AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I love my job as a nurse in the pediatric cardiac ICU at Manhattan Children’s Hospital. I’ve been here since I graduated from college and followed Luke up to New York City.
My job is fast-paced and never boring, and I get to help the cutest kids. On top of that, I get along with my coworkers. Sure, there are a few attendings I avoid like the plague and one specific cardiologist who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space after he enjoys his garlic-heavy lunches, but even he’s not that much trouble. I just breathe through my mouth when he’s around.
That said, my job isn’t a total cake walk. My patients are often babies, some only a few weeks old. They’re as fragile as they come. Days like today make it all worth it though. I have good news to report to a family. Well, good and bad.
One of the tiniest patients on our floor, Cece, gets to go home today. She’s recovered well from her Norwood operation and is ready to be discharged. However, she’ll need around-the-clock care at home. As if her poor mom wasn’t overwhelmed enough with her very fresh newborn, now she also has to manage Cece’s medications, ensure her sutures stay clean and well-bandaged, and replace her feeding bags in the middle of the night. There are a million things that could go wrong.
Cece’s mom is young, only twenty, and Cece’s dad works nights in a factory an hour away from the city. I want to give her a hug and tell her the truth: the next few weeks are going to feel impossible, but you can do this. I know you can.
Instead, I wrap up my discharge instructions and stay on topic.
“Remember, we need you to log vital signs daily, including oxygen levels.”
Cece’s mom looks like she’s about to cry.
“I don’t think I can do all this. What if I forget?”
I take her hand and squeeze.
“You can do it. I promise you can, and you have my phone number in case you need to call me. Let’s start at the top, and I’m going to walk you through the steps again. If there’s a part that seems confusing or overwhelming, stop me and we’ll clear it up. Okay?”
She nods timidly, and I flip back to the front page of the packet I have in my hands so we can start from square one.
I don’t take on her stress. I used to, when I first started here. I’d absorb every mother’s worry, every father’s fear and make them my own. When they’d cry, I’d cry. We’d be a blubbering mess together. Then I had an attending, Dr. Liota, pull me aside one day. Dr. Liota is an older female cardiologist who is quite frankly superwoman as far as I’m concerned. My dealings with her over my first few months on the job proved to me that she is always level-headed and kind, even to the frazzled medical students who rotate through our ICU, even to me, a green nurse with perpetual tears in her eyes during every shift.
Her advice to me that day was simple: “These patients are not your children. These people are not your family. While you’re in the confines of this hospital, do your job to the very best of your ability, facilitate care, give a hundred and ten percent. But the moment your shift ends, leave. Live your life outside of this place. These babies don’t need you crying over them. They need you well-rested and logical, confident in your abilities as a nurse. There are social workers and care teams surrounding patients who help fill in the gaps. You are not the last line of defense for them. Do you understand?”
I nodded in thanks and then hugged her.
Which, in hindsight, is pretty funny because Dr. Liota is not a hugger or even a toucher for that matter. Once, I saw a medical student try to go in for a fist bump, and Dr. Liota just stared at him and said, “No.”
By the time Cece is discharged, I’m starving. I had planned to eat dinner an hour ago, but it’s no problem. I can log my notes while I scarf down my food at the nurses’ station.
“Game’s on,” Bianca tells me as I sit down with my dinner.
Bianca is our oldest nurse on staff, and I love working shifts with her. She’s shrewd, cutting, loving. She’ll look you square in the eye and tell you to “mind your business” or “That was a really dumb question” or “You have toilet paper hangin’ off your shoe, dumbass.”
Her phone’s propped up between our two computers. She’s found a telecast of the Pinstripes game. It’s the bottom of the third, and our boys are at bat.
“Two outs. McDowell’s on third,” she says, not bothering to look away from her computer or stop typing. A lot of the nurses on this floor are dedicated to the Pinstripes, especially because they’ve met Luke a time or two when he comes up here for a surprise visit with the kids. The younger ones don’t know who he is, but I once saw a ten-year-old patient bawl his eyes out when Luke casually strolled into his room holding a brand-new signed Pinstripes jersey. Needless to say, he’s a fan favorite around here.
