I'm writing this article on my bed, wiping my tears away and making sure that this article makes sense to those who are reading it. I just finished a 13-hour shift yesterday night at the CVICU. I am in my final semester of nursing school and I am so excited to be on this amazing floor for my preceptorship. For the past three shifts that I have been on this floor, I have been so happy that this floor opened up so many avenues and opportunities for learning. Things I have only read in nursing textbooks (when I do read them) are now being applied in the real setting. Machines, pumps and other alarms consistently needed my attention & care. And the patients that I have are "critical," which means that I get to do a lot for the patients and learn and apply many nursing skills. So, I finished getting my report from the night nurse, and my preceptor asked me, "What is your plan of action for today and are you ready for it?" It was a Saturday shift, and it seemed that the floor was quiet (the quietest I've seen it). I answered my preceptor, "I'm ready, it seems that we're gonna have an easy and good day." I shouldn't have said this (which I learned to never ever say this again), or maybe I'm glad I did (because I learned a great lesson). Throughout the day, there were two code blues, one stroke alert, and 3 code ices; all to which one of the CVICU nurses must run and respond. (Trying to keep this short & sweet & maybe sour - from crying.) Truth be told, I thought I was ready, but I wasn't. I was not ready for the tears that the wife of my patient would shed, as she left her husband - who was intubated and required continuous dialysis - to travel 6 hours away to go back home. I was not ready to see a grandchild who would give up the comfort of sleeping and eating, just so that his grandmother could rest well. I was not ready to respond to a stroke alert, in which I chose to comfort the crying daughter who tried to be strong, as 5 nurses were assessing her father. I was not ready for the physician to say, "There's no hope for my patient" in the break room just as I was grabbing my first sip of water for the day. I was not ready for one of the nurses to tell me, "The patient died," as I was too focused in her telling me that she had to perform chest compressions with one hand, for the patient was vomiting and expelling secretions from all places in his body. I was not ready. Being in the healthcare field (I can say this for myself), you forget that people who come to the hospital are really sick; some are more critical than others. You forget that there are so many hospitals in the world, and so many people waiting to be cured. You forget that there are so many more sick and dying people who are not in a hospital bed. You forget that you are in the middle of pain & suffering, as well as faith & hope. During hand-off reports, I became too focused on how many CABGs does the patient have, any lines or drainage, feeding pumps, etc. and charting. You forget that in that chart you only have one line for something, social support. You forget that your own patients are mothers, fathers, grandparents, and children. You forget that you are part of the first line of care for these patients. You forget that whatever you do for these patients directly affects them, whether it is all the medications you give, all the heavy turning & lifting you do, or all the assessments you perform. You also forget the last meal or water break you had, when you last peed or sat down. You forget all of the aching calves and back because you have to hang this med up or cover for a nurse that just ran to the sixth floor to respond to a code blue. You forget that you, yourself, are important. Being in the CVICU, I learned that there are so many patients in the world, from being discharged to dying. Nursing is not just "work" that we have to get through, it is also a human experience. Call it "therapeutic touch," call it "supportive," or call it "active listening." Don't forget that we are human and that there are human experiences to be recognized every time you step on that floor. I now know the importance of the saying, "treat the patient, not the machine." So when you walk into your work, or clinical rotation or preceptorship, ask yourself, "Am I ready?"