NursingZen

So far the biggest challenge and greatest anxiety I’ve faced in my first quarter (which is quickly winding down –- 3 more weeks before break) is not the coursework or clinicals; it is going to sleep at a decent hour!

On the days before I’m to be up at 5:30 a.m., my anxiety about falling asleep slowly mounts throughout the day. At night I lie awake for hours thinking about having to fall asleep. I usually sleep only 5 or 6 hours. Next week, the pattern repeats.

But despite the part where I have to get out of bed, I like being up early. When it’s still dark out, I feel like I’m 12 again, waking up in the dead of winter and eating breakfast with my dad before school. I miss him. Now when I walk outside and the streets are just coming alive, I acknowledge the affinity I feel to the stray grey cat, the lone man crouched on the corner, and the workers on the empty bus.

A shift in perspective
Today at the hospital went by really quickly. Instead of wondering when I’d see or get to do something “exciting” (and feeling cheated when my classmates seemed to have more “interesting” patients) it recently dawned on me that everything I’m seeing and doing now is interesting and important. Giving a bed bath or walking with a patient may not make for a great story or for deep reflection, but they’re important because they’re part of what the patient needs for wellness. With this new perspective, everything I did for my patients today was infused with meaning. In particular:

• I spent time talking to an old Japanese woman with astonishingly beautiful skin. She came to the U.S. because she married an American 14 years ago but they since divorced. Before I spoke with her, everyone around me said she was “Japanese-speaking only.” Not true. If they had spent a few extra minutes with her they would’ve found her understanding and speaking English pretty well, only slowly. She just needed time (but time doesn’t seem to exist in hospitals). I chuckled when she asked me, “Why am I here again? I feel fine.”
• I fed breakfast to a 40-year-old black man dying of cancer. Literally dying. He couldn’t move and could barely eat, but he wanted to eat. He had nibbles of hash browns, eggs, bacon and oatmeal. It was a privilege to feed him one of his last meals.

Friday Update: I went into the hospital today thinking that I could see the man again. I was told he passed away last night with his family and friends surrounding him. I can’t stop thinking about the short time I spent with him and how I literally helped with one of his last meals. It rocks me a bit, but I’m glad I was there.