Month: April 2022

What it’s like being “the nurse friend”
Nursing

What it’s like being “the nurse friend”

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  1. I receive random pictures of skin rashes. At all times of day, night, and with NO trigger warnings. EVER. Then I give an educated guess and get the response, “Nah I think it’s…xyz…because that’s what google said.” (I’m usually right…not google for the record)
  2. I am told far more detailed information about people’s medical maladies than I ever care to know often at funerals, weddings, and any other inappropriate time where I’m trying my damndest to not be a nurse.
  3. I get calls asking for referrals. At least weekly some random person from my past or present life DM’s me or texts me or calls me asking for referral options (this only became a thing after I opened my private practice).
  4. I get asked for advice. Then I give it. Then I am told, “No I mean, like your real advice, like professional advice.” “So you want me to tell you what I’d say if I was your therapist or prescriber?” “Yes.” Then I sort of rub my chin and say, “Tell me how that made you feel.” Then they get mad that I won’t therapize my friend.
  5. People tell medical stories. Then they look at me for validation or something? Then I stare blankly back. Then they say, “Well what do you think?” And I say, “Dude you just told me a long ass story about your dad’s prostate. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I worked in pediatric emergency medicine then psychiatry! I don’t know ANYTHING about prostates.” (as an aside I know far more about prostates than I ever thought I would because I cannot tell you the number of men who seek psychiatric care before, during or after prostate cancer because of the emotional and physical sequelae…it’s a whole thing…but I don’t want to discuss any one’s prostate unless I’m getting paid to do so honestly.)
  6. On the off chance some one has an experience that I can actually have an opinion about…I usually want to keep it to myself. Like my friend called me hysterical on her way to the ED, and I said in my head ‘sounds like her appendix is rupturing.’ I said out loud, “Hope you feel better,” and then her appendix was removed. Do I want to be the one to tell a very good friend that her appendix needs to come out? Uh nope. I want to be the supportive friend. When my niece was born, we went and visited her in the NICU. I could see her labored breathing, and honestly she looked unwell. I looked at my wife at the time and whispered, “She’s gonna be intubated by midnight.” I hugged my sister and told them both Congratulations and we are here for you. She was tubed by 6 pm I think. It’s a curse sometimes. Knowing critical care. Knowing who’s hours away from intubation. It was scary. I knew she was incredibly ill, and could do nothing but wait.
  7. At parties if there are injuries people look for me. Expecting me to assess. I learned never to have more than a drink, max two at parties with kids. Because inevitably I will have a bleeding kid thrust in front of me. I know you think I’m exaggerating. But I’m not. Every party…bleeding kid. The worst was a dog bite.
  8. On airplanes I keep my mouth shut. Because it’s either a heart attack, stroke, or childbirth. I want nothing to do with any of those things. I also have warned people I’ve flown with to keep their mouths shut. When I’m on a plane I’m anxious as all hell and not in the mood to be a nurse. Especially for an adult or even worse for a birthing adult.

In some ways being a nurse is a blessing. People trust me and I’m ethical and smart so I’m not a bad person to trust. Those qualities help when, you know, I’m at work. It sucks when I know too much. When I know some one’s parent just received a death sentence but it hasn’t quite been spelled out for my friend. Or when I know what’s coming next for my close friends and family and can do nothing to stop it, and just live with the knowledge myself.

I’ve learned to keep my own counsel. I’ve learned to not be brutally honest when people ask me to be (my friends are shaking their head like no, she’s never not been brutally honest, but I swear I haven’t been around medical stuff). I’ve learned restraint. I’ve learned how to be somewhat solitary in moments when other people are leaning hard on me. When my dad was alive and struggling with multiple medical issues it was hard to balance being the nurse and being the daughter.

I remember crying on the shoulder of an LCSW who I worked with. But in that moment he was the social worker taking care of my demented and dying dad and I was just a grieving daughter. I knew every time my dad had surgeries in the last ten or so years of his life that he may not make it through them. I could read between the lines of what the surgeons were saying in ways my Mom and sister didn’t. It can be a lonely road with the knowledge.

My nurse friends and I joke about the rash texts we all receive. It’s not unique to me. Apparently if you are a nurse your friends just send you pics of their rashes. We don’t joke about holding the knowledge though. We never have joked about that. Because it’s not funny. It’s a burden.

So as my favorite man on television Monk would say, “It’s a blessing…and a curse.”

Manhattan & Single Mom Life
Divorce and Separation · lesbian mom · mom of boys

Manhattan & Single Mom Life

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I have learned about myself as a single mom…about my strengths, weaknesses, regrets, hopes, dreams, and so much more. I’ve been single before. I’ve been in very low places before. But I never was single as a Mom of twin boys. The last time I was single was in my early 20’s. I feel I was much weaker in some ways and more fearless in others.

This week I took my sons (twin six year old boys) to NYC with me, by myself, for two nights.

I have always been fascinated with the city. I remember riding on the bus on school trips and watching as the green suburbs fell away to apartment buildings, and city blocks, and dirt, and grime, and people with different color skin- other than white. People with accents. I remember feeling like there was this whole world of people who didn’t care about the drama of one little suburban town and that provided me hope that I would be something else. Some one else. Something more.

When I got into NYU I thought my dreams came true. Turns out…I love visiting the city…not living there. There are rats. Big ones. I mean really big. And there is nowhere to escape from the noise, the smells…the rats. Central Park is covered with the grime of the city, and the wind tunnels that nearly knock you down during those cold Winter days…yeah those are no joke.

I don’t regret going there and I don’t regret leaving. And I made peace long ago with the fact that I love the city. In small doses. Not Times Square though. I like the dingiest Chinese restaurant with the menu written onto the walls, that is probably run by the mafia…but they make the best Chinese food. Spoils Chinese food everywhere else. I love that New Yorkers are not nice, but they are kind. They won’t be fake and smile, and they will huff and puff as they help you without you asking. I loved meeting random people who would ask me to do random stuff. I was in the Halloween parade in Greenwich Village with a bunch of drag queens, I drank saki in a basement of a modern day Chinese version of a speakeasy, I turned around at a house party to find myself facing an Emmy “Oh, that’s my Dad’s”, and I was asked to be in a fellow student’s debut movie clip and I dressed up as a bride and we danced around the yard of a beautiful church while people walking by smiled and clapped because they thought it was a real wedding.

I went to theaters that people who do not live in NY do not know exist. I also went to the Met and saw La Boheme. I was there a short time, but I didn’t leave hating the city. I left loving it. In small doses.

I’ve wanted to share that part of the city with my kids. But I had to wait. A long time. Until they were old enough to recognize “walk” signals. Until I was confident as a single mom to do it on my own. I am proud to say we did it. Honestly only because they asked. They wanted to see the Statue of Liberty…not my favorite part of NYC. But I was willing to do it because every kid should go there at least once and like I said. I love NYC.

I decided to drive in because we were staying downtown, closer to the Lady. I reserved a spot for two nights. I reserved a room at a hotel, and I reserved tickets for a walk to the platform. I have walked to the crown back in Middle school. It was long. Kind of horrendous. Very long. Very hot/humid. Stairs are steep. And you can’t really stop at the crown. You have to keep moving. So you can do a short pause, and see a view, and then you walk down. It’s very, very, very high up. I mean high. And I told the boys it’s closed. I think it actually is closed. Maybe.

I made it to the garage, then back to hotel, all with twin boys in tow. We made it to the ferry. There were some tears on the way there (no not by me) because one of them was nervous. But we made it. We walked 195 steps to the pedestal. 195 steps. We posed for some very windy pictures. Then the boys told me they were ready to leave. We waited in a windy line for another ferry. We made it back, Uber’d back to the hotel. Then we walked to Mulberry street and the boys got to see Chinatown and Little Italy. Including the outskirts of Chinatown which included some parks, playgrounds, and live Chinese music.

Their faces…I recognized their faces. Awe, wonder, appreciation. Seeing people and cultures different from our every day suburban and in our case somewhat rural life. They also had complete faith that I knew where we were going and what I was doing. Oddly I feel no fear in Manhattan. At 37 I have far more life experience than I did at 18. I was fearless then. I am not fearless now but confident in my ability to case my area and a general awareness of who I need to worry about.

It was surreal walking those streets with my kids. I never imagined twenty years ago I’d be back with my children. We ate at one of my favorite spots in Little Italy and of course I got my slice of chocolate ganache truffle cake from Ferrara’s, a sketchy Asian woman tried to sell me a supposed real Gucci, and we walked through an open fish market…literally hit all the tourist stuff you need to hit in Chinatown and Little Italy.

What struck me though was again how kind New Yorker’s are. They saw a solo woman with kids and people just emerged to help us. They often were gruff in their approach, as New Yorker’s are, but had good intentions. At the ferry there were two security guards who shoo’d every one back, and let “the bebe’s” go through security, and helped assuage Jackson’s anxiety while he waited for me to come through. There was a woman who yelled after us when Declan dropped his favorite stuffed animal and patted his head when he rushed back to get it. There were all the old Italian men at the restaurant who went out of their way to talk to the boys, take our picture, and then yell down restaurant to restaurant as we walked back down Mulberry Street to watch these boys and their Mama.

I was so nervous to do this by myself, and one thing I’ve learned as a single parent is how to ask for help. Because it’s something I’m still not very good at doing. But I didn’t have to ask. Shockingly, in Manhattan, I’ve never been helped more by strangers.

Our hotel room looked out over the World Trade Center site. It was rather eerie, and sad, and so much more. My sons asked me what the World Trade Center is. I didn’t tell them at first. I needed to think about it. Eventually I told them. It was weird talking to two kids who had no idea what 9/11 was. They didn’t know the security measures at the Statue of Liberty were a direct result of 9/11. It was weird remembering where I was at the time. It was sad remembering the people I’ve met who were impacted by 9/11 and the family members they lost.

We made it back to the car. We made it back to the highway. And tonight we are tucked snugly in our warm, quiet, rural, beds. I’m feeling generally proud. And yet these situations are always bittersweet. Because I think, yes but what if…what if I was still married? Would this have been a better experience for us all? What if I wasn’t single any longer? Would it have been better? There’s always a niggling doubt in single motherhood that what I’m providing is not good enough. I have to remember to bring myself back down from anxiety spirals and ground myself in the experiences that we had. They were crazy, and fun, and loud, and I got to share my beloved Manhattan with my sons; and I’m damn proud that I did it all by myself (with the help of some guardian angel grumpy and gruff New Yorkers).

This Traumatized Nurse
Uncategorized

This Traumatized Nurse

lesbehonest2017Leave a comment

Part of my practice that I never planned on but am incredibly grateful for are the nurses. Nurses sticks with nurses. So it makes sense that many seek treatment with nurse practitioners.

Nurses are a crazy bunch but we wear our crazy on our sleeve. I’ve said to nurse clients many many many times…”You have a high tolerance for crazy because of your work, so I’m telling you, what’s happening in your life- insert something crazy here- is not okay, and you are tolerating it because your ‘crazy’ tolerance is way too high.” This is actually generally well received and then we process how to address whatever issue they are dealing with.

So here I am in my therapy session today. I said, listen, there’s been a lot of crazy in the last couple weeks, but I need to focus on these panic attacks I’ve been having. I’ve never had panic attacks before, and I kept forgetting I was having them because they were so infrequent.

The first one was two years ago. I was working inpatient and a patient became agitated and stood over me and threatened me. My heart raced, I completely froze, then when I finally left the room I couldn’t calm down. I had to go outside to my car, not speak to anyone, and just sit there and let myself freak out.

When I tell you this is not me…this is not me. I was an ED nurse, I’ve worked inpatient psych, and I’ve had a lot worse situations come at me. Like actually come at me. I went home that day and forgot all about it. Thought it must have been a fluke. Then I worked inpatient again. Similar situation except this time a patient told me he was picturing shoving a knife in my throat while standing over me. Again- this was not out of the ordinary for inpatient work.

Then recently I had music playing and at the end of the song there are two men who become agitated and start fighting. I forgot the song was playing and all I heard was two men yelling at each other, and I freaked out. I looked all over the house and out in the driveway thinking there were actually people getting agitated. Heart pounding. Etc. So I tell all this to my therapist and I say, we gotta do something about this. Because I’ve never had this happen before and it keeps catching me off guard.

She asked me to describe what happened. I did. Then she said, “You know those experiences where you have people physically and verbally threatening you- it’s normal for a person to have their heart race, it’s normal to feel threatened because you were being threatened. Those are not typical panic attacks, they are normal reactions to a stressor.”

Dude. I actually argued with her. I was like, uh no, those are normal occurrences when I work in the hospital. Then she argued back, and then we literally argued about me being threatened. And of course I was threatened. Of course those are normal bodily responses to feeling threatened. What’s messed up is that I literally never thought that.

I thought there was something wrong with me for reacting to people threatening me.

Sit with that for a moment.

That’s what happens to nurses who work in high acuity settings. We are led to believe that there is something wrong with us for expecting to feel safe. I argued with my therapist about my reacting to being threatened. I tried to rationalize that being threatened is normal and there’s a problem with me- not the setting.

Is it any wonder that nurses are fleeing the profession? Why do I feel weak for having a normal physical and emotional response to being threatened? Why do I feel less than and ashamed? Because I have been trained to feel that way. I have been trained to see the problem within me instead of in the messed up hospital systems who do not protect us.

I have been- kicked in the ribs, bitten, spit on, rushed at multiple times, had a chair and a laundry basket thrown at and over my head, had a knife pulled in my office (twice), been verbally threatened countless times including outpatient “I will drop your ass” “I will fuck you up” and so much more. I have witnessed horrific assaults. I have witnessed horrible takedowns. I had a patient, most memorably, leap across a table and land on his knees nose to nose with me, hands fisted on either side of my head and say, “All it takes is a punch. And poof. You’re fucked.” I sat there and stared back at him, and as the entire staff gathered outside the door because the whole unit saw what was happening I calmly leaned in closer and said, “You done yet? Take a fucking seat.” Without blinking. When the laundry basket got tossed, I said, “Dude you are not,” He said, “Ma’am, you better put that pretty head down.” I ducked. He threw it. Not aimed at me.

So many more stories. So many more memories. So you see, when a patient stood up agitated, and I epically panicked, I thought there must be something wrong with me. Because I’ve been through so much worse so many times. I never got time off after any of those events. Except the kick in the ribs. And literally only because there was some minor damage to my liver and a visible large bruise over my right ribs. I never got debriefed after most of these events. I certainly never got a raise or hazard pay.

And in fact when I got time off for the rib kicking- my manager and co-workers made negative comments about it. As if I was weak for being told to take time off by occupational health.

It was all a day in the life.

But now that I do mostly outpatient, and I’ve had space and distance and time to heal. My body and my brain are telling me this is fucked up. When I go back to inpatient and am threatened I apparently react appropriately now. I’m not in survival mode, so I can’t just compartmentalize it out.

I am not sure what the answer is. I do not want to give up inpatient. But my therapist seems to think it’s kind of a messed up place to work. And after much reflection I don’t disagree. It makes me sad to realize that this work I used to love is actually totally ass backward and so detrimental to people’s mental health. Nurses. To nurses mental health.

Even writing this feels bad. I feel shame? for having such a perceived weakness. Then I think this is soooo messed up that I think a weakness is having a normal physical reaction to being threatened. I’ve been told it’s not a panic attack when it’s a normal stress response to being threatened. So my not-panic attacks suck. Being threatened sucks. Being a nurse who thought there was something wrong with me for having an emotional and physical response to being threatened…is just tragically sad.

To all my nurses. It’s not you. It’s them. You are not wrong or bad for demanding safety in your workplace. You are not wrong or bad for having feelings in whatever capacity about being unsafe in your workplace.