UNMC College of Nursing recruiter Dani Eveloff recently polled new and long-term nurses about their defining moments in nursing. Here are some of their edited responses.
Natalie Beitel, student, UNMC College of Nursing
My name is Natalie and I am a level 4, soon to be level 5 student on the Lincoln campus. My “defining” story would have to be when I was taking care of an 82-year-old man with cancer all over his body on the Med/Onc floor. It was a tough day for the family, because after a long, hard struggle, it was decided that the hospital would do only comfort cares. This was my only patient, so I got to spend tons of time with the family and my patient and discovered several of his interests.
One in particular was watching the Boston Red Sox play baseball. I knew of a game on, so I made sure to turn it to the right channel. I of course was a Cubs fan, so rooted against his team. We laughed and had a great time. When it was time for me to leave I told the whole family goodbye. When I approached my client, tears swelled up in his eyes and he whispered a barely detectable thank you. I responded by saying, “you’ll be in my prayers tonight.” Just as I was leaving, his wife came running down the hall and gave me a hug. I was shocked, but hugged her back. She said to me, “thank you so much. This is the first time, we’ve seen him smile in quite a while. You are going to be such a great nurse.”
At this moment I realized that being a nurse was more than just pushing meds, it was taking care of a person holistically and making a difference. I have come to realize that this is one of the greatest professions around. Every time I walk into the hospital I count my blessings. When I leave, I feel good about myself. In what other profession can you touch so many lives?
Louise LaFramboise, Ph.D, nursing faculty, UNMC College of Nursing
My defining moment came after I had been out of school for about six months. I was working as a staff nurse and still felt like I learned much each day I came to work. I was caring for a patient who was terminal. She had been admitted a few days before and I had never taken care of her before that day. Her daughter turned on the call light, and when I answered she said she thought something was wrong with her mother. I assessed her mom and found her vital signs to be diminishing. I told the daughter that I thought her mom may be dying.
Inside I wanted nothing more than to run away from that room as fast as I could because I had never been with anyone when they died. I was scared stiff. And then, my worst nightmare, the daughter asked if I would stay with them. The daughter was across the room, as though she were afraid to be near her mother. I sat down and held the patient’s hand because I wanted her to know we were there. She died about 30 minutes later.
In that time I came to realize what nursing is truly about for me. It’s not just the technology and physical or emotional assessment. It’s also about making a difference for people in their illness experiences. While that was one of the most challenging experiences for me, I learned how to be with people when things aren’t going well. I also learned that while nursing isn’t easy, it offers you the opportunity to do something that few other professions will ever experience.
Heather Othmer, graduate student, UNMC College of Nursing
I had a patient who was admitted with shortness of breath. He appeared stable upon admission and then quickly decompensated. As his physician reviewed his chest X-ray and physical assessment, he determined that the man was suffering from a substantial mass in his lung, which had recurred. There was nothing to save his life and only comfort and time for his caregivers to provide.
When we told his wife that he would soon die, she immediately stood up and walked into her beloved husband’s room. She said to her husband, “I have wonderful news for you, honey! Tonight you get to meet Jesus in heaven. It is my honor to let you go from my arms into his.” They appreciated my presence, listening, and willingness to accommodate any request. I could hardly believe their appreciation, because I think that I received more from this experience. I appreciated their strength, their faith, and their joy – even in the face of such a seemingly sad situation. It changed my life forever and the way that I cared for and addressed death in my own mind.
That’s what nursing has always been to me – a privilege to hold patient’s and family’s hands through life, death, joy, and sorrow. Often times, however, I receive more than I give and I never expected that.
Anonymous
I cared for a terminally ill elderly woman. She had been a chemistry college professor and was a very reserved and private person. She knew she was dying, but in a matter-of-fact voice, told me she had no need to discuss it. Her husband was her only relative and I gathered she did not have any close friends. I worried she was not talking to anyone, nor mourning her loss and this would make the end very difficult for her. As we got to know each other better, I could tell my visits pleased her and gave her husband a chance for a much needed break.
One day she was so excited to see me, she said she wanted us to go through her box. The box was filled with mementos from her life and frequent trips abroad. She had such joy and fun speaking of each item and sharing her story. It later occurred to me it was her way of saying good-bye and putting closure on her life. She died later that week. At the funeral her husband thanked me and said “her last days were her most peaceful. I think she felt ready to let go after your visit.”
Mary Minton, doctoral candidate, UNMC College of Nursing
My nursing career spans 25 years and has included medical surgical nursing, oncology nursing, home health nursing, nursing education and currently parish nursing. As a parish nurse for the past five years I have been consistently affirmed by the parishioners I serve, more so than in any of my previous nursing roles. These expressions of gratitude are somewhat humbling and have taught me to be a gracious recipient. During a recent home visit an elderly female parishioner looked me directly in the eye as I was preparing to leave and said, “YOU are the reason I am doing so well today compared to a year ago.” She said it with a gentle but firm conviction that was validating of my identity as a nurse. She would not allow me to give her any of the credit. The depth of her sincerity powerfully affirmed my nursing role even after all these years.
Peggy Tidikis Menck, Ph.D., nursing faculty, UNMC College of Nursing
My story goes back about 20 years. It is special to me because I didn’t know I had had a pivotal affect on my patient. I was working nights in CCU. An established painter had been to Lincoln Center with his family. As he was walking out he collapsed and couldn’t move or feel his limbs. I was the nurse on with the most spinal cord nursing experience so he was assigned to me. It was after midnight when he reached the unit. No diagnosis had been proffered and nothing definitive was said to the patient. He was frightened and talked all night filled with hope and wondering. Without confirmation I wasn’t going to rain on his parade. I chose my words very carefully that night so my fears weren’t shared.
By the time I arrived back in the evening, the final tests were done and he had been given his diagnosis, but verdict seemed the more appropriate word. A spinal cord bleed. Those 12 hours were some of the hardest hours I had worked. Again, he was awake all night but this time it was with dire doom. All night he talked about his achievements and how all had now been lost. I felt his anguish and my heart went out to him. Now I had to give realistic hope and help him deal with his anger. Despite his sufferings, his creativity and ideas flowed as he spoke. I remember talking to him about what he still had and that when the acute events passed he would find a way to bring his ideas to the world again. I risked voicing my beliefs and told him “you paint with your mind – your arms are merely instruments.” The morning rounds and activities began and I never saw him again.
Those 20 hours we spent together meant something to me and I never forgot his art or our time together. Ten years later I saw some of his work on an exhibit coming through Omaha. I was excited to share my story with my husband so he could share the joy I was experiencing. My artist patient wasn’t forgotten. I only got back to New York for short periods and gallery hopping wasn’t on my dissertation agenda. So two years ago I got a call from my husband who said Esquire had interviewed my artist patient. I eagerly turned to the page. Tears welled up in my eyes and my heart went zing. My patient had made it. A while later I read the interview he gave and froze cold. When asked what helped him succeed, he told about a person who very early on in his hospital stay had told him “you paint with your mind.”