I had been an RN for 7 years. An inpatient RN for 6 and a Labor nurse for 5. A number that awarded me some respect from the older nurses and trust from my leaders. However, it was a number I was well aware still made me green when comparing it to the careers of the nurses around me. 
This was the first official debrief I had been a part of and most definitely the first in which I found myself at the center. There was no denying I had played a role. I had beat myself up for weeks and sat at that table emotionally raw trying to fight back tears as providers went round robin with medical history and case assessments.
I had tried to make sense of it, to find the lesson and move on. I had discussed it with my therapist and had been able to “process” through this trauma quicker than I would’ve in the past. I went that day with  things I wanted to say.
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I sat at that table and took responsibility for what I could, I stated what I could have done differently and how it would alter my practice in the future. I was proud of myself. I felt that I was coming into my own as a nurse, I was growing, I was getting better. This trauma would not define me, something good would come out of it.
Then something happened. I was sandwiched between two charge nurses. Two amazing nurses that had been doing this for quite some time. They heard what I was saying but they also heard what I wasn’t saying... “This is my fault, and I am so sorry” “I will never let this happen again”. They knew I would go home and run that narrative over and over. It WOULD become a part of my identity. This would forever be a patient I “failed”.

Despite my fancy words about “lessons learned”, they called bullshit. They gave me permission to actually forgive myself, no strings attached. I had no idea that this was what I needed until that very moment.  These women, in a matter of seconds, showed me true resilience.
I was made acutely aware that pain would be embedded in this job. Everyone has tough cases. And that sometimes your best just doesn’t  get the outcome you want. Sometimes you are powerless. They had learned these lessons already. They sat there with their battle scars and they were bound and determined to make them worth something. Through their vulnerability and honesty they would inspire me to put one foot in front of the other.
Without even hearing the other voice in my head, they knew it was there. And they made it very clear they were there to fight it with me. That is leadership. That is how you survive this career. You do not let it harden you. You lean in. Nursing without vulnerability it a recipe for disaster. Emotion is necessary. I had convinced myself for so long that my sensitivity would make me weak but these women quickly showed me that was not the case. All of a sudden I had a superpower.

It’s the end of July 2021. Its been 17 months since the first day I felt the impacts of the pandemic at work. And it hasn’t stopped. It has been 17 months of confusion, fear, exhaustion, frustration, and disappointment. It’s been 17 months of critical staffing, no recognition and angry patients.
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Last night I was driving myself home from yet another exhausting shift. The thoughts of quitting nursing all together have gotten stronger and more frequent as these months have gone on. Then, our of nowhere, a familiar image pops into my head. I don’t know why it chooses the times it does, or what it even means but every once in a while there it is!
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I was never the kid that knew what they wanted to do. I stumbled into nursing and got really lucky I had already been accepted to a school with a nursing program. Even throughout nursing school everyone seemed to latch onto an area or speciality that called to them. I graduated having no freakin’ idea what I wanted to do. However, this image remained strong.
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Labor and delivery was my first rotation in nursing school. Typically a rotation saved for more experienced students but my school had designed their program a little differently. So I went into Labor and delivery as green as green can get. I had never stepped foot on a hospital unit, I had never take an actual patient’s BP, I had never seen a birth. Almost every single part of that day is a blur. I remember where we stood for morning huddle, what the general layout of the unit was, and this moment. That is all.
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The patient was in her final few pushes. The head was crowning. I don’t remember if she had great control or if she was losing it. I wouldn’t have known the difference anyway. All I remember is that head of hair sitting there, ready to come earth side.  The nurse grabbed the woman’s hand, got close to her face, looked her into her eyes and asked if she’d like to touch her baby’s head. The woman nodded and the nurse guided her fingers down to the crowning infant. That mothers reaction was every single emotion wrapped into 1 second and I felt it. It was the most important moment of that day.
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To this day this is my practice. I ask almost every single one of my patients if they’d like to feel their baby. Many times it’s a great way to recenter, to ground them within one of the most challenging moments of their delivery. Some look at me like I’m crazy, some say absolutely not, some are hesitant but agree, and some say yes. But almost every single patient that does has a similar moment to that mother. It doesn’t always look the same but I can feel it. It’s a tangible recognition that they’ve reached this transition together. That something amazing is about to happen and calm takes over.
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I am grateful for this memory. I am not sure if my brain is trying to remind me of the value of my work. If it’s trying to save me from deep dark disappointment when things don’t go well. If it’s trying to get me to stay in nursing. I don’t know. But it’s a welcomed flash from the past.
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Have you had a moment in school or early in your career that’s stuck with you? Has it influenced your practice?