Greetings to you, dearest of readers! It is a great pleasure to see you in the internet stratosphere once again. How have you been? Ok, great. Now back to me.
I thought today was important enough to celebrate with a blog post, thus negating all the other things in my life that merit a blog post and skipping the whole chapter about how I've been traveling a lot (a blog entry that shall remain pending for the time being). Today feels more significant than day trips or successful medical appointments or even more than unfortunate (and hilarious) things that just "always happen to me" because "my life is a sitcom." Yes, yes, I know I am beating around the bush too much, so let's get to the point: one year ago today, I became a registered nurse.
Look, I know I have often discussed how amazing of an accomplishment that is, especially considering the fact that I had a Covid fever while taking the boards (don't blame me, reader, I was feverish but had not realized it was Covid until after the exam when I stopped at Walgreens and got a home test). The feat was nothing short of amazing, and I am very proud of myself.
But just like all things in my life, nothing is ever just easy. The first year of nursing has proven to be a next-level challenge for my physical and mental well-being. The first few months, my poor body kept breaking down--monthly respiratory infections, swollen knees, dislocated hip bones (yup), weight gain, sleep deprivation, and let's not talk about actual physical hurt caused by being assaulted by a patient or incorrectly carrying/moving/turning a patient. It has been brutal. Moreover, there is the sobering reality of my mental health--finally succumbing to psychiatry and medications because "just therapy" was just not cutting it anymore. Many of this year's moments have not been my proudest or highest moments but, in fact, some of the most somber and lowest points of my life.
You see, nursing is a lot more complex than just being a career that you love or hate. In a short year, I've come to realize that some days give me the conviction that I am literally doing God's given work to me, while other days leave me with a sense of "shit, what did I get myself into." It's never easy to answer the question, "How is work going?" because most of the time that answer feels like an "eh," but it's a lot more nuanced than that, and most people who ask the question don't really care to know. So it stays as something that only other nurses can understand. Which I think is one of the reasons why this year has been so... lonely.
Because everyone loves a funny nursing story involving gross bodily fluids or a floppy appendage, but almost nobody cares to check on you when everything feels like it's crumbling down, when you can't sleep at night for fear of what might happen in the morning, when the older nurses at work are cruel or your preceptor is too harsh or you get punched in the face by a deranged person. Suddenly, you find yourself in survival mode, so everything else in your life suffers, including all of the one-sided friendships you were trying to keep alive. So yeah, it's lonely out here, probably like never before.
Of course, there has also been exponential growth in terms of career. I find myself looking back, from November to March (the darkest of the whole time), and marveling at my resilience and sheer stubbornness to keep going, as well as the improvement I show in terms of patient handling, time management, etc. And I tell myself that I will do anything in my power so that the new nurses that follow me on this path won't suffer as much as I suffered.
But, man, what an absolute champ you are, Cristina, RN. What a tender heart for those who suffer and what a careful mind to get things done. What a defender of what's true and good and beautiful. What a relentless fighter, my girl. There aren't enough words to describe the pride I feel for myself and the gratitude I feel that I can work with these hands to help people heal and take all of this love in my heart (that no one else seems to want) and give it to those who suffer. What an unequivocally hard and beautiful vocation.
It is so easy for me to think about all the reasons why I don't like my job, but none of them have anything to do with my patients. I am tired all the time, I am more anxious than I have ever been, and I am so unwell that it's honestly a wonder how I'm still alive. But then I remember there are a few moments in my line of work that are so life-giving and so vocation-affirming that I cannot help but chuckle when I think about them. It's like God holding a big ole sign in front of me that says "Yes, dummy. This is the thing."
So, here's to one of--I hope--many years as a nurse. Thank you to all my patients who now watch over me from the afterlife (I wish there weren't so many, but the list keeps getting longer-- #fuckcancer). Thank you to all the patients who are still here fighting the good fight, giving me the privilege of being Jesus' healing hands on earth. But most importantly: thank you, Addi, Jordan, Tes, Valeria, Sani, Mutiat, Yessi, and Andrea. I will never forget all that you've done for me. Your words and your help (and your snacks) helped me and continue helping me get through the craziness of nursing.
To the people I didn't thank--I also won't forget.
As to me, I will probably continue to sleep poorly the night before a shift, overeat when I get home, and be a couch potato on my days off. And keep on keeping on, because I'm all I've got.
