Dear Nurses,
You are not a superhero. You are not immune to the hardships of this profession. While it is a calling and a privilege to care for those who are ill and dying, it isn't easy. Oftentimes you deal with horrifically tragic cases. Sometimes young lives are destroyed in a senseless crime. Sometimes health is taken in an instant because of a split second decision that resulted in an accident. Sometimes patient's are frustratingly complex because of multiple comorbidities. Sometimes a patient who is quite ill is desperately afraid of dying, even when you know it's pending.
But you don't have to be the superhero. You do the job the best you can. You lovingly and sacrificially care for your patients. You carry the weight of their hardship on your shoulders with a full bladder and an empty stomach. You listen to the wailing of family members when you have to bear bad news. You hug them and console them while wondering if there was anymore you could have done.
We deal with unique experiences depending on our speciality, but we all know each facet of nursing is difficult in its own way. And yet, we often aren't kind to one another. There's a culture of "that's the job; suck it up." But we've all been there. We've all been cussed at and yelled at by people we are earnestly trying to help. We've had the confused patient spit on us or attempt to hit us. We've had the ventilator tubing pop off and sputum fly in our face. We've been peed on, pooped on, bled on. Not too long ago I cleaned stool off a patient and when I was done she looked me in the eye and called me a "f----ing bitch." And I see my fellow nurses smirking, thinking, "Yep, I've been there."
As someone who has "been there," let me say this right now: It's okay to say you're exhausted, emotionally and physically. It's okay to say you feel gross after cleaning up someone else's body fluids. It's okay to say you're worried about what germs you may bring home to your family. You cannot be anyone's superhero. You are human. Sometimes the job just plain sucks. It does not mean it's not your calling, or you aren't cut out for the work. It means that you are human. You have enough weight on your shoulders; you don't need to also bear the burden of a cape. Leave the cape for those with superpowers, and humbly put on your scrubs to go and do a hard job well.
Love,
A fellow nurse
Monday, July 20, 2015
Sunday, March 29, 2015
wild child
Sometimes I have to hang out of moving vehicles at midnight to hear the dirt and rock kicked up by wheels, to feel wind tangle hair, to see stars and moon dancing overhead. Sometimes I have to drive fast and roll down windows and scream at the top of my lungs. Sometimes I have to listen to loud music and sometimes I need nothing but the sound of my breath escaping my lungs accompanied with the distant chirp of crickets. My nights look like running with horses, hopping fences, and "what's past that tree line?" It's sitting on a bridge with a creek raging under my bare feet. It's falling into unseen holes in the dirt, and laughing until it hurts. It's danger and drama, not the kind that harms or tears down, but the kind that stirs life and challenges routine.
Mama, I'm sorry I climbed without stopping, and leaped without looking. Daddy, thank you for scrubbing gravel out of my road rash and for teaching me how to fight. Raising me was endless bruises, scrapes, and knotted hair. It was wild stories, imaginary friends, and vivid dreams. It was calming me when the storm raged inside, and knowing when to let me roam free. And to my love, my best friend, my partner in this dangerous life, thank you for loving me without cages, without boxes, and without clipped wings. Your love is twinkly eyes that watch as I dance, and a gentle reeling in when I've gone too far. It is laughter that penetrates walls and ignites fires in deep, dark places. It is a lightness, and yet a depth. Thank you for loving this wild child well.
Mama, I'm sorry I climbed without stopping, and leaped without looking. Daddy, thank you for scrubbing gravel out of my road rash and for teaching me how to fight. Raising me was endless bruises, scrapes, and knotted hair. It was wild stories, imaginary friends, and vivid dreams. It was calming me when the storm raged inside, and knowing when to let me roam free. And to my love, my best friend, my partner in this dangerous life, thank you for loving me without cages, without boxes, and without clipped wings. Your love is twinkly eyes that watch as I dance, and a gentle reeling in when I've gone too far. It is laughter that penetrates walls and ignites fires in deep, dark places. It is a lightness, and yet a depth. Thank you for loving this wild child well.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
for the good of the patient
Nursing is a profession rife with difficult decisions. Should I give this med? Should I call the doctor? It is both a science and an art. It requires analytical, mathematical logic as well as creativity, communication, and compassion. It takes individual initiative along with a large dose of teamwork. To do nursing well is to walk a tight rope. It's a juggling act with the most precious objects: people's lives.
One such difficult scenario is when the nurse becomes a patient. I recently became ill with influenza and I felt this visceral war in my conscience: Do I call in sick and leave my coworkers in a bind? Do I suck it up and fulfill my obligation to work? What if I expose others- including my patients? It got to a point where it would have been impossible for me to work; I could barely lift my head off my pillow. But during those times when symptoms were just starting, or I was beginning to feel better but symptoms still lingered, that the decision to go into work or not became difficult.
I have a duty to my coworkers and my employer. I owe it to them, and to my own integrity, to be a hardworking, reliable employee. Because of this duty, I hate calling in. I want to do my part. I know what it's like to work short-staffed. But what about my two other duties- to myself and, more importantly, to my patients? I can't be very effective as a nurse if I don't take care of myself first. And an even bigger concern, especially in cases like influenza, could I potentially do harm by caring for patients?
While I have a duty to my employer, coworkers, and self, my biggest duty is to my patients. The Board of Nursing, which grants licenses to practice nursing and is designed to protect the public, charges nurses with the responsibility of doing what's right for the patient in all situations. Sometimes what's right for the patient isn't always what's best for me, my coworkers, or my employer. However, I took an oath to "devote myself to the welfare of those committed to my care," and while the flu may be something minor to a young, otherwise healthy person, it could be a death sentence for an elderly, immunocompromised patient. So when faced with a difficult decision in nursing, it must always come back to one question: what is best for the patient? I would rather lose the affection of my peers or lose my job than lose my nursing license, or worse, lose a patient.
One such difficult scenario is when the nurse becomes a patient. I recently became ill with influenza and I felt this visceral war in my conscience: Do I call in sick and leave my coworkers in a bind? Do I suck it up and fulfill my obligation to work? What if I expose others- including my patients? It got to a point where it would have been impossible for me to work; I could barely lift my head off my pillow. But during those times when symptoms were just starting, or I was beginning to feel better but symptoms still lingered, that the decision to go into work or not became difficult.
I have a duty to my coworkers and my employer. I owe it to them, and to my own integrity, to be a hardworking, reliable employee. Because of this duty, I hate calling in. I want to do my part. I know what it's like to work short-staffed. But what about my two other duties- to myself and, more importantly, to my patients? I can't be very effective as a nurse if I don't take care of myself first. And an even bigger concern, especially in cases like influenza, could I potentially do harm by caring for patients?
While I have a duty to my employer, coworkers, and self, my biggest duty is to my patients. The Board of Nursing, which grants licenses to practice nursing and is designed to protect the public, charges nurses with the responsibility of doing what's right for the patient in all situations. Sometimes what's right for the patient isn't always what's best for me, my coworkers, or my employer. However, I took an oath to "devote myself to the welfare of those committed to my care," and while the flu may be something minor to a young, otherwise healthy person, it could be a death sentence for an elderly, immunocompromised patient. So when faced with a difficult decision in nursing, it must always come back to one question: what is best for the patient? I would rather lose the affection of my peers or lose my job than lose my nursing license, or worse, lose a patient.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
an honor and privilege
It wasn't long before I noticed them sitting there. Little white envelopes near the time clock. "The Such and Such Family" written on each one. When I had first started my internship, I didn't understand what they were, until I recognized a last name. "Did So and So pass?" I asked. Of course, I would learn that I wouldn't have to ask that question the next time I recognized a name on a card.
Slowly, the more I started working there, each and every name was familiar, as were their stories. I work in a Long Term Acute Care facility which means we often have very sick patients whose stays can be quite long. We come to know our patients and their families well. Many get better and it's exciting to watch them grow stronger each day. It's a triumph when they come off the ventilator. It's heartwarming to hear their voices for the first time. It's a proud moment to watch them get out of bed and take their first steps. But not all of them get better. Sometimes it's a painfully slow process as they deteriorate and the family struggles to make a decision regarding continuing their care. Sometimes it's peaceful and quick, with lots of loving family at the bedside. And each one that passes gets a sympathy card sent to the family.
At first, I didn't know what to write on the card. "I'm sorry for your loss" seemed insufficient, though it was genuine. Then we lost a patient whom I had grown quite fond of, I wanted to say something more personal. As a nurse, how did I feel about caring for this patient? Then it came to me; it was an honor and privilege. And so that's what I began to write on each card; "It was an honor and a privilege to care for your loved one. Peace be with you during this time. -Carsen, RN" In essence, it is a cliche because it's what I always write. But it's the most genuine thing I can think of.
Medical professionals have some of the most crass humor of anyone I know. Curse like a sailor? Try curse like a nurse. When we are uncensored and in the company of other medical professionals, we make morbid jokes and effortlessly "cross the line." It's a hard exterior to protect our ooey, gooey, mushy insides. Death is a normal part of life. When we watch people suffer, we also know that it is often a welcome reprieve. We come from a perspective that death isn't always the worst thing that could happen. However, losing a patient is still hard. It isn't uncommon to see a nurse cry after a code, even a seasoned nurse who has heard "time of death" a hundred times.
This job isn't an easy one. The hours are long, the pressure is big, and people are often rude. However, nurses often come into people's lives at their absolute worst. Especially in the setting where I work, we are not seeing people at their best. Being hospitalized is a very vulnerable state. We see and clean parts of the body that only a small handful of people have ever seen. We administer medications that could potentially harm or kill, and patients put their trust in us to do it correctly. Family members look to us for answers or comfort during an exhausting and confusing time. And the truth is, to be that trusted person is a huge responsibility, but it's also an honor. Nurses are often the last face someone sees when they pass. The last kind word or warm touch. The last hand to hold. So from nurses everywhere, it is an honor and privilege to care for your loved one, in sickness and in healing, in life and in death.
Slowly, the more I started working there, each and every name was familiar, as were their stories. I work in a Long Term Acute Care facility which means we often have very sick patients whose stays can be quite long. We come to know our patients and their families well. Many get better and it's exciting to watch them grow stronger each day. It's a triumph when they come off the ventilator. It's heartwarming to hear their voices for the first time. It's a proud moment to watch them get out of bed and take their first steps. But not all of them get better. Sometimes it's a painfully slow process as they deteriorate and the family struggles to make a decision regarding continuing their care. Sometimes it's peaceful and quick, with lots of loving family at the bedside. And each one that passes gets a sympathy card sent to the family.
At first, I didn't know what to write on the card. "I'm sorry for your loss" seemed insufficient, though it was genuine. Then we lost a patient whom I had grown quite fond of, I wanted to say something more personal. As a nurse, how did I feel about caring for this patient? Then it came to me; it was an honor and privilege. And so that's what I began to write on each card; "It was an honor and a privilege to care for your loved one. Peace be with you during this time. -Carsen, RN" In essence, it is a cliche because it's what I always write. But it's the most genuine thing I can think of.
Medical professionals have some of the most crass humor of anyone I know. Curse like a sailor? Try curse like a nurse. When we are uncensored and in the company of other medical professionals, we make morbid jokes and effortlessly "cross the line." It's a hard exterior to protect our ooey, gooey, mushy insides. Death is a normal part of life. When we watch people suffer, we also know that it is often a welcome reprieve. We come from a perspective that death isn't always the worst thing that could happen. However, losing a patient is still hard. It isn't uncommon to see a nurse cry after a code, even a seasoned nurse who has heard "time of death" a hundred times.
This job isn't an easy one. The hours are long, the pressure is big, and people are often rude. However, nurses often come into people's lives at their absolute worst. Especially in the setting where I work, we are not seeing people at their best. Being hospitalized is a very vulnerable state. We see and clean parts of the body that only a small handful of people have ever seen. We administer medications that could potentially harm or kill, and patients put their trust in us to do it correctly. Family members look to us for answers or comfort during an exhausting and confusing time. And the truth is, to be that trusted person is a huge responsibility, but it's also an honor. Nurses are often the last face someone sees when they pass. The last kind word or warm touch. The last hand to hold. So from nurses everywhere, it is an honor and privilege to care for your loved one, in sickness and in healing, in life and in death.
Friday, September 12, 2014
wild
I used to write. In dusty notebooks that sit upon lonely shelves. In Word documents left unopened. I used to write in my bed in the early mornings on my laptop. Stories, thoughts, lyrics, and poems would flow out of me. Words would come unexpectedly and intensely, like a sneeze you can't hold in. They would come in half empty diners at two a.m. as I frantically scrawled onto a napkin, for fear they would be gone in an instant, just a shooting star of my mind. I would write lyrics for cigarette-smoking, guitar-playing boys who thought they'd make it big someday. I would write fiction with strong characters and poor plot development. I would write poems, meant to be performed, yet too vulnerable to be read.
My mind is constantly going, ramblings of ideas and inspirations. It feels like the busy mind of a genius, yet the thoughts are unoriginal and unimpressive. So they are just that: ramblings. Ramblings of a girl who has the soul of a wild mustang; who, at present, feels more broken in than wild. But perhaps these fences are self-imposed, resulting from a need to slow down and feel secure within the walls. However, there is this swirl of energy that burns deep and starts to rise in me that causes me to bend my head low and rare at the metal bars that encage me. I want to run. Fast, free, and wild. But like most wild things, my thoughts and words are unfocused, untamed, directionless.
I had a professor tell me once that the best way to be a writer is to write. He proposed that good writing didn't have to start with strong inspiration and a knowledge of the direction that it would take. He taught me that the toughest part was simply to begin. (And maybe that's the truth about anything.) You don't need a purpose for your writing, he suggests, but just take off, run, go, write. The wild mustangs may be directionless, but at least they run. Maybe I'll break out of the cage and run free with my thoughts again.
And maybe I'll leave the gate open for the other mustangs to run with me.
My mind is constantly going, ramblings of ideas and inspirations. It feels like the busy mind of a genius, yet the thoughts are unoriginal and unimpressive. So they are just that: ramblings. Ramblings of a girl who has the soul of a wild mustang; who, at present, feels more broken in than wild. But perhaps these fences are self-imposed, resulting from a need to slow down and feel secure within the walls. However, there is this swirl of energy that burns deep and starts to rise in me that causes me to bend my head low and rare at the metal bars that encage me. I want to run. Fast, free, and wild. But like most wild things, my thoughts and words are unfocused, untamed, directionless.
I had a professor tell me once that the best way to be a writer is to write. He proposed that good writing didn't have to start with strong inspiration and a knowledge of the direction that it would take. He taught me that the toughest part was simply to begin. (And maybe that's the truth about anything.) You don't need a purpose for your writing, he suggests, but just take off, run, go, write. The wild mustangs may be directionless, but at least they run. Maybe I'll break out of the cage and run free with my thoughts again.
And maybe I'll leave the gate open for the other mustangs to run with me.
Friday, June 13, 2014
6 Steps to More Radiant Skin
There are so many beauty tips out on the Internet and in women's magazines, that I'm not sure I have much more to offer. There are countless products- pills, soaps, creams, scrubs, and serums. However, I believe that beauty starts from the inside. And no, I don't mean being a kind and beautiful soul, though that certainly helps one's appeal. I mean that you are going to look and feel better when you are healthier. When you start taking care of your body on the inside, you don't need as much stuff to put on the outside. I learned this in a very real way.
1. Sleep
I know this seems like a no-brainer, but it is truly amazing how much better one looks and feels with adequate sleep. New parents, shift workers, nursing students, and insomniacs are all shaking their heads at me. I know, I know, you would get more sleep if you could. If you can't change your schedule to accommodate more sleep, strive for better sleep. One way you can do this is to establish a routine before bed. When you do the same thing before bed every night, it cues your body that it's time for sleep which can make better use of your down time. Avoid screen time in bed; this means no TV, laptops, or cell phones in bed. The light and images stimulate the brain and can make it more difficult to finally fall asleep. Invest in blackout curtains, a good mattress and pillows, and a white noise machine. Sleep is the rejuvenating part of our lives. Your cells need it to repair and rebuild. Don't skimp on the sleep.
2. Drink More Water
Most humans need 2-3 liters of water everyday, and many don't even get half of that amount. There are certainly exceptions: some conditions require water restrictions; while others, such as athletes or breastfeeding mothers, may need more. However, if you are a healthy adult with no preexisting conditions, I encourage you to increase your water consumption if you are not getting at least 2 liters. (There is such a thing as "water intoxication" so don't go crazy and always check with your doctor first.) Buy yourself a bottle or jug with markings so you can keep track throughout the day. I have a 1 liter bottle and I know that I need to drink 3 of those throughout the day for optimal health. Dehydration can cause headache, constipation, lethargy, dizziness, irritability, and confusion. Without adequate hydration the skin becomes dry, dull, and less supple and elastic.
3. Be Mindful of Nutrition
It is difficult to get the recommended 5-7 servings of fruits and vegetables a day, especially when you have a busy life. When I'm eating poorly, my whole body shows it, but especially my skin. A multivitamin is an easy way to make sure you are getting adequate micronutrients, however the most bioavailable vitamins and minerals come from food sources. If adding produce is difficult for you, start small. I do this by making green smoothies. The thought of drinking spinach make may you gag, so only add a tiny bit in your blender with some frozen fruits like strawberries and pineapple. You will eventually get used to it, and then you will crave those nutrients. It takes some time for the body to respond, but soon you will notice how much better you feel and how much your body actually wants all those nutrients.
4. Stop Wearing Makeup
It is difficult to get the recommended 5-7 servings of fruits and vegetables a day, especially when you have a busy life. When I'm eating poorly, my whole body shows it, but especially my skin. A multivitamin is an easy way to make sure you are getting adequate micronutrients, however the most bioavailable vitamins and minerals come from food sources. If adding produce is difficult for you, start small. I do this by making green smoothies. The thought of drinking spinach make may you gag, so only add a tiny bit in your blender with some frozen fruits like strawberries and pineapple. You will eventually get used to it, and then you will crave those nutrients. It takes some time for the body to respond, but soon you will notice how much better you feel and how much your body actually wants all those nutrients.
4. Stop Wearing Makeup
I know some of you just cringed. I know that when we are not feeling good about our skin, the last thing we want to do is to stop wearing our foundation. But hear me out: I don't care how expensive or "natural" your makeup line is, it's probably making your skin worse. Our skin isn't meant to be covered with all those chemicals. It needs to breathe. It will be difficult at first. Trust me, I know. But once you make the conscious decision to stop piling on the brightener, concealer, and powder, you will start to see the improvements. It will be freeing. Our skin is a giant organ, and it absorbs much of what we put on it. I certainly still wear it for special occasions, but it's not a part of my everyday face.
5. Stop Washing Your Face
Am I losing you? I know this seems ludicrous, but if you do number four, this one isn't so crazy. Here's my face-washing regimen: rinse face with warm water in shower. That's it. I use makeup remover or coconut oil to take off my eye makeup or lipstick, but since I don't wear concealer, I don't really need to scrub my face. What I found was that when I washed my face with soap, it caused my skin to be tight and dry regardless of the type of soap I used. My skin then responded to this drying effect by producing more oil, which caused me to breakout, wear makeup, and feel the need to wash more. It's a vicious cycle. Your skin will probably respond negatively to this at first, but just let it do its thing and stick with it. It may take a couple of weeks, but I believe lessening the harsh chemicals on the face via soap and makeup (as well as flushing out toxins and improving hydration via upping our water intake) will eventually improve the health of your skin.
5. Frankincense
The only product I put on my face is frankincense essential oil. It's expensive, but I only need one drop. Frankincense is an antiseptic and an anti inflammatory. It's an amazing plant and there is some new research coming out that shows that it may have an antitumoral effect. It is also believed to be a cytophylactic meaning that it promotes the regeneration of cells, decreasing the appearance of scars and wrinkles. There are many other systemic health benefits of frankincense essential oil, so I feel comfortable knowing that it is being absorbed through my skin. Its benefits have been hailed by different cultures throughout the years; it was, after all, a gift the Wise Men brought to Jesus.
I do these things for vanity's sake because I want radiant, youthful skin for many years to come. However, I can assure you that many aspects of my health improved when I simply began sleeping better, drinking more water, and adding some much needed nutrients to my diet. Maybe that's a good place to start. I wish you health, happiness, and positively beautiful skin!
I do these things for vanity's sake because I want radiant, youthful skin for many years to come. However, I can assure you that many aspects of my health improved when I simply began sleeping better, drinking more water, and adding some much needed nutrients to my diet. Maybe that's a good place to start. I wish you health, happiness, and positively beautiful skin!
Monday, March 17, 2014
family
Sometimes she brought home baked cookies. More often, it was her much-requested fresh salsa. "Change your clothes; we're going to Daddy's work," she'd say as she fixed her own hair and makeup. Going to Daddy's work was a special treat, filled with excitement. It meant seeing my hero strong and handsome in his uniform, sitting on his lap "driving" in the parking lot with lights and sirens on. It meant a group of hungry officers happily greeting my mom and me, and the salsa. It meant taking a nap in the dark dispatch room. Growing up with "the boys in blue" meant Christmas parties where the Chief dressed as Santa. It meant boys were afraid to date me. It was being embarrassed to be seen with my dad when he worked undercover and grew out his hair and beard. It meant being a part of a family, one that mourned when another fell, seeing that dreaded stripe across the badge. It meant growing up knowing people hated your Daddy, that someone he had arrested stalked your Mama when she was pregnant with you. It meant being in high school and hearing about the "pigs," and knowing these "pigs," who just wanted to go home to read bedtime stories and tirelessly run up and down the street until it was safe to be on two wheels. It was a bright light in my face in a dark parking lot and an immediate, "Miss Gray, what would your dad think? I'm going to call him." It was kisses on my cheeks on my wedding day from men and women who watched me grow up, men and women who would take a bullet for my Daddy. Being a police officer's daughter meant questions- "Has he ever killed anyone?" "Aren't you afraid he's going to get shot?"
Fast forward a few decades, and it's the same questions, only this time about my soldier husband. And again, the same feeling of family. When I became a wife, I followed the example my mom set. Growing up, I learned to love rough men who loved gently, dancing on the toes of dangerous men. When we were engaged, I had dreams that our home would be a soft place to land for single soldiers. It's hard to deny dinner to someone who would take a bullet, grenade, or IED for your spouse. Being a military wife means a ragtag group of people for Thanksgiving; it means a text saying "I invited one more. I hope that's okay." It means metal bracelets carved in memoriam of fallen soldiers. It's 550 cord and duffel bags and smelly green socks. It's drunken stories that start with, "The day we got blown up for the third time..." It's peeled beer bottles and cigarettes on anniversaries of deaths. It's grown men exclaiming, "Furniture!" because they are so happy to be out of the barracks and into a home with couches and tables and chairs. It's buckets and water and blankets when they've drank too much, and kissing them on the foreheads before bed. It's care packages and choppy phone calls. It's the look in their eyes when you call them by their first name just days after coming back from deployment. It's the startled look when they tell you no one has called them that since they last saw their mom over a year ago. It's having a group of protective brothers that come and go, who are stretched from California to Georgia to South Korea. It means family- not because of shared genes or the same last name, but because of a uniform worn.
Fast forward a few decades, and it's the same questions, only this time about my soldier husband. And again, the same feeling of family. When I became a wife, I followed the example my mom set. Growing up, I learned to love rough men who loved gently, dancing on the toes of dangerous men. When we were engaged, I had dreams that our home would be a soft place to land for single soldiers. It's hard to deny dinner to someone who would take a bullet, grenade, or IED for your spouse. Being a military wife means a ragtag group of people for Thanksgiving; it means a text saying "I invited one more. I hope that's okay." It means metal bracelets carved in memoriam of fallen soldiers. It's 550 cord and duffel bags and smelly green socks. It's drunken stories that start with, "The day we got blown up for the third time..." It's peeled beer bottles and cigarettes on anniversaries of deaths. It's grown men exclaiming, "Furniture!" because they are so happy to be out of the barracks and into a home with couches and tables and chairs. It's buckets and water and blankets when they've drank too much, and kissing them on the foreheads before bed. It's care packages and choppy phone calls. It's the look in their eyes when you call them by their first name just days after coming back from deployment. It's the startled look when they tell you no one has called them that since they last saw their mom over a year ago. It's having a group of protective brothers that come and go, who are stretched from California to Georgia to South Korea. It means family- not because of shared genes or the same last name, but because of a uniform worn.
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