This is a slightly modified intriguing story that talks about a person who hated nursing school a lot. "Can you tell me why you wanted to be a nurse?" Although I've probably been asked this question a hundred times, I've never provided a definitive response. There were a variety of causes behind this.
When I was a tiny child, I used the instruments from my toy doctor's kit to poke and prod my parents in the ribs. I presented myself to my mother as "the baby's new pediatrician" on the day my brother returned home from the hospital after his birth.
My interest in medicine began in high school when I was intrigued by both the caring and scholarly aspects of the profession, but it was by no means my sole passion. A few years ago, I contemplated pursuing degrees in psychology or international relations.
I've always enjoyed singing, acting, and creating art. I finished up with bachelor's degrees in English and religious studies as a result of this experience. Despite the fact that many nurses believe their work is their "calling," I can't shake the idea that I ended up as a nurse by chance.
Immediately following graduation from college, I embarked on a professional career in early childhood teaching. I enjoy working with children, but I didn't enjoy the money or the stigma that comes with what many people regard to be "glorified babysitting" for a living.
I knew from family members' personal experiences that nursing was a lucrative profession and that it was conceivable, if not typical, to pursue a nursing degree after several years of working in completely other sectors. I decided to pursue a nursing degree. So, on a strange March day in 2018, while sitting at a Dunkin' Donuts contemplating my life's purpose, I made the decision to go to nursing school.
Because of the pandemic, I was forced to leave my nursing school early.
A state institution accepted me into an expedited 11-month Bachelor of Science in Nursing program in May of this year, which will begin in August. Even though I understood that learning a new skill in less than a year would be difficult, I chose this program because it had a high pass rate on the NCLEX and since I've always been an excellent student.
Nursing school was a great experience for me. I had amazing teachers and had good clinical rotations during my time at the university. There were a few classmates with even more unusual backgrounds and journeys to a nursing school than mine with that I became friends. In all of my classes, I received A's, and I could see a clear path forward for my professional life after graduation.
After that, the epidemic struck. Two weeks of online classes evolved into two months, and then the rest of our program took up the rest of our time. In-person labs and clinics that were challenging were replaced with mediocre virtual simulations. In July, we were given the opportunity to participate in optional four-week hospital internships. Because I had no curriculum to follow, I spent most of my internship feeling lost and bewildered.
A semester ought to have been added to our program's duration. Instead, we were permitted to graduate and sit for the NCLEX on time, just meeting the state's requirement for in-person clinical hours before we were kicked out of the program. I completed less than seven months of hands-on training before getting a nursing certification that permitted me to begin working in the field. If this information does not scare you, it should, because I was not the only one who experienced it.
It is true that nurses eat their own children.
My institution had a strong working relationship with the largest hospital system in the region, so I had little problem getting employment after graduation. I had a strong desire to work in the pediatrics unit, which was the only unit that was (at the time) being downsized as a result of the pandemic. Eventually, I was admitted to an adult neurology intermediate care unit. Those who are admitted to intermediate care units are classified as "critical but stable." Major strokes had been experienced by the majority of the patients on my unit. Many people have both neurological impairment and COVID-19 in their system.
For the first several months after graduation, new graduate nurses work under the supervision of preceptors before being permitted to practice freely. My first preceptor embodied the bully caricature of the "eats her young" that all new nurses are terrified of. Neither encouragement nor hands-on teaching was offered to me by her. She was expecting me to be able to recall every word from my nursing texts. She made me feel embarrassed in front of a patient's family. I was very aware that I was performing terribly, and she made sure I didn't forget it.
After two weeks, this preceptor was reduced to part-time status, and I was assigned to another preceptor. Preceptor #2 was more understanding and a far better instructor than the one before him. I developed a great deal of confidence during her five-week training program. She complimented me on my performance on our final day together, saying that I was "wonderful." Following her transfer to another unit, there was no one available to serve as my permanent preceptor, so I was on my own. I was having trouble once more.
I was persuaded to believe that my inability to maintain constant training was not the source of my difficulties. My boss blamed my inadequacies on my personality, completely disregarding the fact that she recruited someone with no previous hospital job and just a minimal education to work on a challenging ward with no trusted preceptors. Upon expressing the fact that her relentless interrogation of my potential was detrimental to both my professional progress and emotional health, she responded by declaring that she would "not accept responsibility!"
She was, on the other hand, completely correct in her assessment that I was not ready to work in a major critical care unit. At the end of the day, I was grateful to her for rescuing me from additional failure and embarrassment.
I continued to work in an outpatient environment for another three months. It was a respectable job, but I was dissatisfied since I was working below my educational level. I was also anxious about making the same mistake twice. However, even after receiving extensive help and assurance, I was nonetheless terminated "at-will" this time. "We didn't hate you enough to dismiss you before the end of your probationary period, but we don't like you enough to keep you on," the message reads. We were under no obligation to provide you with a warning or an explanation."
I informed my manager at my second job that I was leaving the nursing profession. My mother whined about how much potential I possessed and how I shouldn't give up. "Within a few years, you'll forget everything that happened," she said.
I'll never forget what happened. And I've decided to give up.
The pandemic made an already difficult job even more difficult.
Well-intentioned doctors and medical journalists frequently assert that, in order to keep COVID-19 nurses on the job, we should "consider paying them a little bit more." At the time of my employment at the hospital, all registered nurses and certified nursing assistants earned five-dollar increases. Nurses who worked during the pandemic's first few months were also awarded larger-than-usual holiday bonuses to reward their efforts. Better pay alone was insufficient to boost morale since nurses are not only underpaid but are also undertrained and overworked.
I was in charge of three severely sick patients at a time, to who I was responsible for feeding, washing, evaluating, and providing medications. I had to do it in a safe, timely, and enjoyable manner while wearing many layers of personal protective equipment. Each shift also included the expectation that I would finish many hours' worth of charting. In the event that I did not take my 30-minute lunch break, I would be called out for being sluggish and unstable on the job. If I didn't take a break, I'd find myself falling behind. Despite the fact that my co-workers were better than me at concealing their stress from patients and our boss, I saw people sobbing in the corridors, restrooms, and break rooms on a daily basis. One year or less of registered nursing experience was held by more than half of these nurses. The majority of the remaining nurses were travel nurses, who had the luxury of ignoring office politics and taking several weeks off between jobs as long as traveling is compatible with their lifestyle requirements.
In my explanation of my decision to leave nursing due to COVID-19, I don't mean that witnessing people die as a result of the virus was too much for me to stomach. I was well aware that getting up and personal with death and suffering would be a necessary element of the job's requirements. Working 12-hour shifts, at night, on weekends, and on holidays was also something I anticipated as a part of the job description. I was well aware that I would be fatigued and anxious for the first few months of my pregnancy. No way in hell did I expect that my bosses wouldn't care about how I was feeling.
Nurses "devour their young" because they understand that it is far simpler to scare straight or scare away the newcomers than it is to fight against the current quo in the workplace. Prior to the pandemic, around one-third of nurses quit the field after only two years of experience. Put the fear of catching COVID-19, continual understaffing, rising dangerous nurse to patient ratios, and annoyance with anti-vax patients into the mix and you have a recipe for disaster. The Washington Post reported in September 2021 that a record number of healthcare employees were quitting their employment in a record amount of time. We should be more concerned than we have been in the past about the status of the nursing field.
I was able to discover my true self after leaving nursing.
In a world without the pandemic, I could have received better career guidance and secured a position at a hospital that was more in line with my talents and interests. Even in the real world, I would have been able to get another nursing career as a result of my two previous failures. I'm sure a desperate doctor's office or nursing home would have taken me on despite my nervousness and incompetence. I could have been a fantastic nurse if I had the opportunity to do so. She was a wonderful nurse, but she was also terribly depressed.
I realized what I valued most as a result of this horrific experience: my friends and family, my ability to express myself creatively, my freedom, and my mental well-being. I continue to endeavor to be of service to others through my writing, volunteering, and random acts of kindness throughout my life. The nursing profession will always be a significant part of my history, but it will not be a part of my future.
0 comments:
Post a Comment