By Misty Browne of Rustic Musings of a Scattered Mind
Several years ago when I was in nursing school, I endured a week of what was the second most horrible clinical experience ever. No, nobody died, nobody coded, nobody spewed body fluids on me either. I was doing my pediatric rotation in the hospital and a daycare. Winner for the worst week? Maternity/OB.
I swore on my life that if God and my instructors got me out alive from the snot flinging, hideously crying, filthy little spawn that were not my own, I would keep my cool, not yell, and never work pediatrics because I HATED it.
Don’t get me wrong. I loved my son — still do occasionally — but didn’t like very many other kids. I couldn’t yell at them. I couldn’t tell them “No” in my own special way. You know what I’m talking about. I had to endure hours of children’s songs, running around a playground, pretending I was having fun, especially when other adults were looking. When they weren’t I spent my time sulking ,looking at the clock, waiting for the day to be over.
Strangely, I passed both horrible classes with an A and graduated third in my class. I guess God heard my prayers.
Fast forward seven years. A friend who worked in a home health office called me when I was working for an agency at the time. I was barely making ends meet and was doing everything possible to not go back to taking six patients for twelve hours in the hospital.
“Hey, you looking for a night job?”
“Yes!”
“Great! Go to this website, fill out the application, and you’re guaranteed to get hired. They’ll love you. Oh, and the pay is great.”
So I did it, had an interview right away, negotiated my pay, and then the bomb dropped. It was pediatrics. I swear I heard the voice of God say, “YOU PROMISED!”
How in the hell had I managed to let this crucial information pass by me?! I mean, really? How do you apply for a job on a website, go into an office with pictures of smiling children on the walls, spend three hours interviewing and filling out paperwork, and not know this shit?
I took the job. I’d deal with God and my fake promises later.
One year later, though, God had dealt with me on His own. And to be honest, it’s not too damn bad. Actually, I love it. I think I’ve finally found my niche in nursing.
I can’t believe it.
Every night I go into work, I can’t help but be happy. Baby T makes me so happy that it almost makes me sick! This little girl has taught me humility, love, kindness, and the ability to see past my own burdens. If I ever thought I couldn’t be someone or do something great before now, well, there is no denying it ever again. She refuses to let me.
She’s not my first pediatric patient, though, and as it goes with sick children on twenty-four hour care, she won’t be my last.
Little C was my first. She passed away shortly before Thanksgiving last year. Her story is for another post, another day. Between her and T, though? All is right with the world for at least twelve hours a night, three nights a week.
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About Misty Browne
I am a 36-year-old divorced mother of a very independent 17-year-old son. I love my career as a nurse and can’t imagine doing anything else in life. I have an odd obsession with goats! Anything and everything to do with goats. I spend my time away from work reading, writing, and fighting the stigma against mental health. I was diagnosed fifteen years ago with depression and anxiety disorder and four years ago with Bipolar type 2. I think it’s very important to educate the public on mental illness and to let others who suffer know that it’s OK. You are not alone. Sharing our stories through humor and truth not only helps us that are diagnosed, but it also helps those that are afraid to face their demons. I also believe that laughter is ALWAYS the best medicine! You can find me on Facebook at We’re Not Crazy, You’re Just Normal and Rustic Musings of a Scattered Mind as well as on my blog.