Mrs. J was a patient I met during my stint as an oncology nurse. She was admitted for a total abdominal hysterectomy during one of my first weeks on the floor. She was on the call bell often, and the day nurse who gave me report was clearly exasperated. Surgical pain was a new experience for Mrs. J, and it was difficult to control, even with the PCA.
 When I walked into her room to introduce myself and begin my assessment, I was greeted by a thin, nervous appearing woman who spoke in quick, short sentences. The surgical pain in her abdomen was not her only complaint; she had multiple other aches and pains, the sheets were too warm, the blankets too cold, the pillows too soft…..I could see how the day nurse would have become frustrated with what seemed an endless litany of complaints. I adjusted her bed the best I could, and explained to her that we would work together to keep her as comfortable as possible as her body healed from the morning’s surgery.
 

The first thing I did was to call the resident and ask her to come reevaluate Mrs. J’s pain control and anxiety level. Then I made a point of stopping in to see her at least every half hour. I wanted Mrs. J. to know that she was safe and watched over. This seemed to help her calm down.
 

Later, after a change in her medications and the addition of an anxiolytic, Mrs. J. was able to communicate her fears with me.
 

It became obvious that her multiple physical complaints were her way of expressing her fears. She was scared of the upcoming chemotherapy and was concerned about losing her waist-length brown hair. She was worried about the scar on her abdomen and the upcoming staple remover in a few days. She was not yet able to verbalize the word ‘cancer’.
 

I sat with her as much as I could, allowing Mrs. J. to vocalize her worries, fears, and complaints. I realized that releasing what was bothering her verbally was as important as ensuring that her morphine dose was appropriate.
 

When my shift was over, and I went in to say goodnight, Mrs. J hugged me tightly. “Thank you” she whispered.
 

The most significant moments are sometimes hidden in the mundane events. As I rode the elevator down to my car, I realized that my most important nursing task of that night had not involved gloves, bandages, medications, or blood draws. Simply sitting by my patient’s bedside, holding her hand and listening to her talk had been the most therapeutic activity of the night.
 

I went home with a sense of a job well done.

After two brutal 12h weekend shifts recently, where I was charge nurse, held a full assignment, oriented a new employee and cared for umpteen patients, I drove myself home with a head filled only with thoughts of ibuprofen for my aching feet and a soft pillow for my tired head.. I walked into my house, anticipating the peace and quiet of home, but instead was faced with numerous challenges before I’d even got out of my scrubs.

One child was sick, the other needed clothes washed for work the next day. The dog needed to go out, the cat needed to be fed. A family member was hospitalized and the phone was ringing off the hook with concerned relatives asking me “What is really going on?”…

I went into my room and changed into my sweatpants and T-shirt with a sigh, looking at the bed wistfully.

Several hours later, with my daughter treated with nasal strips and warm tea, my son’s clothes in the dryer and both animals with full bellies and empty bladders, I was finally able to crawl into bed. I allowed my head to sink into the pillow and curled gratefully under the soft sheets. Closing my eyes, I expected sleep to find me fast.

An hour later, I was still waiting.

And an hour after that.

My mind, which was so tired from all the tasks and issues I’d faced in the day, just would not shut off. I had a case of the ‘shoulda-woulda-coulda’s’ where I reviewed many of the day’s patients, wondering if I’d done the best, and if I could have done better. I was also mentally reviewing the tasks of the upcoming day…my first day off in three days. More laundry, grocery shopping, housework…

Eventually I got up and made myself a cup of chamomile tea. It was still relatively warm outside—which around here means at least not freezing—so I put on my sweatshirt and sat outside on the front step, next to my fragrant garden.

 I broke off a lavender frond and held it to my nose. A late-blooming datura flower dipped its head at me and I heard the scurry of a small animal as it moved through the citronella.

I closed my eyes and inhaled the scents of early autumn, feeling my mind quiet at last.

This is what I do what I do, I thought. To be able to truly relish the quiet moments, one needs to see the comparison. The sights, sounds, and smells of the hospital fell away in the smell of citronella and the hint of autumn in the air. The taste of chamomile tea washed away the tension in my neck and back. I finally began to relax.

Many people who’s normal workday involves a desk and computer probably are used to hearing things like “Hey, are we out of copier toner?” or “Did you get my memo on the budget report?”…
In this line of work though, things tend to be a little…well, different.
Case in point: A week ago, I had the occasion to say “Hey! Who took my bucket of vomit?” (Now how often do you get to say that in the corporate world?)
Recently, a doctor came out of an exam room and commented “Well now, THAT was an impressive pair of testicles!” (In other work places that could be considered harassment.)
Last night, I noticed our chart rack was empty. That is always a good thing because it means that all the patients are roomed and that triage has not got any more lined up for us. I commented “Wow, what a great rack.” The other nurse next to me, sighed and said “Yeah…” Then looked at each other and giggled.
Yep, only in the hospital!