I became a nurse by accident. I had originally planned on majoring in English Lit and teaching to support my writing career, but I got sick at age 16 and wasn’t healthy enough to leave for college at age 18. So I went to a local community college and after reading a book about World War II Army nurses (A Half Acre of Hell) I started the nursing program. Bumps along the way, including a year off and doing missions in Venezeula, and I graduated as a Registered Nurse. It was one of the proudest moments of my life.
I had preceptored in the operating room doing nursing school, and took a job in the OR’s at a huge hospital. My first job was inadvertant and was a supervisory position, I was 21 years old and it was trial by fire. I worked evenings in general/trauma, at a Level One trauma center. When I took the job, I don’t think I had completely comprehended the idea of what I would see. But those things that I saw, they are the images that are burned on my mind forever. Faces of patients, some who lived and some who died, make up the recurring dreams that still haunt my nights.
I remember the name and face of the first patient I had that died. He was two years younger than I was. I remember the crushing look on his mother’s face when I went out with the team to tell her that we had done everything we could. And looking down and realizing I still had her son’s blood on my scrubs. The memory of her screams still gives me chills.
I remember getting into my car after a horrible shift, and just screaming. I remember thinking I am 21 years old, I am not supposed to be doing this! I was supposed to be at the mall and hanging out with friends, not trying to stop the oozing of blood out of flying windshield glass wounds before the body is seen by family. Who does this job, and survives? I remember a movie where a nurse said something along the lines of, as a nurse you can only be ringside to so much human suffering for so long. I have a huge level of respect for my counterparts who have been in trauma for 20+ years and can still be empathetic to their patients. Trauma changes you. I remember how much I changed in my first year as a nurse.
I had been a surgical patient before, and the one thing I remembered was the feeling of being dizzy, strapped down, no eye contact with anyone, and being so scared. I had a great team to work with, and they knew that anything they needed me for had to be done before the patient got into the room, because once the patient was in the room that’s where my focus was. I made sure the room was quiet, because the rush of medications in the IV’s often heightens the sense of hearing. I always made sure that I kept eye contact with the patient as they fell asleep, holding and squeezing a hand to reassure them because that’s what I wish I’d had. And that connection with my patient is what I really think is what kept me from going crazy.
But I certainly did not leave the OR with my psyche unscathed. I have neuroses from my time in the OR that drive Marmot absolutely nuts. Such as the fact that I am a true germa-phobe. I organize my dirty dishes from clean, clean-contaminated, contaminated, and dirty, and then wash them in that order, rinsing in scalding hot water. I actually cannot watch Marmot do dishes.
I don’t drive unless I absolutely have to, and I fend off anxiety attacks when I do. The responsibility of the safety of my passengers is unnerving to me. The screams of someone who realizes they are the only survivor of a car accident in which they were the driver is haunting.
I will never ever say goodbye to Marmot in anger, or without telling him how much I love him. And I shave my legs everyday, summer or winter, rain or shine. Because you really never know who will actually see them! The stories I could tell….
Since my trauma days, I’ve worked in every specialty we had. I’ve worked days, evenings, nights, weekends. I’ve been a staff nurse, a charge nurse, and the OR suite supervisor. I left the OR in 2008 and went to work in finance. I love finance, which is surprising because I don’t think I’ve ever balanced my checkbook. I’ve discovered a niche of nursing that I am so challenged and fulfilled by. Not everyone can say they get so much fulfillment out of their job.
But being in finance makes me question being a nurse. My impact on patients is not always positive, because I work on the other side of the fence, I work for the institution. That’s a mind game.
Despite how much I love finance, I miss the OR. I miss the adrenaline. I miss scrubbing the blood off my shoes in the big metal sinks. I miss knowing that I made an impact on my patients. I miss being a mysterious nurse disappearing behind the Restricted Access doors. I miss the pagers that I swore were wired to go off anytime my butt neared a chair. I miss the relationships that I built with my co-workers, because it is truly a bond that only seeing so much life and death can build. I sometimes wonder why trauma affected me so much. It still makes me wonder if I had what it took. Or if I left because I couldn’t handle it, not because I wanted to try something different.
Me, in the OR…circa 2004
I don’t think I’ll ever go back to the OR, although it saddens me to say that. But I’m grateful for what I’ve learned, and the lives that I was able to touch. I’m grateful, and proud, to be a nurse.
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