Writing as Another Tool for Coping as a Nurse

“I recall wondering where this process had been all my life. Of course, it had always been there. It simply hadn’t occurred to me that writing could be such an effective tool for examining, reflecting, processing, and learning.”

‘Like a girl playing dress-up in a nurse uniform.’

At age 19, I graduated with an associate’s degree in nursing, passed my boards, and went to work in a regional hospital near my college, in the city where I grew up. My geographical radius was as puny as the range of my life experience. I feigned excitement about the new job, but I was overwhelmed. I knew I needed more of everything: experience, education, tools for coping. Eventually, I discovered one of the missing tools was writing.

I entered every shift with anxiety, certain I would walk in on a patient or situation I was ill-equipped to handle. At night, I tossed with worry. When sleep came, dreams became nightmares of IVs running dry and patients coding.

I had only myself to blame. As a teen, I wasn’t ready to decide what to do with my life. I knew nursing was a noble profession, and my parents nudged me toward a program that was economical, efficient, and allowed me to live at home. At age 17, I entered the program.

I stood out in all the wrong ways. I was the youngest in the class, had no health care or hospital experience, and except for my own body, I had never seen a naked adult. I thrived in the academic courses and found the skills lab fascinating, even shocking: so many tubes for so many orifices.

But the two clinical days in the hospital each week were terrifying. My constant missteps made my peers look like seasoned professionals. I scrubbed a glass thermometer in hot water; failed to empty a Gomco, throwing off an ICU patient’s I&O; and forgot to ask patients about their bowel movements. I felt like a girl playing dress-up in a nurse uniform.

New opportunities, and an introduction to writing.

A few months into that first job, I married a young Air Force officer. Three years, five moves, four state licenses, and six hospitals later, I had enough experience to confirm that my fears weren’t entirely unfounded. Unexpected untoward events occurred regularly. Admittedly, accumulating experience helped reduce my anxiety enough for me to perceive the positive impact of my work. I felt my care made a difference to patients. I also discovered I liked teaching.

That sixth hospital, a large academic medical center, offered an opportunity to work in a model self-care unit
teaching patients to manage their diabetes. I took the job. Patients wore street clothes, attended classes, helped prepare meals, and tried to maintain their usual activity level. Nurses taught classes and worked with patients individually to build knowledge and self-care skills. The unit was partially funded through a large grant, so staff were expected to share strategies with other health care professionals, including through publication. The process of getting into print was a mystery to me, but I wasn’t alone. A colleague and I signed up for a publishing workshop to learn more.

Delving deeper into writing.

The more I wrote during that workshop, the more ideas surfaced. The forum gave authority to putting thoughts on the page and organizing information into a cohesive story. By delving deep into experiences through writing, I discovered an avenue of emotional release. I recall wondering where this process had been all my life. Of course, it had always been there. It simply hadn’t occurred to me that writing could be such an effective tool for examining, reflecting, processing, and learning.

In the short term, the workshop resulted in my colleague and I co-authoring an article for the American Journal of Nursing. In the long term, it redirected my career. About that time, I gave birth to my first child and left clinical nursing. Eventually, I returned to college to study English and creative writing.

Coming full circle.

Nursing guided me toward writing, but two decades later writing led me back to nursing. While working as an editor at a health sciences center, I took an assignment, traveling to Mexico to write a story about a team of ophthalmologists who for three decades had been quietly undertaking missions to severely underserved areas, performing surgery on patients suffering from treatable blindness.

As I took notes, photographed the church turned operating suite, and observed an adjacent field filled with patients waiting for treatment, it was clear that more volunteers were needed. After a crash course in instruments, I stashed my notebook and camera under a table, donned sterile gloves, and began assisting.

After three long days, it was time for us to leave, but so many patients still waited in the field. I failed to hold back tears, but I promised to return. I had the privilege of participating in several more missions and have never done work that felt more impactful.

I know my writing will never make the kind of difference that nursing makes to others. I sometimes wonder if I had discovered the power of writing before, during, or soon after my training as a nurse, I might have powered through my anxiety more effectively and remained clinically active. In any case, I would encourage every nursing student and nurse to add writing to their coping toolbox, even if every word stays locked in a journal hidden beneath the bed.

Susan Sarver, RN, is a writer living in Chicago: susansarver.com