I never really knew what a nurse (in the 21st century) did until I went to nursing school, despite wanting to become a nurse years before. And until I actually got a job and starting working on the floor, I did not know truly know what it was like to BE a nurse. Yes, nursing is one of the most trusted professions...a profession where they make little pins and mugs and things that say "Nurses are Angels." I knew I was entering a career that many before me have found to be rewarding and satisfying, and of course, the salary and benefits weren't too shabby either. Aside from several school lectures about "burnout" and "compassion fatigue," I entered the world of nursing somewhat oblivious to the complexities of providing holistic care.
So what is all of this prologue leading up to? I have been on my own for about a month now, and several nights ago I admitted my first patient coming in with a suspected cancer diagnosis. When the charge nurse informed me of the patient I would be receiving in the middle of the night, my initial focus was on what type of care plan to prepare and which room they would be going into. Yet when the patient and family arrived, it hit me that this was a pivotal moment in their life. As I looked into mother's eyes, I saw the immense fear and the intense anxiety that accompanies the unknown. I saw her trying so hard to be brave for her child, who had not been told anything. I made it through my initial assessment, charting, and explaining general hospital things, and left them to settle in. It wasn't long before my co-worker came by to inform me the mother was standing in the hall on the phone crying. My heart sank.
My head told me....Alyssa, she is on the phone, let her be, you don't want to interrupt or eavesdrop or try to pretend like you have known this woman longer than an hour. Plus what if she asks you a lot of questions? What do you know about any of this? What is she finds out how new and inexperienced you are?
My heart disagreed. She needs to know she isn't in this alone. She doesn't need a lot of words, she just needs someone present. Go be the kind of nurse you have longed to be.
So I went over. I pulled up a chair. I took her hand in mine. I don't remember who spoke first or really anything that I said. I just know I held her hand and I was there. As much as I wanted to break down and burst into tears, the drive to be fully present for her held back the floodgates. And so the night progressed, and I was their nurse for the following two nights as well, walking alongside them as they went through the diagnostic procedures and eventually the confirmed case of cancer. On one hand, I know this is only the beginning...that I will experience similar scenarios with other kids and their families. But it will not ever become normal or routine. The day it does...I will need to stop. For that family, it was the worst day of their entire lives. Everything changes....and there is hardly a moment to take it all in, as treatment starts almost immediately.
The juggling of the head and the heart, the balancing act of dividing your time between 4 patients while trying to be 100% present for each one, the long hours, the unpredictable schedule, the learning curve coming from school, the constant feelings of inadequacy and many fears....it is not easy and after some shifts, I never want to return. But the thing thus far that keeps me pressing on is that brief moment when the mother introduces you to her relatives as "our great night nurse" and gives you a big hug. Somehow those 10 seconds make up for the exhaustion, tears, and doubts. I don't know how long I will work on this unit or even at a U.S. hospital...but I do know that wherever the road takes me, I want to be present and share the unspoken.
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