I am a nurse. It's a career dedicated to helping others with little in return. It's a hard pill to swallow sometimes, but part of the job. You get patients who are sick and anxious, and very often feel as if they have no control over what's happening to them - a great recipe for being needy and frustrated - yet, understandably so given what they are going through.
Most nights, I go to work knowing that I will be there for twelve hours wherein I will give my all, but that in the end, I can't really "fix" anyone in twelve short hours, that's not why we're there. So I do what I can and keep them safe through the night, educate them on their health, provide emotional support and good patient care (and did I mention chart excessively?!?).
But I had a patient the other night that was one of those patients whose story will stay with me. Not because it was so traumatic, or we had to call a code on him - none of that hospital drama. It was a pretty unremarkable case, actually. Just an elderly man in his 80's suffering from chronic lung disease. His wife had died just over a year ago and he was living alone in a second floor apartment with no elevator. He literally couldn't put on his socks without becoming short of breath, let alone climb two flights of stairs with an oxygen tank on his back. He was faced with the reality of his worsening condition and the need to make some necessary life adjustments.
The first night I had him he was scared and angry. He couldn't understand why we couldn't fix him, but there's no reversing a 50 year history of smoking in one hospital stay. The second night we had a talk... about a life well-lived, his beautiful wife, not losing hope, regrets, gratitude, being brave, being scared, letting go, moving on, uncertainty, acceptance, living one day at a time, strength, new beginnings, the end of life, (and a little of chronic lung disease and activity limitations sprinkled in there as well).
As we talked, I was struck by how much I could relate to this man's story - with whom I had very little in common. But we were connected by the same thread that is woven into every life's story - Change. We were both standing at the precipice of a new season of life, poised to take a step forward without being able to see clearly what lies ahead, trusting in the wisdom and council of those who have traveled this road before us that it's going to be okay - somehow, someway, it's going to be okay. And as he reflected on his life, I found myself doing the same. Even though he is in his ninth generation of life and I in my fourth (our reflections I'm sure, were very different), I sensed that we were both gathering up bits and pieces of the past to reinforce what we already know about ourselves - that we are tough, we are strong, and that we have made it through all the lessons life has taught us thus far, and we can do it again.
We helped each other that night, knowingly and unknowingly. I helped him, that's my job - and he, in turn, inspired me. I saw the humility with which he acknowledged his own fragility and weakness, and somehow that made him all the more courageous. I saw his resilience that allowed him to accept life instead of fighting life. I saw the grace in his acceptance of life, and his ability to honor his feelings of indignation and anger without blame or bitterness. I found him truly remarkable. And I felt honored to have helped him those nights and blessed to have received so much from an old soul and a life well-lived. It's no wonder I love my job.
Most nights, I go to work knowing that I will be there for twelve hours wherein I will give my all, but that in the end, I can't really "fix" anyone in twelve short hours, that's not why we're there. So I do what I can and keep them safe through the night, educate them on their health, provide emotional support and good patient care (and did I mention chart excessively?!?).
But I had a patient the other night that was one of those patients whose story will stay with me. Not because it was so traumatic, or we had to call a code on him - none of that hospital drama. It was a pretty unremarkable case, actually. Just an elderly man in his 80's suffering from chronic lung disease. His wife had died just over a year ago and he was living alone in a second floor apartment with no elevator. He literally couldn't put on his socks without becoming short of breath, let alone climb two flights of stairs with an oxygen tank on his back. He was faced with the reality of his worsening condition and the need to make some necessary life adjustments.
The first night I had him he was scared and angry. He couldn't understand why we couldn't fix him, but there's no reversing a 50 year history of smoking in one hospital stay. The second night we had a talk... about a life well-lived, his beautiful wife, not losing hope, regrets, gratitude, being brave, being scared, letting go, moving on, uncertainty, acceptance, living one day at a time, strength, new beginnings, the end of life, (and a little of chronic lung disease and activity limitations sprinkled in there as well).
As we talked, I was struck by how much I could relate to this man's story - with whom I had very little in common. But we were connected by the same thread that is woven into every life's story - Change. We were both standing at the precipice of a new season of life, poised to take a step forward without being able to see clearly what lies ahead, trusting in the wisdom and council of those who have traveled this road before us that it's going to be okay - somehow, someway, it's going to be okay. And as he reflected on his life, I found myself doing the same. Even though he is in his ninth generation of life and I in my fourth (our reflections I'm sure, were very different), I sensed that we were both gathering up bits and pieces of the past to reinforce what we already know about ourselves - that we are tough, we are strong, and that we have made it through all the lessons life has taught us thus far, and we can do it again.
We helped each other that night, knowingly and unknowingly. I helped him, that's my job - and he, in turn, inspired me. I saw the humility with which he acknowledged his own fragility and weakness, and somehow that made him all the more courageous. I saw his resilience that allowed him to accept life instead of fighting life. I saw the grace in his acceptance of life, and his ability to honor his feelings of indignation and anger without blame or bitterness. I found him truly remarkable. And I felt honored to have helped him those nights and blessed to have received so much from an old soul and a life well-lived. It's no wonder I love my job.
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