It has been over 18 years since I first walked through the doors of the NICU. It's hard to reconcile the person I was then with who I am now. I have always been a largely introspective person, but for some reason of late, I have thought so much about this work, and what it is to me. I think most everyone knows how much I love this "job", but only I know that it is woven into the fabric of who I am.
I have heard so much over the years...advice on advancing my career path, and questioning over why I am still a bedside nurse. My mind is wired differently, which could suit me for another role, but my heart lies in the trenches, at the bedside. I find it hard to explain it to others, something I struggle myself to understand. Sometimes I think life would be easier if I could walk away, or take another path, still here in the NICU. But when you know with the certainty of which you know your own name, the calling you've been given, how can you choose another?
I was told recently for the hundredth time, "I don't know how you keep doing it after all these years." And sometimes, I don't either, and wonder if I can continue. I work with passion and intensity, which drain the mind, body, and soul much faster, I've found. But that's the only way for me. The love I have for this work often feels a burden, and sometimes even, a curse. But when you know you could not be happy doing anything else, what choice is there? One thing I have discovered though, is that the more you do, the more of your soul is surrendered. I have baggage, burdens I carry. I have holes, scars, and ghosts. The work of my hands has wrought such horror in a relentless quest for healing on bodies too small for this world. Catheters, needles, lines, tubes, wires, compression, restraint...there is much blood on my hands. Bloody gloves after a procedure, that I clean as I remain sterile, waiting for x-ray, telling myself it's so I'll keep my dressing clean, but knowing really why I have to do it. Empty bedspaces after a battle lost, molds of tiny hands and feet that haunt.
I've made mistakes. I've missed things. I've made the wrong call. I've fought with all I have and lost. I've been broken more times than I can count. I've limped out wondering how I'll ever come back. I've limped in just hoping to make it through the shift. I've misspoke, taken missteps. In all the years of teaching, working, leading, and mentoring, sometimes I'll get it wrong. I'm thankful for the depth of friendships and people who have loved me in my failures, and in even more difficultly, have said "You are not your best right now. How can I help you fix it?" Those people who love me enough to say the hard things and care enough to challenge me to be better. I'm thankful for accountability, which is even more important for those entrusted with leadership; I never want to reach a place where I'm unwilling to receive feedback. I'm thankful for the people who have given grace when I make mistakes and not written me off. I'm here for friendship like that.
I avoid comparison to others, running only from the me from yesterday, hoping to be better than her. And that even in my failures, there is hope in being better tomorrow. Avoiding comparison lets me love my teammates, and leaves no room for jealousy or resentment, and also removes the ceiling for who I can become.
I'm thankful for the people who trust me enough to keep coming back and asking me questions and for help, even if the last time I was impatient or short or gave the wrong answer. I'm thankful for those who have loved me in my brokenness, who aren't afraid to look me in the eye and see the hurt that lies there. I'm thankful for the sensitivity and discernment some have a way with, and see the shadows in my eyes when its hard to put the worry for my own baby to the back of my mind to see someone else's in front of me. I'm thankful for those who see my humanity behind whatever image that people have of me here that I'll never understand. I'm thankful for the people who are ok with me being real, even when its uncomfortable; as real, flawed, and hopeful is all I'm capable of.
I'm thankful my mom shares my calling, here, in this place; that she understands, listens, and challenges me. Some days I wish she didn't have to see my hurt, my failures, or see me break. But most days I'm glad she does, and rest in knowing that the love she has for me is unconditional for she sees it all, and loves me just the same. I hope every day that above all else, I make her proud.
I know these are a lot of thoughts, not all connecting. But the feelings that rattle in my heart and mind have no organization, nor my words eloquence. I write only for myself, for the catharsis that writing brings me, and perhaps in hope another NICU nurse somewhere that has questioned themselves might find a shred of hope or meaning. Because in all of this, I search for peace and understanding. I found the closest thing to putting it into words, in a song I've heard many times. But finally truly listened to. In this song, I didn't hear words to a lover, or a friend. But to the NICU, and every tiny baby that's ever stayed there. To the ones who went home to their family, and the ones whose home was found in the eternal. To the people I have fought beside, bearing witness with me to all, both horror and beauty. In these words, I finally found what it is to me.
I swore the days were over
Courtin' empty dreams
I worshipped at the altar of losing everything
And the guard I held together
Was losing all its shape
And in my head you looked so gorgeous
It's keeping me awake
There's a scar on my soul
So let me down easy
Break my heart sweetly
Like you always do
I guess I can't let go
'Til you wreck me completely
Break my heart sweetly
Drape me in blue
I was never scared of nothin'
Thought I had a home
Life went and broke me open
So I carried it alone
I'm findin' all this well-worn sadness
I never knew I kept
And I still chase you into heartache
Every time you take a step
There's a scar on my soul
So let me down easy
Break my heart sweetly
Like you always do
I guess I can't let go
'Til you wreck me completely
Break my heart sweetly
Drape me in blue
I swore the days were over
Of courtin' empty dreams
I worshipped at the altar
Of losing everything
But you had a halo made of diamonds
Resting on your head
I should be dealing with my demons
But I'm dodgin' them instead
There's a scar on my soul
So let me down easy
Break my heart sweetly
Like you always do
I guess I can't let go
'Til you wreck me completely
Break my heart sweetly
Drape me in blue
-John Moreland "Break my heart sweetly"
So I will remain here, you can find me draped in blue. Chasing this calling, and these babies, even into heartache. They will continue to break my heart sweetly, like they always do. And I'm good with that.
One year ago tonight at midnight the entire medical team for our NICU walked out the door after a non-renewal of their contract by the hospital where I work. There was more than a year of unknown before that day, and there were a lot of reasons behind this and a lot of politics and ugliness surrounding this event, none of which matter anymore. I say they don't matter; they do, but there is no changing what was done, so in that sense, it doesn't matter, and I've tried to lay all of that to rest. What does remain is the memories. The friendships with people I miss every day.
This past year has been a challenge of which I never could've imagined. I truly have thrown myself whole heartedly in trying to rebuild and be a part of my new team. To get to know them and work in harmony. At first it was so weird. Like there were strangers in my house. They were polite, but it was awkward, with neither side knowing quite how to navigate this situation we found ourselves in. It got pretty rough very fast, with so many different people from so many different backgrounds and practices. Collaboration was difficult...continuity impossible. I was told one day in mid-February by one of our new providers, "You all have lost your groove. It's ok, we'll help you get it back." That was the most discouraging thought, that we were so misunderstood that someone could say that, with no respect or consideration for what has gone on here. We didn't lose our groove. We lost our team. Let me say that again, WE LOST OUR TEAM. And a step further, we lost our family. I try to keep this grief hidden, out of respect for all of them, and also because there is no place for it here in the unit anymore. But I feel the loss daily. I once worked together with providers who valued my contribution to the team, cared enough about us to teach instead of just criticize. We worked in a rhythm so fluidly and smoothly it appeared effortless. We admitted with efficiency, even coded with hands moving together with the surety of each of our roles and the expectations thereof, and with the common goal of saving a life. The more difficult things were, the more we held together. This team knew our hearts, the passion we have for the calling that comes from our souls, the commitment to learning the best and providing it for our patients. They knew the loyalty we had to each other, to this family that we chose, and the trust that comes with it. They knew the things we've seen and done, the battles we've won and lost, the lives we've lived, and the family we are. Do not misunderstand my words; in my heart, I know it is none of my new team's fault, and I try to never even give the appearance of thinking so. But I just wanted them to understand. Understand what it was that we lost, as it certainly was not our "groove." I understand we won't always agree and do not expect that. We didn't always agree with our team in the past. But we discussed things as professionals, and worked through it. Because truly, it is my honest desire to build this team again. To once again work and move together in this work in a seamless, efficient way, providing the very best of care. And I am encouraged because it is getting better. We've kept working. We've fought, conceded things, learned new things, and day by day it is slowly getting better. I try to see the hearts behind the differences, to the one thing that should bring us together...what's best for the babies. When I get discouraged, I try to remember how far we've come this year. I am so grateful for the people I've met this year. Especially those of you that have listened, given us a voice, and made an effort to teach us, THANK YOU. The compassion you have shown us, and the care you exhibit has not gone unnoticed. Taking the time to teach us shows you value our knowledge base and are willing to invest in it. That means so much, and reflects your commitment to the building of this team. Again, thank you. Please know I am still just as committed as ever to building this team. We have to be. We need it, and our babies deserve it.
I have grown so much this year. Learned what it means to advocate, how to be a professional when it isn't easy to do so. Learned about myself and what is important. And I will never stop fighting for what we can and should be. I don't see my efforts for my new team as a betrayal of the one I lost. I see it as the only way I can honor the people who taught me how to be a teammate. I hope they would see what we are doing for our babies and be proud. I hope every day to honor their legacy in the unit that they built.
Today though, I don't think about that. Today I allow myself to remember. I remember what was lost. I remember the dedication and the gifts of the people who built the unit I call home. I remember their care and skill, their hard work and investment. I remember countless meetings, deliveries, transports, admissions, codes, even losses, that we worked through together. I remember limitless laughter and joy, and even tears and grief that we shared, both personal and professional. I remember the people. The people who went from strangers the 21 year old me was in awe of, to colleagues I respected, to friends I counted on, and finally to family that took a piece of my heart when they left. I miss them. Today I remember. And tomorrow I'll go back in and stand beside my new team in whatever fight comes our way.
I made this video for our going away party, many of you may have seen it, or may wish to see it again. Here it is, and here is to the memories. I love you all and will never forget. https://photos.app.goo.gl/GPvZWemSiaX4KF617
All thoughts and opinions are mine, and not reflective of any healthcare institution. Any identifiable patients shown are with permission.
Music credits: "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac, "Best Days" by Graham Colton, and "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and The Heart
And here is some of my favorite memories from their going away party...
