This story begins in 2008, sitting side-by-side my boyfriend (now husband) on our brown Ikea couch in the little purple house we rented in Greenwood.
I was bleached blonde back then, working three jobs, hustling to attend night classes and in the process of applying for the nutrition program at Bastyr. I had everything in motion to go back to school and to follow my dream.
In a surprising twist, I found myself reconsidering this path after talking with friends who were struggling to find work in the nutrition field. The fear of more student loans with scarce job opportunities was significant enough to encourage a course adjustment.
In between episodes of “The Office,” no doubt, we landed on the idea of nursing.
Immediately, this seemed like a terrible choice as I quite literally teared up every single time I saw an ambulance with its lights and sirens blazing.
How could nursing be the right fit for me? How could that be my next step?
And yet, I gave it real consideration.
After all, I loved all things health and wellness, I was passionate about caring for people and felt a calling to support others through times of suffering.
Minus the medical piece, this sounded a lot like nursing to me, plus, I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.
And so, I found myself (many prerequisites, volunteer hours and SO MANY hoops later) enrolled as a nursing student.
I sat side-by-side classmates who had wanted to become nurses for as long as they could remember, who couldnāt wait to be at the bedside, who dreamt of ICU jobs and trauma care. I felt at once, inspired and completely out of place.
I took a lot of deep breaths and great pride in stepping into such a completely uncomfortable space, and, I forged ahead.
Our first quarter clinical rotation was at a long term care facility. Being a highly sensitive person, I felt completely consumed by the sensory experience that awaited me on the other side of the threshold every time I walked through the double doors. The scents, sights, the sounds. The warm, stale feel of the air on my skin, in my nostrils. It was so much of so much.
I learned to line the inside of my scrubs with extra deodorant and to keep my circle of vision close, so as to avoid overwhelm. By the end of the quarter, I had learned to lift my head up, had grown familiar with the sensory experiences and had most importantly, connected with the residents on a deep, personal level that allowed me to set all fears aside to provide care and presence.
Then came our second quarter clinical rotation which found us in the hospital setting for the first time.
My scrubs were clean and lined with deodorant, my white coat pocket housed multiple colored pens, my “brain-sheet,” a pocket-light and a roll of tape. My pale pink stethoscope was slung around my neck. I felt completely official and completely terrified.
I took calming breaths, taking in the sights, scents and sounds on the busy acute care unit.
There was a constant humming of activity, a steady and focused energy among the staff and there were so many, many beeps. All was well until, it wasn’t.
My nursing classmates and I were invited into a patient’s room for an “exciting learning opportunity.” The patient, a frail elderly man had a room of his own. His bed was situated next to the window where sunlight streamed through, highlighting each crease on his face. It was clear that he was suffering.
He had an open abdominal wound that required care, cleansing and “packing” (a method of wound care in which you fill the cavity with sterile gauze or other similar materials).
This was the “exciting learning opportunity.”
I walked to his bedside with my classmates and instinctively, I took his delicate hand in mine. Our eyes met and it was over.
My knees went soft, heat rose from the length of my ankles to my neck and and the lights went out. It was as if every ounce of this sweet man’s suffering entered my own body.
I found myself on the hospital floor in a crumpled, sweaty heap, awoken only to the sound of a physician’s voice calling for help, “Nursing student, down!”
I spent the remainder of the hospital shift in the break room eating saltines and drinking apple juice while my classmates practiced taking my vital signs. I frantically texted my family and boyfriend, “Well, looks like this nursing thing is not for me!” And over the next four hours of that clinical shift, I began to believe that very story.
I echoed the same sentiment to my clinical preceptor, to which she replied, “Nursing is for you. Now you just have to learn how to stay on your feet. It’s going to be harder for you. And, it’s your job to figure it out.”
Ouch.
And, so began my intentional journey into mindfulness, into the mind-body connection, into learning how to establish my own sense of calm, stability and groundedness, despite all circumstances and surroundings.
I relied heavily on calf pumps and swaying in place to literally help with circulation and blood flow.
I constantly called upon deep breaths and forced an easy smile to my face in the state of fear to induce a relaxed stated.
I allowed myself to imagine each family member as my own, cracking my heart wide open and welcoming them all right in.
I developed techniques and rituals that allowed me to compartmentalize the sensory experiences so that I could process them individually.
I pulled up a chair at each patient’s bedside upon meeting them. I took the time while there to perform seated calf raises and to review the equipment surrounding them–the pumps, the lines, the drains, the IV poles, monitors and medications.
And with each breath, with each calf pump, the confidence to care for the vulnerable patient in front of me grew and my heart made space for one more.
I did this over. And over. And over again.
It became my method.
Outside of the hospital I prepared too.
I prepared and prepared and prepared.
I rehearsed, visualized, journaled and studied around the clock.
Until eventually, I was just doing it.
I was a licensed nurse at UWMC, with a full patient load. I was packing wounds and calling rapid-responses, interacting competently with members of the care team and supporting families under duress. I had arrived.
I grew accustomed to it (all of it), but I can’t say that bedside nursing ever got much easier for me…and, well, that is the story I will share in February.Ā
But for now, pause to consider the experience while fast forwarding to Bodies for BirthĀ® today and the unique creation of the methods I teach…
You see, it’s not an accident that I have developed the holistic programming that is the Bodies for BirthĀ® method. It’s only been through years of personal and professional preparation that it exists as it does today.
It is precisely because of my “failure” at the bedside that I have learned what I have and that I continue to practice what I preach.
As you consider my story, I wonder what “failures” stand out to you in your own life? And, where they have taken you on your path?
Personally, this is the first of many “stories” related to my nursing career that I have actively worked to reframe, to own and to understand. It’s only been a 13 year process!
As you reflect on your own stories, I wonder what needs reframing? And perhaps, reframing some more?
And, I wonder what version of your stories will serve you best in 2025?
I will leave us with this today, for it’s been a lot already. But, I’m so excited to share more of these stories with you. My hope is that they inspire and support you on your own journey–even in some small way.