Nurse Life

At the end of a work day, I am spent. I don’t run on days I work because I fully believe for the 13+ hours I am at work, I am expending all my emotional and physical energy. I am pretty drained by the end of my work day - in a good way. In the post running a marathon kind of way. I was talking to a coworker who said she didn’t know she was an introvert until she started this job - and maybe it had created it in her. It’s possible. If you are giving it your all for that many hours, you kind of want to be like a turtle and crawl in your shell at the end.

On my way home from work earlier this week, I thought about what makes up my day - trying to figure out what it is the makes me feel drained.  I think those people who have family members that are nurses or healthcare workers don’t always understand how we can be kind and caring at work but grumpy by the time we get home. I was talking to a friend the other day whose daughter is thinking of being a nurse. When I told her some of the things that make up my day, she was surprised how much time I spend taking patients to the bathroom. Yep. Glamorous. Guess what? I spend a TON of time taking people to the bathroom. As well as a bunch of other things. I love the diversity. It is not for everyone. But if you are thinking about it, here is my day in kind of a stream of consciousness list...

6:15 am. Coffee. Get a run down of 24+ patients from the outgoing night charge nurse - diagnoses, behaviors, progress, setbacks. Make mental notes of the staff/patients that might need extra help based on what is going on. Check the code carts and say a quick prayer that we won’t use them today. Make coffee for the visitors - but don’t drink it because i am a coffee snob. Fill supplies. Answer alarms and call lights. Assist confused people back to bed. Look at the staffing for tonight and tomorrow and alert necessary people that we are understaffed. Check on my friends in ICU, check their candy jar and take out any chocolate, look for empty beds in case one of our patients spirals downward. Return to the floor and realize two patients are indeed circling the drain and seem to be rushing to see which one can claim the one remaining intensive care bed. Assist the direct care nurses and end up transferring one patient who seems to have some significant bleeding to ICU, more patient bathroom visits, passing meds, another cup of coffee, get told TWICE to go to hell by a patient I am trying to help. More meds, more bathrooms, rounds with the doctors, track discharges and admits, help break coworkers for lunch, eat...repeat the above at least two or three more times. Add into this mix irritated family members, sweet patients, a few more admissions and discharges, probably another “go to hell” and then the sad news that the patient we sent to the ICU has passed away. Pause... let that sink in and feel really, really, sad. I touched this man’s hand just four hours ago and he yelped at how cold my hands are. They are ALWAYS cold. I told him what I say often, “you know, cold hands, warm heart.” For a second they seem to forget that I am touching them with my icicles.  I can’t dwell on my sadness for long because there are more patients to receive meds, coworkers to assist, patients to wheel out- - one of my favorite jobs because it takes me off the floor and outside for some fresh air. Making the assignment for nightshift. A few more meds and bathroom trips and it’s time to wrap up. 

The other night I stayed an extra hour to fill in. When I went to assist a patient in a room it became very clear to me why we change shifts at 12 hours. I started my interaction with her with enough patience. But, after I had gotten the patient everything she asked for and was leaving, she asked for another blanket. I retrieved the blanket. I was about to leave and then she asked for some more water. I retrieved the water. I was about to leave and she told me I hadn’t covered her toes completely. Deep breath. Okay now. Time for me to go. I will make sure your night shift nurse comes and checks on you soon. Yep. Time to go home. Nothing. Left. Empty. 8 pm. Leave hospital. Tell kids it was a crazy day. “Mom, you always say that!” Yep. Don’t tell them about the patient the died. Instead remind them not to do drugs or drink to much when they are older - because I have likely seen the adverse effects of these decisions played out on the hospital floor that day. Put on my pajamas, turn on the Olympics and pretend I can triple flip on a snowboard.

Best profession ever. I wouldn’t change a thing.