So I found an old journal entry I wrote my Senior year of nursing school. After a hard day as a real graduated RN, it was so good to read this. I know I will have hard days, but I was right about it then and I'm still right about it now.
Here's the journal entry....
Today was such a beautiful day at clinical. God taught me so much. I had two patients today. I had a 62 year old man with cirrhosis of the liver due to alcohol abuse and a 68 year old woman with COPD.
In med-surg clinical we as nursing students live for what new tasks we get to do. We hope for a patient who has some sort of procedure that we haven’t done yet so we can do it and learn from it. When everyone gets home from this clinical people ask, “did you put in a catheter,” “did you irrigate a wound dressing?” “How bout NG tubes, did you get to work with those?” There are countless numbers of things to do on medical surgical units, and it becomes our goal and obsession to become exposed to every piece of it. It becomes very easy to become task-oriented instead of people-oriented.
Today God taught me a lesson about this. I was able to perform several tasks alone today. I did two full assessments, helped with physical therapy, assessed ascites in an abdomen, work with abdominal ultrasounds, perform a bladder scan, adjust SCD boots, and other things too. By task-orientated standards I had a very good day.
But that was not what made this day beautiful. But there was something that made this day beautiful. The conversations and time I spent with my patients. I had two very different patients; however both were suffering from chronic diseases that would surely end both of their lives. Talking to my patient with cirrhosis was such a blessing! He was such a goofy man, and also a major abuser of alcohol. But going into his room with a completely non-judgmental attitude was incredibly rewarding. It only took about five minutes for me to warm up to him and for him to understand that I didn’t care why he was sick, what mistakes he made, or whether or not the disease was “his fault.” And I didn’t care. He was MY patient. And more importantly, he is GOD’s child. A man with a bad attitude soon turned warm and precious when I brought up the topic of baseball. We talked about the cubs and the cardinals for a good twenty minutes. I had others things I could have been doing, more important health matters to discuss, but at the moment, I thought the smile on his face was worth denying everything else. Through this man I learned that simple conversation is sometimes the most therapeutic. Patients with cirrhosis are often treated badly because they drink excessive amounts of often still do as their disease progresses. He was one of these patients. He shared with me how much he drank, and how he had no plans to stop. Instead of preaching or throwing health statistics at him, I just listened. I nodded my head a lot and smiled until my face hurt while he talked about funny bar fights he had gotten into. He knew what was making him sick; I didn’t need to tell him that. I simply needed to be there for him and listen like a friend. And he appreciated it so much.
Then there was my sweet Marcella. This beautiful, patient, and sweet client with COPD. She had COPD for smoking excessively since she was a teenager. Multiple packs a day. I was able to walk into her room with the biggest smile on my face even though I knew her prognosis was so awful. She was able to joke and laugh with me. And I really enjoyed it. I didn’t view it as a job, but more like a privilege to be able to talk to this beautiful woman.
As my fellow student nurses rushed up and down the halls looking for new jobs to do or procedures to take part in, I stayed in Marcella’s room. I rubbed her back as she shared cooking recipes with me. I listened to her heart and lungs while she proceeded to tell me stories about her granddaughter. I sat on a chair near her bed and became completely captivated in this woman.
So, the most beautiful and wonderful part of my last day at clinical? It wasn’t an invasive procedure or inserting IVs. It wasn’t taking patients to get lab work done or thinking critically to evaluate therapeutic ranges of medications.
It was washing Marcella’s hair.
I cry as I write this, because i mean that with all my heart. After I had done all my nursing tasks on Marcella I asked her if she wanted to get cleaned up. She nodded her head and told me that she has to sit on a chair and get a sponge bath because her COPD is too bad to take a shower. She rolled her eyes and said, “I just wish I could go home so I could wash my hair, it’s been over a week and I haven’t been able to wash my hair.” Her eyes looked so sad. “It’s such a small thing, and I hate to complain about it, but it just feels awful. But don’t worry, I’ll go home soon enough, and then I can get somebody to wash it.” You see, COPD patients are difficult. They have oxygen tanks attached to them and they wear out so easily. Washing a COPD patient’s hair is not exactly difficult, but it takes time that most nurses don’t have. It isn’t saving a life, so it becomes something that is at the bottom of the list and overlooked.
“Well Marcella,” I said, “I am going to wash your hair today.” Her face glowed and her eyes lit up. She leaned toward me. “You have time for that?...you would do that for me?”
“Of course,” I said. “We will just need to be creative. But I am going to wash your hair today, and comb it and make it look beautiful.” Her smile was so big it hurt me to even look at it.
I gathered up some materials and made a basin of water and soap in the sink. I helped Marcella to the chair and set up her oxygen nearby. I grabbed a friend to hold a basin behind her head so she wouldn’t have to go into the shower or stand up. I took small drinking glasses and filled them with warm water. I covered her eyes with one hand and slowly poured the water over her hair. I touched her forehead and fought to keep water off of her face. I grabbed baby shampoo and started putting on her hair. As my fingers stroked back and forth against the oiliest hair I had every felt, I heard Marcella sigh. “I can already smell it, it smells so good.”
I rinsed her hair and dried her off. I gently combed through it and styled it in just the way she wanted. I told her how beautiful she looked, and I really, really, meant it. She looked so beautiful. As I looked into her deep grey eyes, I felt tears forming in mine. I was looking into the face of the one that Jesus loved. I didn’t see a patient, an old woman, or a task. I saw what Jesus saw. I saw the most beautiful person on the face of the planet.
I helped her back into bed and she expressed to me how grateful she was. I hugged her and held her tight, telling her it was my pleasure to serve her.
I thought about this experience. As a nurse, what is our job? Is it to save lives? Prolong life? Treat ailments? I don’t think it is. I think our job is just simply to love. Love deeply and love with humility. After three years of nursing school, washing hair doesn’t seem that exciting. But it was what she needed. It was the greatest thing I could do for her to show her love. And isn’t that my job? Whether through conversation or actions, to be continually not only assessing for disease, but being assessing for ways to show the utmost love to my patient? The act was simple. But the lesson was great. There is no job that is too small. There is always an opportunity for me to humble myself and be a servant. Sometimes the smallest of acts show the greatest of love.
Another student came in at the end of shift with me and asked Marcella how she was doing.
“This little nursing student washed my dirty disgusting hair today. Look how clean and beautiful it looks! Being with this student was like seeing a little piece of heaven.”
I smiled as I fought back the tears, knowing deep down for me, being with her was like seeing the whole thing.
In med-surg clinical we as nursing students live for what new tasks we get to do. We hope for a patient who has some sort of procedure that we haven’t done yet so we can do it and learn from it. When everyone gets home from this clinical people ask, “did you put in a catheter,” “did you irrigate a wound dressing?” “How bout NG tubes, did you get to work with those?” There are countless numbers of things to do on medical surgical units, and it becomes our goal and obsession to become exposed to every piece of it. It becomes very easy to become task-oriented instead of people-oriented.
Today God taught me a lesson about this. I was able to perform several tasks alone today. I did two full assessments, helped with physical therapy, assessed ascites in an abdomen, work with abdominal ultrasounds, perform a bladder scan, adjust SCD boots, and other things too. By task-orientated standards I had a very good day.
But that was not what made this day beautiful. But there was something that made this day beautiful. The conversations and time I spent with my patients. I had two very different patients; however both were suffering from chronic diseases that would surely end both of their lives. Talking to my patient with cirrhosis was such a blessing! He was such a goofy man, and also a major abuser of alcohol. But going into his room with a completely non-judgmental attitude was incredibly rewarding. It only took about five minutes for me to warm up to him and for him to understand that I didn’t care why he was sick, what mistakes he made, or whether or not the disease was “his fault.” And I didn’t care. He was MY patient. And more importantly, he is GOD’s child. A man with a bad attitude soon turned warm and precious when I brought up the topic of baseball. We talked about the cubs and the cardinals for a good twenty minutes. I had others things I could have been doing, more important health matters to discuss, but at the moment, I thought the smile on his face was worth denying everything else. Through this man I learned that simple conversation is sometimes the most therapeutic. Patients with cirrhosis are often treated badly because they drink excessive amounts of often still do as their disease progresses. He was one of these patients. He shared with me how much he drank, and how he had no plans to stop. Instead of preaching or throwing health statistics at him, I just listened. I nodded my head a lot and smiled until my face hurt while he talked about funny bar fights he had gotten into. He knew what was making him sick; I didn’t need to tell him that. I simply needed to be there for him and listen like a friend. And he appreciated it so much.
Then there was my sweet Marcella. This beautiful, patient, and sweet client with COPD. She had COPD for smoking excessively since she was a teenager. Multiple packs a day. I was able to walk into her room with the biggest smile on my face even though I knew her prognosis was so awful. She was able to joke and laugh with me. And I really enjoyed it. I didn’t view it as a job, but more like a privilege to be able to talk to this beautiful woman.
As my fellow student nurses rushed up and down the halls looking for new jobs to do or procedures to take part in, I stayed in Marcella’s room. I rubbed her back as she shared cooking recipes with me. I listened to her heart and lungs while she proceeded to tell me stories about her granddaughter. I sat on a chair near her bed and became completely captivated in this woman.
So, the most beautiful and wonderful part of my last day at clinical? It wasn’t an invasive procedure or inserting IVs. It wasn’t taking patients to get lab work done or thinking critically to evaluate therapeutic ranges of medications.
It was washing Marcella’s hair.
I cry as I write this, because i mean that with all my heart. After I had done all my nursing tasks on Marcella I asked her if she wanted to get cleaned up. She nodded her head and told me that she has to sit on a chair and get a sponge bath because her COPD is too bad to take a shower. She rolled her eyes and said, “I just wish I could go home so I could wash my hair, it’s been over a week and I haven’t been able to wash my hair.” Her eyes looked so sad. “It’s such a small thing, and I hate to complain about it, but it just feels awful. But don’t worry, I’ll go home soon enough, and then I can get somebody to wash it.” You see, COPD patients are difficult. They have oxygen tanks attached to them and they wear out so easily. Washing a COPD patient’s hair is not exactly difficult, but it takes time that most nurses don’t have. It isn’t saving a life, so it becomes something that is at the bottom of the list and overlooked.
“Well Marcella,” I said, “I am going to wash your hair today.” Her face glowed and her eyes lit up. She leaned toward me. “You have time for that?...you would do that for me?”
“Of course,” I said. “We will just need to be creative. But I am going to wash your hair today, and comb it and make it look beautiful.” Her smile was so big it hurt me to even look at it.
I gathered up some materials and made a basin of water and soap in the sink. I helped Marcella to the chair and set up her oxygen nearby. I grabbed a friend to hold a basin behind her head so she wouldn’t have to go into the shower or stand up. I took small drinking glasses and filled them with warm water. I covered her eyes with one hand and slowly poured the water over her hair. I touched her forehead and fought to keep water off of her face. I grabbed baby shampoo and started putting on her hair. As my fingers stroked back and forth against the oiliest hair I had every felt, I heard Marcella sigh. “I can already smell it, it smells so good.”
I rinsed her hair and dried her off. I gently combed through it and styled it in just the way she wanted. I told her how beautiful she looked, and I really, really, meant it. She looked so beautiful. As I looked into her deep grey eyes, I felt tears forming in mine. I was looking into the face of the one that Jesus loved. I didn’t see a patient, an old woman, or a task. I saw what Jesus saw. I saw the most beautiful person on the face of the planet.
I helped her back into bed and she expressed to me how grateful she was. I hugged her and held her tight, telling her it was my pleasure to serve her.
I thought about this experience. As a nurse, what is our job? Is it to save lives? Prolong life? Treat ailments? I don’t think it is. I think our job is just simply to love. Love deeply and love with humility. After three years of nursing school, washing hair doesn’t seem that exciting. But it was what she needed. It was the greatest thing I could do for her to show her love. And isn’t that my job? Whether through conversation or actions, to be continually not only assessing for disease, but being assessing for ways to show the utmost love to my patient? The act was simple. But the lesson was great. There is no job that is too small. There is always an opportunity for me to humble myself and be a servant. Sometimes the smallest of acts show the greatest of love.
Another student came in at the end of shift with me and asked Marcella how she was doing.
“This little nursing student washed my dirty disgusting hair today. Look how clean and beautiful it looks! Being with this student was like seeing a little piece of heaven.”
I smiled as I fought back the tears, knowing deep down for me, being with her was like seeing the whole thing.
Wow Rae! You have so magnificiently captured the real essence of nursing in this amazing journal entry! Thank you for sharing!! I agree, nursing is about loving someone deeply and helping them with what THEY need at one of the toughest times in their lives. How blessed we are to be able to have such a big and important responsibility!
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