During a nice relaxing evening fishing in the wasteland between nukes, I had a few odd thoughts running through my mind. I get a lot of time to think and hash through some of the day’s more esoteric questions. For example, what would you have the toughest time doing in the wasteland? I think mine would be a toss-up between eating grilled radroach and, well, have you seen the bathroom facilities? A friend suggested sex. Not that I am likely to have a lot of it, but come on, bathroom facilities—people would be ripe.
The other thought was: why the hell did I ever become a nurse or even a nurse practitioner? Was it worth it? Short answer: maybe. The advantage I have now is looking back on those years and being able to make those decisions with hindsight. The career as a whole wasn’t all bad, though it wasn’t all good either.
I spoke what seems like forever ago about my transition from the Army and becoming a nurse. In fact, several blog entries ago I made an attempt to continue my “change” series. What really happened is I spent the whole time actually talking about change as it needed to be talked about—and it needed to be chopped up into bite-size bits.
My biggest issue with the nursing profession always centered around communication—or rather, indirect communication. Most nurses communicate in a sort of passive-aggressive style. Then you’ve got little old me, who’d been in the Army for 15 years, very used to being told something directly and succinctly. Nursing just isn’t that field.
Another issue (well, I had many issues, but I’ll start with two): oversight. As I’ve told you before about my “investigations” situation, I was never spoken to by anyone with a medical degree during the process. The investigator I dealt with barely pulled a high school education out of his ass. While it’s nice to have someone do the legwork, it seems idiotic that someone who doesn’t even have medical knowledge is leading an investigation. No matter—what’s done is done. But it’s the Karen mentality of the world that’s really tough. These days anyone with Google on their phone is suddenly a medical expert. If they don’t like your diagnosis or care plan, they go to your “manager” (the licensing board or hospital admin) and make outlandish claims. I’ve been down this road a bunch, and it’s one of the most maddening parts of holding a professional license.
Going back to school 20 years after my initial nursing education was a daunting challenge. Sure, I had the knowledge base and had spent enough time as a bedside nurse and in other roles, but graduate-level education is another beast. Like any program that produces professional graduates, there were classes designed to weed people out. As I’ve said before, I’d much rather have a nurse with a good bedside manner who got straight C’s than a book-smart nurse with a 4.0. The C student isn’t stupid—it just means the book-smart nurse often fails in the actual job.
Honestly, in the beginning I didn’t have a very coherent answer for wanting to be a nurse practitioner (and in some ways I still don’t). When you enter a profession you only know from TV or textbooks, it’s hard to explain your motivations. I wanted to be a nurse practitioner for several reasons: autonomy, the ability to work at a higher level than bedside, and the chance to use my skills differently. I don’t disrespect bedside nurses—I was one for 20-some years. But I always sought jobs with more autonomy: public health, utilization management, dialysis.
It would be a lie to say there was nothing good about being a nurse practitioner. As with my nursing career, I found a lot of satisfaction in connecting with patients and providing quality care. A funny aside: back in nursing school (when Florence and I were CNAs), one of my professors pulled me aside and said, “You are too codependent on patients interacting positively with you.” Fair observation. I often felt like I’d failed if I couldn’t build a rapport with a patient. I got better over time, but I always strived to build those connections. Some providers work fine without that, but it wasn’t my style.
In the end, the only truly positive thing about nursing was working with patients to improve their health and well-being, and supporting them through treatments. I also had many coworkers I truly enjoyed. The saddest part is when things fell apart, many of those coworkers ghosted me. They may not have said anything bad, but they disappeared.
That’s not my problem, honestly—it’s theirs. I haven’t changed as a person. I’m still the same good guy anyone ever worked with. I just have different experiences now, and I’ve learned a few things.
I mean honestly, only your dog and your mom always see the good and the growth in you.