve seen stoic doctors cry, and watched fellow nurses crumble into grieving family with empathetic sobs. I’ve stood motionless, in silent solidarity while a physician delivers bad news. There’s just something about holding someone as they realize their life will never be the same and sharing that responsibility with your coworker that makes you more than simple teammates. It’s a bond forged in the shared delivery of healthcare in all its many forms, even holding someone’s hand while they cry. 

So because of this, because of this comaraderie built at the bedside of comatose twenty year olds and grandfathers taking their last breath I take it all very personal. When you bash a coworker it’s like you’re bashing me. When you ridicule my employer it’s like you’re taking a stab at my own chest. A hospital is more than just a building, and it’s more than its CEO, board members, or administration. It’s more than a single department that might have peeved you off, and it’s certainly worth more than a million patient satisfaction survey results. 

A hospital is a family. It’s a place where brothers and sisters armed with stethoscopes and scissors come together to make a difference in the life of the community they serve. And the thing is they take it pretty seriously. So if you come against one of us, it’s like you come against us all. When you speak we listen. We all listen. 

When you make the decision to follow your heart towards a career that serves mankind in their most intimate and vulnerable of times you do open yourself up to the critique of those you serve. They expect perfect service with a smile, immediate satisfaction, and zero error. Few other jobs have such high expectations. Today a fast food restaurant got my order wrong and I was frustrated. Had I done the equivalent in my job, like given the wrong medicine, someone might be frustrated to death. Literally. The role we serve is a serious one so it’s no wonder the bar is set so high. We are not allowed grace and forgiveness, just resent and discontent. 

It’s not easy living up to the expectations, yet we go into work every day and we try. So when I see a fellow freedom (of sickness) fighter fall under the bus of public opinion I grimace with the heartfelt feeling of their pain. When I see a complaint lodged against the facilty where I choose to practice this monumental task of lofty expectation I do get offended. How could I not?

In the end I will stand with my team. I may chastise them in private. I may get frustrated with their actions on my own. But when it comes down to it we work together for the greater good of the communities we serve. So while everyone has their own opinion and they’re free to speak it on Facebook, I will speak mine here as well. I stand up for those who stand up for the sick and needy. And yeah, if you bash them on social media I take it to heart. I can’t help it, and now you know why. 

Do You Know Who’s Nursing’s Worst Enemy?

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It’s no big secret that nursing is a challenging field. As if the ever-changing knowledge required to remain competent in the profession were not enough, factor in the inherent difficulties such as unrealistic staffing ratios and false perceptions from the community at large, and it’s near impossible to perform the job as is expected. 

So while striving to perserve required credentials, maintaining skill’s competency, and keeping up with continually changing and expanding technological advances, the professional nurse must also adhere to safe practice standards, ensuring the best possible care is delivered to his/her population. 

And that’s fine. I mean, we’re used to it anyway. Where things may get kinda slippery are keeping to such a high standard when short-staffed. But the hardest part is probably trying to reach the high bar that is set by the expectations of the patient population.

Indeed, nurses are not only expected to perform their job with skillful competency, without mistake, and in a timely manner, but also with a huge grin on their face. In fact, nothing ruffles the feathers of the general public more than a nurse who can’t seem to adhere to the Florence Nightingale, Angel of Healthcare perception. What I mean is, it’s just expected that nurses should perform their duties without complaint and with a happy smile. At all times. 

So is it the unrealistic expectation of the general public that makes nursing harder than it should be? Perhaps. What about stubborn, cocky physicians who belittle their nursing counterparts? Yep. That’s certainly a dinosaur I’d love to see fully extinct! How about unfair working conditions or a nonsupportive work environment? Is that the worst enemy of nursing at large? 

While all those things are terrible, they’re not the worst. It’s not even patient satisfaction surveys. And although this might disappoint some, it’s not even the large number of professionals who misspell HIPAA. (Of note, I don’t think this is a big deal whatsoever.)

I can recall my first nursing job. It was PCU, aka, Progressive Care Unit. It was a step down from ICU, which basically meant I worked my butt off. I had patients who likely should have gone straight to the ICU, but started with me instead. Most patients were one minute away from coding, but instead of having two patients, I had 4-5. It was awful! I mean, I loved it, but as a new nurse it was incredibly stressful. 

The great thing, though, was how much I learned. While I anxiously prayed my way to work, once there I hit the ground running and set-up an awesome foundation of knowledge for the rest of my career. Yet I only stayed there a year. I became certain it was the worst job ever. 

This fire of dissatisfaction was stoked by the company I kept. I worked night shift and several of my coworkers had passed go at burnout, and had completely submerged themselves in Bitter, Angry Nurseville. And they were determined to bring everyone else there to live. 

Looking back I see a job that to this day paid me better than any I’ve ever had, to include the largest sign-on bonus, best compensation package I’ve seen, and a rocking shift differential. We were paid frequently for continuing education, and had the joy of self-scheduling. Like, I only had to work a weekend every once in a blue moon. 

But at the time, I was sure my workplace was the pits. The bad mood, poor attitude, and “eat their young” mindset of those around me did their very best to poison my new nurse persona. They were serving up bad apples, and I naively fell into that barrel. And that was the worst. 

I saw it then, and I see it now. Do you know who’s the worst enemy of Nursing? Nurses. We are our own worst enemy. Sadly, poor attitudes of burned out professionals seek to infect the incoming newbies. Know-it-all nurses who are full of judgement but low on grace are negatively impacting those around them. 

Nurses are a strong breed. They have to be to survive nursing school, but that tough exterior is strengthened by necessity when they encounter the very real challenges of being responsible for the life of another while maintaining professionalism, integrity, and stellar, skillful performance without error. 

But sometimes that tough exterior actually becomes a hardened shell, one that lacks the compassion that led them into the field to begin with. The lack of help, grooming, and guidance from one’s peers can lead to burnout faster than anything. The inability of coworkers to be cohesive and willing to team-build can break a young (meaning green) nurse quickly, and it can even wear down the rest.

As nurses, when we forget what it was like to be the “new guy” we are not doing any favors for the field. When we lack grace and mercy for our peers we are actually enemies of the state, the state of nursing professionals. When we’ve lost sight of our compassion for not only patients, but also our brothers and sisters in arms, we become the worst enemy of nursing, for no one can more quickly tear down the field than someone on the inside. 

In our own unrealistic expectations of those within the fold, we can quickly put out the fire of even the most motivated of professionals. We eat our young and slowly smother everyone else. It’s a shame. And it’s something that only we can change. 

As a nurse we are taught to see the patient through eyes of compassion, to try and walk in their shoes, to see the good in all. Why is it so hard to extend this same gesture to our fellow professionals? It shouldn’t be. 

As nurses we must strive to not only provide the best care to those we serve, but also the best and most compassionate care to those we serve amongst. No one will save us if we do not at first save ourselves. 

To pull together and overcome the many challenges that exist in the field of healthcare we must first pull together as a team of nursing professionals. Only then will we be able to reach fully the goals we have for the nursing field. Only then will our efforts be worth anything substantial. 

United we are many, but divided we will certainly fall. Although it sounds cliche, sometimes the simplest answer is the best one. 

The field of nursing isn’t easy. We all know this too well. There are enough challenges we face without having to face unnecessary ones within our own ranks.

The next time you interact with a peer ask yourself if your behavior and words are ones that help build your fellow nurse, or if they in fact cut them down. If they’re anything beyond compassionate, constructive criticism that is aimed solely with a noble purpose then they are poison to the very thing you love. They are actually killing the field you claim to hold so dearly. 

And that attitude of unknowing self-destruction is the worst enemy of Nursing by far. 

What Happened When I Started Paying Attention to My Husband’s Actions!

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I had somehow almost fallen into a common trap of marriage, and I could easily understand how. It’s effortless to become accustomed to the everyday mundane, and to close your eyes to everything around you. It’s easy to exist, become complacent, and in essence be blind to what your spouse is doing right under your nose. 

I was so busy washing laundry, raising babies, and everything in between that I almost missed my husband’s brazen actions. Until one day I started to pay attention, but still, I didn’t expect this. 

While picking up toys one evening I bent over, and involuntarily I let out a wince. A sharp pain traveled up my leg and into my back, and it had been doing that for a week or more. I was expecting our third child, and I noticed that it was harder this time around. Simple housekeeping left me limping by the end of the day, and thoughts of propping my feet up sounded great. Great, I tell you!

But alas, I could no more stop picking up dolls and discarded gummy wrappers then I could cease to breathe air. It had to be done, and I bristled under the surface, frustrated because I knew I would be the one to do it!

I cleaned the living room over and over! I washed the clothes time and time again! I even folded them and put them all away. I knew if I didn’t our family would exist in a world composed of piles of toppling laundry, and I was certain I would go insane in that environment. Heck, if I didn’t keep things in order they would spiral out of control, and no one would even notice until they were drowning in trash and dirty dishes. 

Every day my husband went to work, and he left me here to take care of the children alone. He would stay gone for thirteen hours, and when he finally did return the children would be clean, fed, and in pajamas. He’d have a hot meal waiting, and a clean house to relax in. Sometimes I had just wondered if he even noticed, you know?

And as I woke each day to repeat the same day over again I would certainly take note of all I did to keep this boat afloat. I’d pick up his dirty laundry, mumble irritated words under my breath, and serve his children in his absence. It was all very exhausting for me, and now that I was bearing him another child it was even harder. Maybe this one would be a boy!

But one day, for no reason in particular, although I imagine it was the whispers of the Lord, I decided to focus less on all my never-ending housework, and I decided instead to pay more attention to what my husband was doing. 

You see, every day he awoke before I did, and each night he went to bed after me. He left for work early, and he came home late. He did this to support us. Yet despite the lengthy hours he spent at the job he always greeted me with a tender kiss when he came in the door. He would hold the children, and listen, really listen as I described our day. 

If our toddler woke prematurely in the night I never knew. I never knew until I found him asleep on the couch with our precious, youngest child sleeping on his chest. He never faltered in his role as a father, and went beyond what many men would do. He ruled them with an iron fist when discipline was required, but always offered a caring, loving, and compassionate embrace afterward. 

He made time to tell me I was beautiful, and to offer a physical touch when I needed it the most. He was never too tired, if you know what I mean. 

The thing is I had always known the sacrifices he made for our family, but things really shifted in our marriage when I decided to focus on that. When I took my attention off what I was doing for our relationship and family, and instead payed more attention to his sacrifice, my load became easier to bear. 

I didn’t just hang up his shirts to keep an uncluttered home; I did it because I loved him. And as I spent more time thinking about his work and efforts rather than worrying about my part, my job became less struggle and more of a service out of love. 

And then I really became surprised. Somewhere along the way I had decided to vocalize what I was seeing, so I spent more time telling him what I noticed in him rather than waiting for him to compliment the freshly vacuumed carpet. 

I told him more often that his efforts and hard work were appreciated, and I saw a shine in his very tired eyes that lifted my own spirit. And somewhere in this shift of focus I realized that he too was seeing me more. He was noticing my efforts more readily, and his comments and compliments on my own work came often. 

I found myself offering to help him more. “What can I do for you today, baby?”

And through his genuine smile he would answer, “Nothing, honey. You already do so much around here.”

When he would leave out the door, aside from the perfunctory goodbye, I would say a heartfelt “thank you.”

And later that night as we would sit quietly together while children slept, he would say unexpectedly, “I really appreciate everything you do around here.”

To which I would answer, and honestly, truly mean, “I am able to do what I do because of what you do for me. That’s why we’re a good team.”

Indeed, we had always been a good team, but I think we became a happier team when we realized the key to a content, healthy partnership is keeping your eyes and mind from solely focusing on your own contribution, and instead paying attention to what the other person sacrifices each day for you.