Firefighter or Nurse

It wasn't until I was well into the Elms College tour that I had officially decided that I wanted to become a nurse.  I grew up the youngest of four girls, so very seldom was I ever the one to take care of somebody else.  Instead of getting babysitting jobs like all of my sisters I was out playing sports and working at restaurants and golf courses.  So when it was time to really start thinking about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life I had to do a little soul searching.  My fourth grade dream of becoming a firefighter was not really an option anymore - there's no way I could carry all the equipment.  I stopped growing (height-wise anyway) once I hit 5'3" so a sports superstar was out the window.  What on earth was even left??

I had been fairly outgoing as a child and enjoyed pulling smiles out of people - my awkward sarcasm has definitely continued to help me in that department.  I've also been quite the nerd, so I knew something in science would eventually peak my interest.  As I meandered through high school, possible occupations floated through my mind.  Multiple family members - grandparents, aunts, and cousins, have/had worked in the medical field, but it wasn't ever a topic of conversation.  I can't really say "my Grandmother was a nurse so I followed suit," it's more along the lines of, "my Grandmother worked her butt off and was an amazing woman with a kind heart."  That's what I wanted to be.

So back to Elms; I walked into the gym where professors from each department were manning their assigned tables.  I wandered up to the nursing table, introduced myself to the professor and sifted through some of the handouts that were free for the taking.  I had mentioned that I was interested in the medical field, but still unsure where to go from there.  Without missing a beat she said, "Well doctors can heal the patients, but the nurses know the patients."  That was the last push I needed - I was going to be a nurse.

Don't worry, I'm not bashing any physician and I'm certainly not glorifying the work that nurses do, but I do want to share how happy I am with one of my first grown up decisions.  Prior to college, of course my outlook on what nursing was all about was a bit skewed.  Thankfully I haven't had to experience an extended hospital stay, so aside from the dramatic TV series that I always have gotten sucked into, I had little to go on.  Well as different as real life nursing was from TV nursing, it came second to how different student nursing was from the real thing.  Maybe it's because while in school we're so focused on the tests, grades, and just staying awake during the long lectures.  Or maybe it's because everything was so new - which made it exciting and nerve-racking all at the same time.  Whatever the reason, it's nice to know I have so far survived both...

Once I got through the whole school part I went right into the Pediatric ICU.  Why - I still ask myself that same question sometimes.  Working in a PICU has without a doubt tested me.  It's been the worst and best thing for me.  First of all, the nerd part of me is in its glory, I mean there is a ridiculous amount to learn, and although there are some slow nights, overall treatments are developing so quickly and frequently that there is always something new.  I can truly be a lifelong learner in such an environment which is weirdly exciting. 

The people I've had the privilege to work with are probably one of the top reasons why I love my job.  When people say, "You work in a PICU, how do you do it?"  My response is always the same; "When it's good, it's really good - and when it's bad, it's awful.  But the people I work with are what make it okay."  I think to work in the medical field you have to be able to tolerate a few things - blood, needles, crying, etc.  To work in the PICU - you just have to have a little "crazy" in you.  I mean c'mon, who chooses to work with sick children?  Crazy people.  Add night shift to that mix - it's just a whole other breed. 

Somehow I've found that I am quite comfortable in that mix of people.  After all, a fellow nurse is the only one that can laugh at the Bridesmaids reference just used to describe a fecal explosion that occurred in the room you just walked out of.  He's the only one that can give a pick me up pep talk before walking into a room that will help you refrain from shaking the adult responsible for putting that child in the hospital in the first place, and instead exude compassion and empathy.  She's the only one that can tell by the look in your eye (because you're gowned, gloved, and have a mask on), that you will need back up if the doctor doesn't get the line in in the next two minutes.  My fellow nurses are the only ones that understand how therapeutic it is to grab a carb loaded breakfast after a ridiculously trying shift.  It's okay to swear and cry and laugh and yell about the night because they're the ones that just "get it."

Patients and their families are what make up the most important part of nursing for me.  Not to get all mushy, of course I hate seeing families go through these experiences, but it feels good that I get to be part of that.  I get to use what I went to school for, to do my part in helping them get on their way.  I mentioned it has been the best and worst thing for me; best thing because I have seen ridiculously amazing outcomes.  Patients fight, and against all odds, get better.  I have seen families come together in times of crisis and I have seen overwhelming joy in parents' eyes when they find out their child will be okay.  I'm sure you can imagine why it could be the worst thing - it's not always smiles and roses.  (That's where the coworkers come in - otherwise I would have left this job a long time ago).  I hate to admit it, but I have become a bit jaded since I've worked in the ICU.  I guess I'd rather use the word guarded - that doesn't sound as harsh.  It's difficult for me to see things and not have the dreaded feeling that the other shoe will drop.  Thankfully, kids are insanely resilient and just want to get better - so that shoe doesn't always fall, which makes for a very good day.

So why, if there is so much heartache and headache in the PICU, do I keep going back?  Why can I come back twelve hours later to the same place I was peed on, puked on, pooped on, yelled at, and hit?  Why would I come back to a place where I have to double check everything before I give it?  Because that smile that snuck out of the shy 3 year old is priceless.  The quiet thank you from the reserved teenager actually sounds like a million words flooding out.  The look on the parents face when they get to snuggle their little peanut now that they're extubated is amazing.  And the jokes a coworker is bound to crack during the next shift is totally worth it.  I go back because I somehow find joy in what I do.  Who knows, maybe someday I'll get to marry a firefighter.  :)