I know it had to exist. If I dig down really deep inside me, I can even muster up my own memories of this so-called existence without the world wide web (as Kate & I like to refer to it). But, for the life of me, I have no idea how we conquered our demons and made it out alive.
On too many times than I am willing to admit, I have sat and pondered this dilemma – What did people do before the internet? How did one convert lbs to kgs in a pinch? Where did you get directions to a new or unknown location? How did one finish a movie without pausing it and researching IMDb to assess where she knows that actor from and why she can’t bring herself to buy him as a villain? And, hypothetically, how would one begin the process of finding that one program out there in the world that has the potential to teach everything one requires to become the most competent outback nurse possible? (hypothetically)
Most importantly, when life’s really big questions arise, how were they solved? Big questions, like, who were the gypsies? Why did they have such darn cool jewellery? What was their mandate in life? Was there a deeper reason that they had to resort to thievery for their livelihood? Is there a way I can become a modern-day gypsy? If I am accepted, will I be forced to deny my lifelong pursuit of righteousness and adopt felony as a way life? Where do I get the skirts and the headwraps?
When these types of things pop into my brilliant whirlwind of a brain, I now have the tools to deal with them.
But, woe to you, poor inhabitants of 1989, what did you do???
Archive for May 2009
posted by Jenn on Gypsies, Internet
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posted by Jenn on Failing, Nursing
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There’s this secret they don’t tell you in nursing school. I am guessing that they fail to elude to it in med school, physiotherapy, occupational therapy, respiratory therapy, or social work programs either. It hits you like a hurricane at first. You adapt to it over time. Then sometimes it comes out of nowhere and knocks you off your feet all over again, sometimes even stronger than the first time, because you thought you had it beat.
Nursing school did its best to prepare me to do thorough physical assessments. Conscientious tutors laboured over nursing theories that may or may not have no degree of relevance to anything I do now. Anatomy & Physiology profs taught me why sodium-potassium pumps are important. I learned Piaget’s development from Dick Day and 43 278 other Psych 101 students. At some point in the 4 years, I apparently figured out how to give medications, start IV’s, take vital signs, wash my hands like a pro, and sometimes, if the wind is blowing in just the right direction, even offer an effectively therapeutic word of support to a grieving family. As much as I may have doubted it throughout the process, I came out with some degree of an idea of how to be a nurse.
But, nothing prepared me for the overwhelming sense of failure that would come along with it. Four years in, and I think I am just starting to realize its legitimacy and influence in all of our careers.
I am beginning to wonder if that feeling ever goes away – or if it even should. That feeling that things go wrong with a patient as a direct result of my own personal incompetence. I am completely aware that in 99.99999% of cases, this is absolutely not true. Things happen to sick patients because they are sick. People don’t end up in the hospital because they are well. The simplicity of the matter makes its mention almost futile. Nevertheless, I have yet to win the mental battle with myself. Shows like ER, and Grey’s Anatomy, while grossly dramaticized, hollywoodized, and romanticized, elude to these same types of emotional struggles. And despite the exaggerations, the fact that these struggles are reenacted on film means that the emotions portrayed were originally felt by someone – in all probability some other health care worker who, like me, has a hard time moving past his or her insecurities.
And, lets just say that hypothetically, one was able to deny or overcome all of his personal insecurities – and wholeheartedly believe that he had mastered all components of his professional domain. The reality is that said person remains a flawed human being who, despite overwhelming confidence, will still make mistakes.
Take today for instance. In the course of my 12-hour shift I:
- Dropped about 14 things on the floor (arousing plentiful questioning about the potential of my being pregnant – of which there is none)
- Missed my attempts at getting venous blood
- Came down with an acute inability to complete relatively simple mathematical equations – which is actually a required skill in the NICU
If I put any amount of consideration into it, I know I could put together a more thorough list – but, no need to hound on the already unfortunate. Today was challenging in a number of ways, and I walked out of the hospital feeling beaten. Things go wrong. Sometimes because I am human – most times because we are always dealing with people who are already unwell.
But, this is the part that I wish I had known. I knew that being a new nurse would be hard. I knew I wouldn’t know what to do, and I would be overwhelmed and confused and incompetent.
I figured all of that would change when I “grew up”. I feel like I am still waiting. Because I am no longer confused. Most times, I feel fairly competent at what I do. And the majority of the time, the most overwhelming thing I face is how to strategically space the food I bring in my lunch pack throughout the day so that I don’t have a sugar-crash on the drive home.
And yet, despite all of that, I can’t overcome this overwhelming sense of failure. Sometimes, I wonder if it is just human nature and our desire to control situations. When things don’t go the way we wish, we look for ways we could have acted differently and how that might have changed the outcome. Or maybe it is the human tendency to dwell on the negative – despite 99 flawlessly executed acts, we perseverate on the one thing that didn’t go according to our plan.
I hope someday I get there. That place where I am absolutely alright with it all. Where I know that my best is all I can give. When I give my best, I am satisfied. Where I know that what I have to offer is just as important as what everyone else has to offer. Where I know that stuff happens – and it is my responsibility to help it, but won’t always be able to fix it. Where I truly recognize that we are all functioning in this less-than-perfect system and that we would all be better off if we recognized it and helped eachother thrive. Where I realize that Mr. Rogers, my mom, my dance teacher, Big Bird, my Grade 8 teacher, and God weren’t lying when they told me that nobody is perfect. And that that truth needs to be taken, not as an excuse, but as an encouragement to persevere through the moments when a failure is all you see.
Because, as far as those of us in this crazy world of health care are concerned, it is going to be tough. At the end of the day, I know that people get sick because there is something wrong with their bodies. And people die because they are sick. And, we get this incredible opportunity to intervene at an absolutely critical moment of their lives and sometimes improve it in a physical, tangible way. And, with this knowledge, I also recognize that viewing every turn for the worse as a failure won’t cut it.
I am not going to even suggest that I am there. It’s probably a long road. Maybe even an unrealistic goal. But, all I will ever be is this passionate, yet so obviously human, nurse – and hopefully someday that won’t feel like a failure.
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There is a wee bit of irony I realize. Posting to a "Jenn in Africa" blog, when Jenn is, according to the untrained eye, very much not in Africa.
It seems that aside from a very brief hiatus to the tropical island of St.Martin, the majority of this last year has found me in Canada - the true north strong and free, if you will. And, I have no complaints about this beautiful country or the beloved family and friends I found here. Or anything here really. I know that I have been blessed beyond belief. I know that I have been given so much in almost every area of my life.
And I know that "to whom much has been given, much is expected". I think that is why things like this rock me to the core. Why after watching it 5 times in a row, I have yet to dry my eyes.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSdP6PqsbJY
"Something along the road cut me to the soul". Every line. Every face. Every single little clip of Sara Groves re-enacting contrived significant moments with the locals reminds me of a friend or a moment that I can't let go. Reminds me of the 6 months that destroyed the girl I used to be, and made me the slightly idealistic, irresponsible, unconventional, yet still drastically naive girl that I am today. Someone who believes that her efforts to change a broken, hurting world through direct service is worthwhile. Someone who thinks that changing lives doesn't always mean saving lives, but that a changed life is worth the effort. Someone who thinks that every single person's story is worth hearing. And that the very act of listening to a story brings healing.
These past few weeks, I have been reliving my 6 months in Africa. I have been trying to make decisions about how to proceed with my career. I have been craving the peace that I know can come from nothing other than holding a small African baby to your chest and having him fall asleep.
And, the only conclusive deduction I have made is that my heart has been absolutely broken. It wasn't about finding myself. It wasn't about seeing the world. I havn't gotten over it. This is just the beginning.
I am on the brink of some fairly significant change (as far as my tiny, insignificant life is concerned) and I woke up this morning with this emotion that I couldn't even initially identify. I really have no idea where I am going in this next phase of life, however long it may be. But that excites me, because I also know that only when I am open and seeking God does He have the potential to knock me off of my feet with His plans. And, I absolutely know where the plan will eventually lead me. Back to my heart and to the people who broke it in a way that I will forever be grateful for. And, for one of the first times since I came home from Africa last summer, I have this incredible sense of hope.
I know it had to exist. If I dig down really deep inside me, I can even muster up my own memories of this so-called existence without the world wide web (as Kate & I like to refer to it). But, for the life of me, I have no idea how we conquered our demons and made it out alive.
On too many times than I am willing to admit, I have sat and pondered this dilemma – What did people do before the internet? How did one convert lbs to kgs in a pinch? Where did you get directions to a new or unknown location? How did one finish a movie without pausing it and researching IMDb to assess where she knows that actor from and why she can’t bring herself to buy him as a villain? And, hypothetically, how would one begin the process of finding that one program out there in the world that has the potential to teach everything one requires to become the most competent outback nurse possible? (hypothetically)
Most importantly, when life’s really big questions arise, how were they solved? Big questions, like, who were the gypsies? Why did they have such darn cool jewellery? What was their mandate in life? Was there a deeper reason that they had to resort to thievery for their livelihood? Is there a way I can become a modern-day gypsy? If I am accepted, will I be forced to deny my lifelong pursuit of righteousness and adopt felony as a way life? Where do I get the skirts and the headwraps?
When these types of things pop into my brilliant whirlwind of a brain, I now have the tools to deal with them.
But, woe to you, poor inhabitants of 1989, what did you do???
There’s this secret they don’t tell you in nursing school. I am guessing that they fail to elude to it in med school, physiotherapy, occupational therapy, respiratory therapy, or social work programs either. It hits you like a hurricane at first. You adapt to it over time. Then sometimes it comes out of nowhere and knocks you off your feet all over again, sometimes even stronger than the first time, because you thought you had it beat.
Nursing school did its best to prepare me to do thorough physical assessments. Conscientious tutors laboured over nursing theories that may or may not have no degree of relevance to anything I do now. Anatomy & Physiology profs taught me why sodium-potassium pumps are important. I learned Piaget’s development from Dick Day and 43 278 other Psych 101 students. At some point in the 4 years, I apparently figured out how to give medications, start IV’s, take vital signs, wash my hands like a pro, and sometimes, if the wind is blowing in just the right direction, even offer an effectively therapeutic word of support to a grieving family. As much as I may have doubted it throughout the process, I came out with some degree of an idea of how to be a nurse.
But, nothing prepared me for the overwhelming sense of failure that would come along with it. Four years in, and I think I am just starting to realize its legitimacy and influence in all of our careers.
I am beginning to wonder if that feeling ever goes away – or if it even should. That feeling that things go wrong with a patient as a direct result of my own personal incompetence. I am completely aware that in 99.99999% of cases, this is absolutely not true. Things happen to sick patients because they are sick. People don’t end up in the hospital because they are well. The simplicity of the matter makes its mention almost futile. Nevertheless, I have yet to win the mental battle with myself. Shows like ER, and Grey’s Anatomy, while grossly dramaticized, hollywoodized, and romanticized, elude to these same types of emotional struggles. And despite the exaggerations, the fact that these struggles are reenacted on film means that the emotions portrayed were originally felt by someone – in all probability some other health care worker who, like me, has a hard time moving past his or her insecurities.
And, lets just say that hypothetically, one was able to deny or overcome all of his personal insecurities – and wholeheartedly believe that he had mastered all components of his professional domain. The reality is that said person remains a flawed human being who, despite overwhelming confidence, will still make mistakes.
Take today for instance. In the course of my 12-hour shift I:
- Dropped about 14 things on the floor (arousing plentiful questioning about the potential of my being pregnant – of which there is none)
- Missed my attempts at getting venous blood
- Came down with an acute inability to complete relatively simple mathematical equations – which is actually a required skill in the NICU
If I put any amount of consideration into it, I know I could put together a more thorough list – but, no need to hound on the already unfortunate. Today was challenging in a number of ways, and I walked out of the hospital feeling beaten. Things go wrong. Sometimes because I am human – most times because we are always dealing with people who are already unwell.
But, this is the part that I wish I had known. I knew that being a new nurse would be hard. I knew I wouldn’t know what to do, and I would be overwhelmed and confused and incompetent.
I figured all of that would change when I “grew up”. I feel like I am still waiting. Because I am no longer confused. Most times, I feel fairly competent at what I do. And the majority of the time, the most overwhelming thing I face is how to strategically space the food I bring in my lunch pack throughout the day so that I don’t have a sugar-crash on the drive home.
And yet, despite all of that, I can’t overcome this overwhelming sense of failure. Sometimes, I wonder if it is just human nature and our desire to control situations. When things don’t go the way we wish, we look for ways we could have acted differently and how that might have changed the outcome. Or maybe it is the human tendency to dwell on the negative – despite 99 flawlessly executed acts, we perseverate on the one thing that didn’t go according to our plan.
I hope someday I get there. That place where I am absolutely alright with it all. Where I know that my best is all I can give. When I give my best, I am satisfied. Where I know that what I have to offer is just as important as what everyone else has to offer. Where I know that stuff happens – and it is my responsibility to help it, but won’t always be able to fix it. Where I truly recognize that we are all functioning in this less-than-perfect system and that we would all be better off if we recognized it and helped eachother thrive. Where I realize that Mr. Rogers, my mom, my dance teacher, Big Bird, my Grade 8 teacher, and God weren’t lying when they told me that nobody is perfect. And that that truth needs to be taken, not as an excuse, but as an encouragement to persevere through the moments when a failure is all you see.
Because, as far as those of us in this crazy world of health care are concerned, it is going to be tough. At the end of the day, I know that people get sick because there is something wrong with their bodies. And people die because they are sick. And, we get this incredible opportunity to intervene at an absolutely critical moment of their lives and sometimes improve it in a physical, tangible way. And, with this knowledge, I also recognize that viewing every turn for the worse as a failure won’t cut it.
I am not going to even suggest that I am there. It’s probably a long road. Maybe even an unrealistic goal. But, all I will ever be is this passionate, yet so obviously human, nurse – and hopefully someday that won’t feel like a failure.
There is a wee bit of irony I realize. Posting to a "Jenn in Africa" blog, when Jenn is, according to the untrained eye, very much not in Africa.
It seems that aside from a very brief hiatus to the tropical island of St.Martin, the majority of this last year has found me in Canada - the true north strong and free, if you will. And, I have no complaints about this beautiful country or the beloved family and friends I found here. Or anything here really. I know that I have been blessed beyond belief. I know that I have been given so much in almost every area of my life.
And I know that "to whom much has been given, much is expected". I think that is why things like this rock me to the core. Why after watching it 5 times in a row, I have yet to dry my eyes.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSdP6PqsbJY
"Something along the road cut me to the soul". Every line. Every face. Every single little clip of Sara Groves re-enacting contrived significant moments with the locals reminds me of a friend or a moment that I can't let go. Reminds me of the 6 months that destroyed the girl I used to be, and made me the slightly idealistic, irresponsible, unconventional, yet still drastically naive girl that I am today. Someone who believes that her efforts to change a broken, hurting world through direct service is worthwhile. Someone who thinks that changing lives doesn't always mean saving lives, but that a changed life is worth the effort. Someone who thinks that every single person's story is worth hearing. And that the very act of listening to a story brings healing.
These past few weeks, I have been reliving my 6 months in Africa. I have been trying to make decisions about how to proceed with my career. I have been craving the peace that I know can come from nothing other than holding a small African baby to your chest and having him fall asleep.
And, the only conclusive deduction I have made is that my heart has been absolutely broken. It wasn't about finding myself. It wasn't about seeing the world. I havn't gotten over it. This is just the beginning.
I am on the brink of some fairly significant change (as far as my tiny, insignificant life is concerned) and I woke up this morning with this emotion that I couldn't even initially identify. I really have no idea where I am going in this next phase of life, however long it may be. But that excites me, because I also know that only when I am open and seeking God does He have the potential to knock me off of my feet with His plans. And, I absolutely know where the plan will eventually lead me. Back to my heart and to the people who broke it in a way that I will forever be grateful for. And, for one of the first times since I came home from Africa last summer, I have this incredible sense of hope.