Transition State

How's the new job going?  Great question!  Glad I pretended you asked.

Originally, I was supposed to start my new position at the wound clinic Thanksgiving week.  It happened that there were a few courses I needed to complete first before I would be allowed to work with patients--the way that timing worked in this case, I suggested that I take off the rest of the days during Thanksgiving week and then start with the classes the subsequent week.

So on the one hand, yay, surprise vacation!  On the other, well, the existential dread starts to creep in.  I get confused with time off and a little bit paralyzed with how to fill it.  When Andy was let go from Rivian, I was insistent, probably to the point of annoyance, that he take time to simple be and process the change and the grief.  I am shit at taking my own advice in these places.  

I've worked on the inpatient side of things, been a medical floor nurse for a year and some change now.  I have learned a ridiculous amount of things in this time, delighted in teaching the nursing students that came through in particular, and shared in many, many stories with peers.  There is a particular kind of grief in leaving that behind.  I have been avoiding processing it, for multiple reasons.  I am curious to see how I might process it given a bit more temporal space.  

And at the same time, I've got that roiling excitement and anxiety about starting the new position.  Hammering out the little details of when the first day is and logins and lockers and starting those new relationships on the best impression possible.  I think I've prepared just about everything I can:  we're simply in the waiting phases.  

Waiting is not a passive thing.  Waiting is active.  Most every piece of preparation that can be done has been done.  It's time to let things happen and absorb all of that I can.  I am going to continue to be unsettled for a while now, and that is okay.  Expected, even.  And in the same breath, I know that my body does not sort out "excitement" and "danger" correctly sometimes.  There's a lot happening in our lives right now.  And it's okay to let that be.  I am feeling anxiety, but I am not my anxiety.  In the same breath, I'm certain that we'll work out all the kinks as we go.  Through all of those acknowledgements, it occurs to me that it is time to take that advice, to greet those parts of myself and name them.  

It's another period of transition and transformation.

...and before I can even gather those thoughts together, the week is done.  I've had my first full day shadowing and am just beginning to see the flow of the floor.  I'm trying to absorb EVERYTHING.  And it's exciting, and my brain hurts.  I'm also trying to get to know my new peers and to not be the "well, at my old job, we did it X way" person while also acknowledging that that is my basis for comparison.  This expression of nursing is different, has a different pace and utilizes different skills.  I have so much to learn.  

I feel uncertain in my steps but confident in my direction.  And that's not nothing.

All the THINGS

I've been working on processing a particular kind of grief lately.  

I froze to death and drowned quite a
few times with this one

When I read choose-you-own-adventure books growing up, I wanted to know all the possible outcomes, which lead to some very complex book-holding techniques as I had different fingers in past major decisions so that I could go back to them when I hit another dead-end.  Significant early decisions were granted a slip of paper for the next read-through.  Certain page numbers became recognizable as I flipped through again, fingers contorted in strands of plots and pages. 

I love learning.  When I meet people, it's something that sits in the back of my mind, wondering what kinds of new things they can teach me, what niche subject they are quietly passionate about until someone asks the right question.  And by listening, I learned a lot of random things over time.  Sometimes only enough to ask halfway intelligent questions; other times building off of past conversations.  

This made the idea of choosing a career very daunting.  In choosing a college, I knew I found the right place when they didn't bat an eye when I said I wanted to double major in biology and creative writing.  It was important to at least keep learning a vast breadth of things while sorting out the larger questions.  I remember hearing "Jack of all trades; master of none," and feeling the gentle censure, that I should knuckle down into a specialty of knowledge or skill.  But then I heard the rest of the phrase that is commonly left off:  "but better than being a master of one."  

All of this to say I'm processing a degree of grief at the moment in changing positions that I've been struggling to find a way to articulate.  This is my last full week on my floor.  Naturally, I think of my favorite workmates first when leaving a job--I will miss seeing and supporting a number of people on and adjacent to MOSU.  And I'm also frustrated that I'm leaving after I've been finding such a good groove lately.  I enjoy working with students.  I have almost all of my assessments done before ten-thirty each shift, usually two or three done before eight-fifteen.  I am learning how to pay attention to clues on when someone is ramping up on both pain and anxiety and preempting those spaces, setting better boundaries.  

It seems a terrible time to leave, when I feel like I'm coming into my own.  I have had a couple people tell me that I would be a good charge nurse, and I think at its right time I would enjoy it, finding ways I can support my peers.  

And in the same breath, I am immensely excited to start working with wounds, to learn all the nuances and tricks in this expression of nursing.  

I grieve that I cannot do everything.  There is simply not enough time to do everything.  And that is a particular kind of grief.  There are so many things I could do, and even things I could be good at:  I have to choose.  And I'm happy with my choice, but also am sad to leave things behind.  They exist in the same space.  My plan is to keep a foot in the inpatient world by picking up occasional shifts on my old floor, a beautiful intermediate and merging of worlds, and yet I know this won't be the same as it was before.  

There isn't enough time in life to do everything.  I have to choose how I want to spend it best I can.  I have pulled the metaphorical strips of paper out of the choose-your-own-adventure book on some past decisions, choosing to hold the book in such a way that gives my full attention to the pages I'm currently reading.  There is a grief, but there is also a particular kind of wonder in accepting the present whole-heartedly.  I want to find the best way to honor my transitions grief, while also acknowledging this side frustration of limited time on earth and the impermanence of existence.  

There is not enough time in life to do everything.  And that's okay.  

Dichotomous Thinking

I am not a fan of absolute statements.  There are a few absolutes out there, but there are a lot of things that have exceptions.  I like to leave space for those.  This frustrates Andy to no end when he's trying to get an answer out of me.  He'll ask me if we can do X or Y tonight and I'll reply with something akin to "most likely," not because I'm trying to be coy but because I cannot predict the future to know if some emergency will pop up or if either of us will run out of energy by that point or whatever else.  Sometimes, these are exercises in abstract thinking, I confess, trying to find the obscure reason why something is/isn't or will/won't, as my dedication to the idea continues and just the way my imagination works.  More often, though, it's about that space, leaving room for deviations and exceptions.

Consequently, when I hear someone use "this person ALWAYS/NEVER does X" or "people are either Y or Z" without acknowledging even backhandedly that there are other choices and shades of grey out there, I tend to feel a degree of doubt creep in around that speaker and their assertions.  Sometimes it's a sliver of doubt; sometimes it's a hefty helping of doubt, depending on the context.  

The world is richer in greys than it is in black and white.  Subtle value adds depth, adds meaning, when viewing the full picture.  

But we like our false dichotomies.  "If you're not with us, you're against us;" "my side or their side;" "democrat or republican;" "dog person or cat person."  These are easy.  They are comfortable.  We like patterns as humans, things that help us quickly put situations and people in boxes.  These don't serve us in all situations.  In fact, they are counterproductive in many.  We lose that value, that depth, and often someone's humanity in those spaces.  

There is a difference between a declarative statement and an absolute, and there are places where they can be confused.  An observation of the moment or circumstance can have a declaration.  If it then becomes something permanent, that it is the only way or generalized to all circumstances, that's where we negate other possibilities and create a false perception.  

I want to be precise in my language, which sometimes means I fail at being concise--I'm working on this.  Sometimes, I feel a rewording or adding in the full scene is helpful but respect that the recipient may hold a different opinion.  Ultimately, leaving space also furthers honesty, attempting to be more transparent by acknowledging the edges.  It is meant to further clarity, assert sincerity, rather than muddy the waters, though I know that's not always the impact.  

I tell my patients that I know better than to speak many absolutes in my field, when they are trying to pin my down on answers about timing or why their doctor is doing X or what will happen after Z.  I tell Andy a percentage when I don't feel I can give an authentic, firm yes or no.  And I tell myself that keeping a space for new ideas means that I can continue to grow and find those different perspectives.