Two Poems by an ED Nurse

Mask

         -from Latin, masca (specter, nightmare)

My borrowed face,

incorporeal,                blue—

I give you        only

my eyes.

First Sunday on the Ward, Pandemic

Deft swallows nest inside the thorny crown of a stone Christ.

I whisper Our Father . . .                   

twice

over the scrub sink.

 

-Editor’s note: These two spare poems were sent to us recently by Stacy Nigliazzo, an ED nurse and poet whose work has been featured in JAMA and the Bellevue Literary Review, as well as in AJN’s Art of Nursing column. We don’t usually publish poems on this blog, but make an exception here because they seemed to us urgent and yet timeless. Publishing them implies no affiliation of AJN with any particular religion. At the same time, it’s only natural that faiths and practices of every sort are likely to be a source of strength and meaning during this time for nurses around the world. 

2020-04-10T13:39:42-04:00April 10th, 2020|Nursing, nursing perspective|2 Comments

Caring for the Patient You Never Had a Chance to Get to Know

“For months, we simply knew him as this often agitated, sometimes unstable, generally nonverbal, nonpurposeful patient whose actual personhood seemed, if I’m honest, unrecoverable. We didn’t even know who we were trying to recover…”

This month’s Reflections essay in AJN is by Hui-wen Sato, a pediatric intensive care nurse in California. This piece is difficult to describe because it fits no clear category; this is also what makes it alive and engaging.

In “Beholding the Returning Light,” Sato explores the the experience of caring for a patient without ever having had a chance to get to know that person. What do you feel for that patient, and how much do you invest yourself in his or her possible future?

The ‘unthought known.’

Such questions and others may exist on a subconscious level throughout an ordinary work day for nurses in a number of settings. Sato, as she traces the sequence of events, her own emotions, and the role of the patient’s family, adroitly brings them to the surface. […]

Daughter or Nurse? Caught Between Roles When a Father Is Hospitalized

“Word moves quickly that a patient on the unit has a daughter who is an RN.”

That’s from this month’s Reflections essay, “The Other Side,” in which a nurse struggles with her own mounting helplessness as her father’s hospital stay following surgery is unexpectedly prolonged.

On the other side.

The author finds herself in an uncomfortable in-between position, one that may be familiar to other nurses who have had family members in the hospital.

“I am an outsider, a family member on the other side. I know there is information not shared with me, information the health care team keeps to themselves. These conversations take place in whispered voices outside the room—conversations I have been a part of in the recent past, on my unit.”

[…]

Coming Home to Nursing: A Career Change Eases a Return to a Small Town

“Working as a nurse in the county where your family has lived for seven generations has a social complexity that can’t be prepared for.”

The Reflections essay in the September issue of AJN isn’t focused on a dire clinical situation, a wrenching ethical quandary, or a challenging coworker or boss. Called “Coming Home to Nursing,” the essay describes the many ways becoming a nurse helped the author begin to feel a sense of belonging when she returned to her small town. Here’s the opening:

Illustration by Gingermoth for AJN. All rights reserved. Illustration by Gingermoth for AJN. All rights reserved.

I had been taking care of people, in one way or another, for as long as I could remember, first growing up in Maine and then for 20 years in New York City. I had returned to my small town to help care for my mother, who had end-stage Parkinson’s disease. After she died, I felt a void. I looked around at this tiny place, where people are considered to be “from away” even if they’ve lived here for multiple generations. I wondered what I had to give back to the supportive community I’d grown up a part of—and I also wondered if I could fit in after 20 years away. Could I turn my love of taking care […]

A Slyly Witty Essay on an Apparently Aphasic Patient, Plus a Plug for Submissions

By Jacob Molyneux, senior editor/blog editor

I edit many types of articles, but one certainty each month is that I’ll be editing our Reflections essay. This month’s is by Kathryn Mason, MSN, RN, PCCN, formerly a clinical educator and now a QM/PI project manager at the same hospital. Called “A Man of Few Words,” the essay is about that patient who is hard to connect with because she or he can’t (or won’t) speak. The piece has a surprising ending. Here’s an excerpt from the opening paragraphs, but please click the title above and read the whole short essay.

The nursing care plan called for dressing changes to the foot four to five times per week. I made at least three of those visits each week and my routine with Willy became fairly rote. He sat in the same chair each time, with his foot propped on an ottoman; I was positioned in front of the foot, my back to his decrepit television. I would chatter away to compensate for his lack of dialogue, regaling him with stories of my children, the weather, or whatever other bits of news came to mind. Sometimes he would give me his rapt attention and at other times he would be more intent on the news or a game show. (To read more, click here.)

To submit an essay for consideration, please take two minutes to read the Reflections guidelines, a short Word file that describes what we are looking for and not looking […]

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