Walking into that first patient's room was such a terrifying experience. I had a simple task: give this elderly woman (who was very resistant to this) a bed bath. A bath sounds so simple (and there really isn't much to it), but my inexperienced hands were probably trembling as I filled the basin with warm water. The thought of giving a complete stranger a bath was very intimidating and awkward to me. Do I try to start a conversation with her or do I wait for her to start talking? If she does want to talk to me what do I say to her? What do I have in common with this sick, elderly woman who is very resistant to having me in her room? Does she resent me? I distinctly remember pleading silently, "Please, please, leave the TV on so there will at least be some background noise!" I can only laugh now looking back at all these thoughts running through my head.
Needless to say, she and I both survived the experience! It's quite humorous to me to look back on what I was most concerned about on my first day and compare that to what concerns me now. Now I'm more concerned about things like blowing a vein while trying to start an IV, pushing an IV drug like Lasix too quickly (it can cause permanent hearing loss if administered too quickly), knowing the actions, indications, contraindications, and side effects of every drug I give, catching all the abnormal physical assessment findings on my patients, and dropping a gallbladder on the OR floor, just to name a few. (Yes, that last thought actually ran through my mind! I got to spend a day in the OR and the surgeon handed me a gallbladder straight from the patient after a cholecystectomy. Right before he handed it off, visions of me tripping on my own clumsy feet and a gallbladder flying through the air flashed through my mind.)
I have seen human nature at its best and worst. I have also seen human suffering and joy at the two extremes. Nothing could have prepared me for the emotional turmoil of walking into a room and seeing a man with aggressive, end-stage pancreatic cancer in so much pain that the only way to relieve it was to give him so much Dilaudid (an opioid narcotic) that he was completely out of it. Before we gave him the medication, he reached out to me, moaning, and grasped my hand; his suffering was almost palpable through that touch and it broke my heart to see a person in so much pain, wasted away from illness. My first instinct was to run from the room in tears, but I stayed there, holding his hand, until I felt him relax as the drug started coursing through his veins, taking effect. Although it wasn't much, holding his hand was the only way I knew to share the love of Christ with him and let him know that through his suffering he was not alone. He did not live much longer after that day. That night was the first (and definitely not the last) I spent in tears over nursing school.
However, as surely as there are bad days in nursing, there are good days as well! I cannot think of a more joyful moment than watching new life come into this world and from that seeing a mother's unconditional love as she meets her new son or daughter. I will never forget seeing that first delivery. I will also never forget cradling the head of a premature baby girl born at 24 weeks gestation, being in awe of having intimate knowledge of just how perfect, wonderful, and human unborn babies are. I've always been pro-life and have felt that life begins at conception, but there's nothing like seeing a one-and-a-half pound baby that should still be in the womb to confirm those feelings.
Nursing continues to fascinate me. I can't think of a more unique profession that is so full of opportunities, diversity, and dichotomy. I have yet to encounter another experience that is both rewarding and trying, joyful and heartbreaking, fun and frustrating, rejuvenating and wearying. I have developed a new love for people that I didn't have before, but I have also developed an intolerance toward lifestyle choices that unfortunately do not seem too terrible until it culminates into a disease process or condition like cancer or a heart attack. I have discovered that one of my greatest passions related to nursing is patient education, and I love health promotion and the teaching that goes along with it.
As I was writing this very unorganized and scatterbrained post, one of my favorite Puritan prayers, "The Valley of Vision," kept weaving through my thoughts. These beautiful words are so applicable to my life right now. My favorite line -- "Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision, where I live in the depths but see Thee in the heights..." -- helps get me through those tough and trying days when I feel as though I am hemmed in by mountains of pain, suffering, and death around me. Knowing that there is more after this life for these patients -- an unfathomable lifetime of joy and peace surrounded by the love of our Heavenly Father -- pushes me forward and gives me a sustenance that comes not from my own strength but from the Lord.
It is my hope that this humble prayer blesses you today as it has blessed me.
The Valley of Vision
Lord, high and holy, meek and lowly,
Thou has brought me to the valley of vision,
where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights;
hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold
thy glory.
Let me learn by paradox
that the way down is the way up,
that to be low is to be high,
that the broken heart is the healed heart,
that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,
that the repenting soul is the victorious soul,
that to have nothing is to possess all,
that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,
that to give is to receive,
that the valley is the place of vision.
Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,
and the deeper the wells the brighter
thy stars shine;
Let me find thy light in my darkness,
Thy life in my death,
that every good work or thought found in me
thy joy in my sorrow,
thy grace in my sin,
thy riches in my poverty
thy glory in my valley.
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