December 2020
“Just breath,”
said the horse, “and hold on.”
I
began this reflection with the intention of discussing the science, the
learning and other general aspects of school. I have spent the last semester growing
my own clinical thinking, diagnostic schemas and assessments. I hoped I could
use this knowledge as a shield against the fear of uncertainty around
graduation. I feel the burden and privilege of taking on a person’s health care.
My stethoscope feels heavy around my neck, a constant reminder that the choices
I will make can have real consequences, risk and benefit. I am not ready. I am
not sure I will ever feel ready. Learning has had the opposite effect for me. Rather
than a comfort, each time I learn and grow I become increasingly aware of what
I still do not know. How will I learn it all? How will I recall at will? I feel out of my depth.
“I can’t see a way through,” said the boy.
“Can you see your
next step?”
“Yes.”
“Then take that,”
said the Horse.
I
have lived my life around “next steps.” When I was younger, worrying about
tomorrow robbed me of much of Today’s joy. When I began nursing school, I was
forced to live in the moment to survive. Everything was new, intense. It all
felt like life and death. I had to slow down and approach the next three years
one day, one assignment, one shift, one topic at a time. I could not sustain
the amount of energy it took to keep up my usual type A personality. I wanted
to know it all but today I focused on arterial blood gases. I wanted to do it
all but today I would wake up and work one shift. Tomorrow would take care of
itself. That began almost three years ago. Three years.
Today I am thinking
about my next steps once again. What programs do I apply to? Do I concentrate
on peds, emergency certification or family practice? Rural or urban? Choices
are a blessing, but I feel as if every step I take is on a thin bar suspended
over an abyss of unknown consequences. My decisions are not just mine. I have a
family, a home with children growing and entering adulthood. I must consider
how my choices will affect them. Then there are always the logistical
ramifications of choices. Money, housing, travel, and mentorship all equal in
their roles in “the choice.” I cannot see a clear path, but age and experience
has gifted me faith and trust. I slip up. I forget, but at some moment I will
remember. All I must do is take the next step. The step after that will figure
itself out.
“Sometimes I think you believe in me more than I do,” said the boy.
“You’ll catch up,”
said the horse.
Humans
learn by watching. We spend lifetimes looking at others. We watch and listen,
sifting through people, behaviors, and qualities. We unconsciously or consciously
choose who we are and who we are not. Children learn to eat, talk and
communicate by watching and doing. The basics of how we learn to be human as
children translates into adulthood. I believe the ability to visualize a future
for yourself depends on two things: seeing someone like you in that future and
faith in yourself to work towards that goal. I know it is much more complicated
than that but having a mentor, someone who can shepherd you along is so
important. I must be my own cheerleader. However, when you, my mentor, says
those words: “I know you will be a good provider. You are doing better than you
believe,” you motivate me more than I have words to express. Mentors can help
you move mountains, even if those mountains are only in your mind.
“One of our greatest freedoms
is how we react to things.”
I
promised myself I would be someone who held others up. I
would work to see even the smallest spark of light in every human I met. This
past year has challenged me in ways I could never imagine possible. How is it
possible to find love amid so much willful ignorance, hate, bigotry and selfishness?
As an EMT we gave the drunk driver the same level of care as the innocent
bystander to bad decisions. I see this each clinical day. There are those
patients who do not care about the current pandemic, will not wear a mask, and
openly mock the efforts of healthcare workers. They call us a collective
“chicken little.” Yet we care for them. We ask the same questions and offer
solutions just the same. It is hard to not take those people and their blatant disregard
for the current climate personally. It feels personal. I must remember what I
tell my own children. I can only control the square I stand in. I may not control
other people, only my reaction to other people.
Recently the
American Medical Association made a call to action against what they termed
“scope creep.” Social media outlets were clogged with physicians denouncing the
safety of AANPs and PA’s without physician oversite. A year ago, these same
physicians were comparing dog groomers to NP’s. These individuals were
distraught that the person who cut their schnauzer’s hair had better training
than the providers they were supposed to call colleagues. The vitriol was and
is amazing to me. I must admit I am apprehensive to wade out into the waters of
healthcare with these sharks lurking, hoping I fail. On the other hand, I
cannot change the minds or anti-maskers or anti- AANPS. I can only stand in my square,
show up every day ready to work. It is how we react to events that shapes the
path.
“So much beauty we need to look after.”
It
snowed last night. It is cold today, windy. The birds surround my feeder in a
busy cloud of color and movement. I have applications sitting to my right for
multiple residency programs. I do not know if we will have our hours in time. I
do not know when we will be able to take our boards. I have no idea where I
will be this time next year.
What I do know is
I am here now. I am listening to Christmas music and my children laughing
downstairs. I am warm. I am the careful caretaker of this amazing privilege- I
will care for others.
I was 10 when I first thought of healthcare. I
had thought my only option was to be a physician. thinking back, I am amazed at
how often my elders told me I was not enough- smart enough, strong enough,
tough enough. In many ways them may have
been right. I had a lot of growing to
do, toughening up through lived experience. As life moved by me, children grew, and houses
changed, and time passed. I thought that
dream was gone. But one day a voice in my ear whispered “now,” and I jumped
almost blindly.
I was accepted into school. I have remained
competitive and successful. I am toeing up to the edge of the next “next step.”
I do not know what that step is or if other healthcare professionals respect
APNPs. I know I will not stop. I know my drive, curiosity and heart will carry
me. I am enough without knowing it all at once. My dreams are so big I can
barely hold them and there is so much I need to do. I do not know how or when,
but I know I can, with some help and faith, take each step as it comes. That
will be enough.
References
Mackesy, C. (2019). The Boy, the Mole, the Fox
and the Horse. New York: HarperOne.
Macksey, C. (2020). charliemacksey. Retrieved
from Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/charliemackesy/?hl=en
No comments:
Post a Comment