Diary Of a Human Nurse

I love my job. I hate my job. I am as normal as we come, and each day presents its own challenges, blessings, lessons, fate even. Some call me brave for stomaching the sight of blood and other grueling episodes. Some say I am tough because I have watched people breath their last, and held them in my arms, and not cried a tear. Some think I am all smiles and happiness because I deal with births and new innocent life. Well, all of them are right in their own measure. Let me share a little bit about myself.
I am a courageous and at the same time a coward. I struggle with my own insecurities, I struggle with Scientific realities. I love passionately and with even much more energy comes my hatred for situations, and perhaps beings. I am the best Nurse/Midwife I can be, working towards perfection. I may not be your best, but I am my own best. I am also a normal human as opposed to people's expectations of a nurse being an angel. I suffer with my clients, I laugh with my clients. I empathize with them, other time I sympathize.
If you meet me outside the hospital doors and shine your bright(or not so bright) smiles and I give you an unsure smile, I am not a snob. I simply cannot recall all people I have attended to. If I remember you, well and good. If I don't, do not take it personally. My memory is good, just not excellent.

I remember some years back, a patient the age of my father died in my arms. He was healthy one second, the next he was gone. Just like that. It was traumatizing. All I saw was my father lying there lifeless as resuscitation continued. I was a shell. I remember crying helplessly, I remember my seniors telling me to pull it together. Pull what together? All I wanted was my daddy back. I cried my eyes swollen shut. My colleagues had to do my work for me. It took me months to recover, something that has never happened to me. I even had counselling sessions in which I participated. Those who know me know that I barely talk about stressful issues, unless it is lightly with a touch of jokes. In high school, my mother once tried involving a counselor for some issues. It was a waste of time and money. I was simply mute. You see, the fact that I talk much leaves an impression that I'm an open book. Well, ask my family. I am indeed an introvert. So this man's death gnawed slowly at me. I blamed myself, yes I did. Almost every nurse, if not all, has blamed them-self for a death that wasn't their fault or doing. Your mind does that to you. Even if I did no harm, I did blame myself. I had let my father down. So I cried and had nightmares for days, until I came to terms with myself. I accepted I wasn't responsible, as in my brain finally comprehended that. Peace came again. I was no longer afraid of men dying in my arms.

In the Accident and Emergency department where I once worked, I had horrific experiences. Blood does not make me sick, neither does sputum, stool or other body fluids. I am hardcore like that :-D. But bring me a dismantled body and we got us a problem. One time the ER bell rang and as usual, with my tiny quick feet I followed my colleagues to the rescue. I was expecting a Cardiac Arrest or the likes. The paramedics were working on a guy, or what had been left of him. His head had been bashed in, oozing Cerebral Spinal Fluid.  A depressed skull fracture and the other part skull cut open exposing part of his brain. Eish, I froze. Gloves in hand, ready to work. I did do my part. I shuddered as I heard what thugs had done to him. He was practically halfway gone. Of course emergency things and stuff. For the first time in my Nursing life, I vomited. My stomach did flipflops, not the love ones. Any time I heard the ER door bell ring, I would just freeze. Thank God I was transferred. I was struggling to handle it. I do not understand how after a crash accident people take out their cell phones to record the poor fellas' brain, bone and skin. Eish, how hardcore can you get? I once looked out in an attempt to harden my spirit, I swear I did not eat for three days. I salute the A/E nurses.

Back to the ward, we once nursed a senior citizen for three good months. He drastically improved and then the eve of his discharge, he quietly went away. I was dismayed. All that work then this. I didn't cry though. I let him go. Another bed ridden senior citizen who barely spoke suddenly breaks into song and cheer in his room. On your way out of the room, he would give you the sweetest smile ever then continue clapping. I loved that old fella, he was amazing! He also went quietly, happily. These scenarios gave me a phobia of 'sudden recovery' of patients. I remembered watching Grey's Anatomy about 'Surge' (sp) where the character rose from his coma and was extremely cheerful and energetic in the unlikeliest of situations. He died later. So I really loved my very sick patients to recover, but I was afraid they were on their way elsewhere.

You see, I am a mixture of experiences. Some I would not want to re-experience, others I would love to. I am an introvert who talks too much but barely scratches a surface of her feelings. So the next time you're tempted to do unruly stuff or say piercing things, remember I was human before I became a nurse. And if you think nurses are some 'things' that should be disrespected simply because we empty your bed pan, well think again. Yes, I am a nurse. I deserve respect, just like any other human being.
Now where is that needle....