My Preceptor

Each time a nurse starts a job in a new setting or transfers from one department in the hospital to another, they have to be in an orientation period with a preceptor. In my hospital for experienced nurses it’s four to six weeks. For new grads it’s up to 12 weeks.

Rewind to shortly after I had transferred from telemetry to the Emergency Department. I was five years out of nursing school at this point. My preceptor was a baby boomer nurse with 31 years of experience and kids my age. One morning, I approached the nurses station at 0700 and my preceptor was already there. She pointed to a room with a patient on a ventilator with all kinds of tubes and wires connected. She said, “that’s your patient, call report to the ICU.” I started to panic. I told her I didn’t know anything about that patient. She pushed the thick chart across the desk at me and firmly said, “Call report.” I had about 30 seconds to figure out what was going on with that patient but I did figure it out and I called report to the ICU. I made it out of orientation unscathed.

Flash forward to 13 years after that day. My preceptor had since moved on the become a nursing supervisor. I was by that point 18 years out of nursing school. The Emergency Department and its current leadership had burned me out and jaded me. I had already accepted a transfer to my current department and was working my last few weeks as an ER nurse. I remember one day shortly before my departure, my preceptor while on duty as a nursing supervisor made her morning rounds to the Emergency Department. I told her, “I am transferring out of here.” She said she knew. I asked how she knew and she said, “Word travels fast around here.” After that she looked at me and said, “this move will be good for you, you’ve earned it.”

That compliment meant so much to me coming from my preceptor. It validated all the blood, sweat and tears I had put in working there. I had come full circle.

Daily writing prompt
What was the best compliment you’ve received?

When it Hits Home

As health care workers, we witness tragedy, illness and death on a daily basis. We learn to cope with it, block it out, shake it off and “Just keep swimming” as Dory the fish would say. Each day as we walk out of the hospital at the end of our shifts, we step into that imaginary phone booth to twist around and shed our super life saver cloths. No one will ever know what we’ve experienced during our work day if we don’t want them to.

In the hospital I work in as a nurse, we refer to each other as family. There’s the hospital wide family and there’s the unit where you work family. Regardless of a person’s job description, we have one common goal: to save lives. We celebrate holidays together. We pass each other in the halls, we chat about our lives, and we share joy and sorrow.

Unfortunately, I’ve experienced illness and death on multiple occasions among my coworkers in my 22 years as a nurse. It doesn’t get any easier as the years pass, as we get older, knowing what we know about life and death.

Monday morning, my unit family learned that an employee in a unit that we work in conjunction with every day had a medical emergency over the weekend. Although they were still alive, the outlook did not look good. The hospital family held a prayer service. This employee’s unit family held a prayer breakfast. A Go Fund Me account was set up.

Early yesterday morning we learned that this member of our hospital family was placed in hospice. After learning this, I took some time to reflect and pray for this person. I didn’t know this person as well as I know others but she always smiled and nodded at me in passing.  I thought about her in her street cloths and not her super life saver uniform,  as the human being that she is outside of the hospital, how full of life she was prior to this illness and how sad her family must be.

As I went along with my day yesterday I had that familiar feeling in my gut that I often do when something is wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it but I was sad. I’d gone out for a random lunch with a friend, ran errands, cleaned up my house and took a nap. It was a good day. Then I figured it out.  I’d just kept swimming after learning about my coworker in hospice. I thought I could just reflect, say a prayer and shake it off because that’s how we are programmed so we don’t go crazy. Not this time. I didn’t have my super life saving uniform on. It made me feel vulnerable. I realized that I would never see this coworker again and it hurt.

I woke up this morning and knew that I had to write this post for my coworker, for anyone who’s ever lost a coworker, and for the non medical world to understand how much it hits home when we lose one of our own. Later this afternoon I learned that God has taken my coworker home. May she rest in peace.

 

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