I can vaguely remember the day I decided I was going to be a nurse. The words just kind of fell out of my mouth as if I had rehearsed it a million times over. I had no clue what I really wanted to do, if I’d like it or hate it. If I really wanted it or it just seemed like the most logical way to fulfill my mommy hero complex (yes, no one gets out of childhood without some scares). But nurse I was going to be.
So I graduated high school. I began my college journey of not one but two majors because not only do I have a mommy hero complex, I’m a hardcore type A perfectionist. I completed the CNA course and began working as a tech at the local hospital. In those days the ED was saved for the best of the best and you had to have experience before entering through the magical doors into the wild-wild-west. Since I was (am) so type A, I had already landed a job within the hospital by way of my neighbor while still in high school and with her help made the transition from cafeteria aid to CNA pretty easily. (Thank you, Miss Sue). I fluttered about as a supplemental tech covering shifts on all the floors in all kinds of different settings (because not only do I have a mommy hero complex, am a crazy type A perfectionist, I also have commitment problems), but it was mostly because I wanted what was behind that door. The one marked in big red letters E. R. I also really love conquering goals. So that was my goal and I did it. Within the year I was an official ED tech and nearly twenty years later, 2 degrees, 2 marriages (yeah, there’s that), 4 babies, 2 dogs, 1 cat, 1 amazing AuPair, and a partridge in a pear tree--deep breath, I am an ED Nurse. I’ve loved every second of being that ED nurse. It was my calling in life. It was my identity. And now, today not being there on the front line with my friends and co-workers feels so wrong. It goes against every natural drive within me. The best I can do is offer some wisdom as the Reverend Kris Wood (O, yeah, I am also officially ordained).
As the news of COVID – 19 broke and the media went wild, I brushed it off. After all, how many times can they cry wolf before they are just ignored? Right, think about it – it snows, and the media coverage is nonstop all day. But then the numbers start to come in and still I thought, I don’t know if I should really be concerned. I talked to friends on the frontline and the opinions varied. So why was I so stressed? If it wasn’t the new furlough I had been handed or the thrust back into homeschooling; what was it? I’m an ED nurse. I’ve been at this for nearly 20 yrs. From the minute I entered those doors marked E.R. I was gung-ho about being there. I lived for those Hollywood moments, the drama, the stress, the accomplishment of a job well done. A life saved. But somewhere in the midst of life, age, experience, understanding, I began to realize my own mortality. That this shit is real. It’s not a pretty IG photo of me and my bestie in matching scrubs. It’s not photo-sharing last weekend’s bar crawl where we proudly announced, “We are ER nurses.” It’s not even the days I stripped down outside and tossed my overpriced scrubs into the trash can outside because the thought of what they encounter that day is too much to enter my house. (And yes, I’d also Clorox wipe down my car). It’s knowing my own mortality. Knowing that I’m there on the frontlines with a very high likelihood of getting sick and maybe dying. That I have chosen to put myself in harm’s way for the greater good of society. And to me, that’s what it means to be a nurse. To serve no matter what. To get up and do it again the next day because I had a choice and I choose to be a nurse. Today I can’t be there with you. But know that as I sit on the sidelines and watch, that my heart is there aching and longing with you for the nights when the worst thing that happened is the PCP’er broke the restraints. You are strong. You are not alone. You are nurses! So why am I so stressed? Because once and ED nurse, always and ED nurse.