Nursing 101 (Part 7)

Sounds just about right.

Tender Mercies Part Five: The Nashville Skyline

There's a part of my drive to work every morning that takes my breath away.

I see it when I hit 10th avenue. I come up over this hill and as I reach the top, the Nashville skyline appears like magic.

And just like that I remember that I'm in Nashville. I'm 1500 miles away from home. I'm making my dreams come true. I get to do what I love for a living. I get to save lives.

Thanks be to God for the amazing life I live. And for the peace and graditude I feel every time I hit 10th avenue. I know I'm where I am supposed to be. 

Nursing 101 (Part 6)

You know you're a nurse when:

It's been two days since I've worked a shift in a hospital, and I can still hear the alarms; heart monitors, oxygen saturation monitors, blood pressure monitors, alaris pumps, ventilators, feeding pumps, my work cell phone, bed alarms, CRRT, SCD pumps, call lights, you name it. 

On My Own

Today I worked my first full shift on my own without a preceptor. It felt good to put everything I had learned into practice. I also had a chance to witness something beautiful, and I want to record it. 

This past week that I've worked, we have withdrawn care on 5 patients that I have cared for. Withdrawing care means "pull the plug" or "comfort measures". Most patients we withdraw on are intubated with a machine called a ventilator to help them breathe and heavily medicated with drugs called vasopressors to keep their heart beating. When we withdraw, we take out all unecessary tubes and machines and turn off IV medications with the exception of pain medications. And then within minutes, hours, or sometimes days our patient dies.

Today I was reminded of the beauty that can be seen in my profession. The older woman I was caring for was admitted for a stroke. It messed with her memory quite a bit. She was blind and hard of hearing. Her granddaughter flew in from Europe to see her. They hadn't seen each other in two years. 

I walked the woman to the waiting room with her walker, and helped her into a comfortable position. The woman's daughter smiled and cried as she explained to the woman that she had special visitors. Then the granddaughter  spoke. "It's me, Grandma."

The woman's face lit up,  and she reached up to cup her grandaughter's face in her hands. She knew her granddaughter. It was like a spark lit inside of her and she had become the woman she was before; sharp, witty, and ever so lovely. I want to remember that feeling. The feeling of coming home. The happy tears that can be shed as a nurse as opposed to the sorrowful ones with tender goodbyes and good intentions. 

It felt good to do good and to be a part of such a heart warming moment. My heart grew today. It grows every day. But today it grew just a little bit more.

Tender Mercies Part Four

There's something beautiful about the power of thunderstorms in Tennessee. The sky lights up like Fantasmic. It flashes brilliant shades of purple across the sunrise like a red carpet paparazzi. The thunder bellows deep and low-- and it seems like one roll of thunder sneakily rolls into the next. And the rain. The windshield wipers of the bus can't keep up with the down pour. 

I've long been terrified of the lights and sounds of severe mthunderstorms. They're so much more intense than simple rain. But today I watched in awe and wonder as God put on a light show like children Christmas light watching in December. It's brilliant and beautiful. 

How lucky I am to know The Maker and for the gift of sight He has given me to marvel at His creations and power. I am so blessed.

Bus Conversations

Today I overheard two old friends greet each other on the morning bus. It went like this:

"Hi Veera, how are you this mornin'?"

"Blessed, friend, very blessed."

I need to think more like Veera. I'm grateful I ride the bus to work with her, and many other people. The smallest of interactions can be powerful reminders. 

And also, bus riding is great for people watching. 

Weight of the World

March 8, 2015

Today I got a taste of the depth and weight of my job.

My role is critical.

Today someone learns their brain tumor is benign or they learn it's malignant, inoperable, and terminal. Today someone's mother loses a child, a daughter loses her dad, someone loses a sister, a best friend, a son-- something so life altering and unthinkable, yet it's a common occurrence here.

They come and plead, " Doctor, fix me, please. Doctor, please tell me what's wrong with me. " And some never leave the hospital again. Some get a second chance at life with minimal complications. Some lose their legs, an arm and a leg, their senses, their minds, and some lose their lives. They're hooked up to machines that breathe for them, pump for them, machines that even act like their own kidney. Some walk in with a headache, and become an organ donor within days. This work has weight.

I am the hands that care for these people. For the one moving to the next life, and for the loved ones left behind. The veil is very thin, and Heaven's Angels reside very close by.

I witness the worst day of someones life every day I walk into work. My job is hard. My job is physically and emotionally taxing. They didn't teach us how to work through this in nursing school. 

What an honor it is to be the Hands and Heart that care for the Lord's children in their hour of need. The load is heavy. But I know the work I do is important. I'm so grateful to be here.