Oscillation Continues

I'm working a lot right now.  Switching from thirty-six hours a week to forty is a bit of a change.  Okay, so technically I tend to get out early on Fridays, but I've also still been picking up on my old unit, meaning that once a pay period I pick up a twelve-hour shift on the medical floor.  Even though the days are technically shorter, there are more days out of the week that are worked.

It's a lot.  AND I like the variety and keeping those skills that I worked hard to build sharp and ready.  There are ways where I feel that doing those shifts sporadically makes me a better nurse, that I'm not so worn down by alarms that I can treat them with fresh eyes when I see them, even provide rest to the team by shouldering the load.  I am also tired.  These both exist in the same space.

I have not figured out writing time yet.  I don't have a pattern for walks with Luna again.  There are books I want to read.  I have not figured out when to get back to the pool yet with any consistency.  I am still averaging at least one climbing night and one cardio activity a week, but I miss immersion and taking that time to swim a mile.  The hardest part is eternally just getting to the damn gym.  In other words, there is more honing to do on solidifying a rest schedule, returning to those activities that help me find best balance.  

My outside of work attention has been spent in attempting to iron out how to do appointment scheduling primarily--these pieces were triaged higher.  Figuring out the new order of appointments or switching care providers to fit with the new schedule, it's taken some intentionality and emotional space.  That means, though, that there are spaces where the body has to play catch-up, and it is no longer asking.  And it's time to disassociate on the couch for a while or forcibly hug your pet or channel your inner Ren.  

RAGE-DANCE TIME

The pendulum oscillates wildly until it finds a center again.  I feel like I'm out of the wide swings, taking a smaller arc but still moving, kissing the center space and moving just out of reach again.  And that's okay.  Frustrating, but okay.  

In the meanwhile, I'm enjoying the work I'm doing.  I'm enjoying the people I work with.  I feel fulfilled professionally.  I'm climbing 5.10s in the silos.  I am working on a new trick to teach Luna.  I am planning new adventures that are a few months out.  I am slowly reconnecting with a few folks at a time.  

The world continues on.

Fledgling Nurse, Part 14: Closure

I am fully out of orientation at my new job!  So while I'm reveling in how I don't have a phone with me over the course of the whole day that keeps ringing incessantly with necessary but still endless demands on my time and attention, I immediately noticed a huge difference between this role and my previous one.  I had a discussion with it one day with some nursing students back on my old floor.  Hell, I've even written about it already.  It's not something that's said explicitly in nursing school:  when patients discharge from the inpatient setting, they go off into the ether.  I have no idea what happens to them, unless they're readmitted.  I only know where we sent them last, not if they have improved or declined or followed anything that we have instructed at all.  There's simply void.  

I'm not entitled to know the conclusion.  In fact, I cannot legally get into their record to find out anything about their continued care from here, even if they remained in the hospital.  The most I can do is check the obituaries for any familiar names.  There is no closure.

Now the ambulatory patient world, this is a different beast.  I have patients that come into the clinic three times a week for multiple weeks, months even.  Even since I started at the end of November, there are patients that I have been getting to know (for better or worse) and that are getting to know me (ditto).  I can see their wound improve or worsen, celebrating or mourning with them in turn.  We see steps in the journey together; we talk about how adhering to the plan is going; we discuss how to work their care around life events and vacations.  

I can see progress.  I have packed and placed the same wound vac on some people multiple times, watching as it steadily shrinks, a nine-centimeter problem shrinking to five and one and a half and then in such a way that it cannot be stuffed any longer.  I can release them from care knowing a portion of that conclusion and that they know where to find us if anything new comes up.  It's rewarding, to see something tangible change and have a small part in it.  I have a role where I couch, guide, wrap, teach, correct, encourage, and see what happens.  I have people with chronic issues that we can bound over, finding mutual empathy in that shared space.  

There are spaces where there is grieving about that chronic issue when progress feels too slow.  There are times when I cannot force someone to take care of themselves.  There are times when despite everyone's best efforts, amputation is the best option.  These exist, too.  

And then there are days where we ring a literal bell specifically for this purpose and cheer and clap to celebrate healing.  

In short, I am liking my new job.