#nursing101

[simplydeserae-blog]

#My Genre

I chose to use a school magazine article for the genre I chose. 

[waleeuniverse]

A cured patient is a lost customer #nursing101 #waleeuniverse

[aibeelicious]

#maslowshierarchy #maslowshierarchyofneeds #nursing101 #maslows (at 1A Villa KFSH-ad Dammam)

[ohnoitsjc]

Closed-displaced fx.🙈 #nursing101 #nurseslife #VA (at Metro Lipa Medical Center)

[insultmom]

Leave it at the door

As I was walking into work the other night, I was feeling sorry for myself, as I’ve been prone to doing at times here lately. Sorry that I’m alone, sorry that I’m chronically ill, sorry that my son won’t ever have a sibling, sorry that I may never know another loving relationship. Just sorry in general. Work hasn’t been easy lately, and I feel as though I’m forced to defend my actions more often than having my actions defended. Most in my profession know that feeling, at one point or another. Am I a good nurse? Absolutely. Am I a good leader? Probably. Do I do what is best for my patients? Without a doubt. However, I’m not a “rule follower”. I never have been. It’s not that I don’t feel the rules apply to me, it’s just that there are certain rules I feel shouldn’t apply to any of us. But that’s a post for another day, another time. I’m simply explaining my frame of mind that night as I limped into work, with my crumbling, swollen joints, and a gigantic case of the “poor me’s”. I sat through report, I stayed silent for most of it, lost in my own thoughts. I walked with everyone else onto the floor to take over my assignment, that night it would be trauma/critical care. Thankful that I had no patients at the time, I checked my phone, and wished again that I wasn’t working. Then the call came that I was getting a patient. He walked back to the room, his small, slight frame looked like a stiff breeze might pick him up and toss him in the air. He was pale, his hands shoved into his pockets, baseball cap pulled down to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. I quickly waved away the students that had congregated outside the room, eager to get their hands on my new patient. I pulled the curtain and told the resident to wait while he changed. I asked him what brought him in tonight, although I already knew… Relapse. It was written all over him, from the pale skin, to the bruises and dark circles under his eyes. He told me he’d been hiding the symptoms from his family for several weeks… But he knew. He asked to keep his jeans on, and just put the gown on. Of course I let him, sometimes you have to hold onto any thread of normalcy you can. I asked if he was ready… Then I let the resident in. And so started his treatment. Treatment that could be 6 months, or years. And it could end in another remission, or not. It could end altogether. I wish I could say that I’ve stopped feeling sorry for myself, but that would be a lie. I wish I could say that it was a wake up call to live each day to the fullest. If everything I wrote ended in some wonderful revelation, I would probably run out of things to write about. And I’d be full of shit… Unfortunately, that’s not how life plays out. It’s been said that doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result, is the definition of insanity. But that seems to be how most of us live our lives. Doing the same things, over and over again. And expecting something to change. Maybe it’s that we feel like our actions aren’t in error, that someone else’s are. Or that if we just do it over and over again, enough times, eventually we’ll achieve perfection. Or maybe, it’s just that repetition is comforting to us. Whatever the reason, I see myself, and most others, doing the same things, over and over, everyday, and hoping that karma, faith, something, will reward us. And what is the reward? If we’re lucky, we live a long life and get the opportunity to have a family and watch our children grow. But, for most of us, that also means the obligations of work, school, bills, and other hoops we have to jump through on a daily basis. We spend our early years learning enough to grow into responsible adults, and go to college in order to get a good job. That job pays for the family, and the kind of life we want to lead. Then it’s an endless cycle of work to live, and live to work. I suppose we’ve all questioned the meaning of life… The reason for getting out of bed in the morning. I’m no different than anyone else. I question what it all matters, and of course, I realize there’s my son. That’s what matters to me, and that’s the singular reason for all of it. And of course I enjoy him, but is it so wrong to want something for myself? To want to be loved for who you are? I have a job that I adore, and a child that couldn’t be any more perfect in every way. So why do I feel like I would be missing out on some part of life if I didn’t eventually have a relationship? I don’t want my son to ever think he takes second place, so I’m at an impasse. Do I live my life alone, or do I eventually put myself back out there again. And then, how can I be sure I’m not doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result. A relationship that doesn’t end in divorce or heartbreak? Is that why we all keep crawling up on the hamster wheel, day after day? What gives our lives the meaning that we mourn so much when we find out that eventually, we must move on from this earth? Because I wonder sometimes… That’s all.

[biggulps]

chillin' before the first day of my spring term/suffering, cause this may be the last time i will be able to.