Delivered as promised: a new update! It's written in two parts. One written 10 days ago before my night shifts, one written today after working the graveyard shift 7 nights in a row. Part two should follow later today.
I've been adjusting really well at the hospital. Before my night shifts, I worked on the same ward for a few weeks and really felt at home. I liked the staff, liked the patients, worked my ass off and felt happy for it. On my last day on that ward, the late shift nurses brought me a piece of cake at 7pm because they had heard from the day shift that I was already working at 7 am and hadn't left the ward (except for running to the lab with emergency blood tests myself, to make sure I got the results ASAP). They figured that I probably hadn't had lunch (a lot of patients tried to die that day) and since the restaurant had already closed I had missed the opportunity to have dinner too. It's nice to know that people notice (and appreciate) how much effort I put in, and how much I care about keeping patients and their families are as well-informed and comfortable as possible. I'm also glad they seem to like me. Of course, my schedule isn't the healthiest. While still on the ward, I started an hour early to catch up on paperwork, skipped lunch because I felt like I needed to finish just the one thing before I could grab a bite, then suddenly it was 5 PM. And I had so much more to do. And the chief left at 5:30 because she trusted me to run things by myself (well played, boss, playing to my vanity, but in this case she wasn't being manipulative but she honestly thinks highly of me). I had to speak to three families to deliver bad news, remove two chest tubes from patients, and it hadn't even occured to me that I should have a bite. It wasn't until I was fully decked in my protective sterile gown to attend to one patient that I remembered said patient has a huge decubitus ulcer with bone showing through, that I would have to face. And then I remembered that I hadn't eaten in 12 hours and my breakfast had consisted of one measly cracker. But I got my **** together. And I did it by myself without feeling faint or sweaty. The fun thing about that day is I didn't have time to stop and be afraid, so I just acted on what I know is right. Accidentally bypassing your self-doubt is wonderful.
It's weird, how steep my learning curve is. I grow so much more experienced by the day. I'm just hoping it's not at the cost of my mental health. So far I think I'm on the safe side. I love my work immensely. Even when telling a family there's really nothing I can do for their loved one anymore. Even when bellowing in an old guy's ear and noticing he still doesn't understand a fig of what I'm trying to say. I genuinely enjoy what I do, and it shows.
I've been adjusting really well at the hospital. Before my night shifts, I worked on the same ward for a few weeks and really felt at home. I liked the staff, liked the patients, worked my ass off and felt happy for it. On my last day on that ward, the late shift nurses brought me a piece of cake at 7pm because they had heard from the day shift that I was already working at 7 am and hadn't left the ward (except for running to the lab with emergency blood tests myself, to make sure I got the results ASAP). They figured that I probably hadn't had lunch (a lot of patients tried to die that day) and since the restaurant had already closed I had missed the opportunity to have dinner too. It's nice to know that people notice (and appreciate) how much effort I put in, and how much I care about keeping patients and their families are as well-informed and comfortable as possible. I'm also glad they seem to like me. Of course, my schedule isn't the healthiest. While still on the ward, I started an hour early to catch up on paperwork, skipped lunch because I felt like I needed to finish just the one thing before I could grab a bite, then suddenly it was 5 PM. And I had so much more to do. And the chief left at 5:30 because she trusted me to run things by myself (well played, boss, playing to my vanity, but in this case she wasn't being manipulative but she honestly thinks highly of me). I had to speak to three families to deliver bad news, remove two chest tubes from patients, and it hadn't even occured to me that I should have a bite. It wasn't until I was fully decked in my protective sterile gown to attend to one patient that I remembered said patient has a huge decubitus ulcer with bone showing through, that I would have to face. And then I remembered that I hadn't eaten in 12 hours and my breakfast had consisted of one measly cracker. But I got my **** together. And I did it by myself without feeling faint or sweaty. The fun thing about that day is I didn't have time to stop and be afraid, so I just acted on what I know is right. Accidentally bypassing your self-doubt is wonderful.
It's weird, how steep my learning curve is. I grow so much more experienced by the day. I'm just hoping it's not at the cost of my mental health. So far I think I'm on the safe side. I love my work immensely. Even when telling a family there's really nothing I can do for their loved one anymore. Even when bellowing in an old guy's ear and noticing he still doesn't understand a fig of what I'm trying to say. I genuinely enjoy what I do, and it shows.
