It's funny.
I remember hearing nurses tell stories about being in the public and not wanting anyone to know that they are a nurse. I always thought that was strange, because I've always been so proud of being an RN. Throughout nursing school, I liked the idea of some stranger asking me for medical advice, and being able to bless them with my expertise on the subject. Even as a new grad, I loved to show off my new found knowledge of all things human body. I am now officially no longer a new grad, although I'm still a new nurse. I've just finished up a little over my first year of nursing in a busy step-down unit at my local hospital. It's funny how much one year can change you...
Having just gotten off the last long 12 hour night shift of another long stretch of days, I decided to stop at my favorite hometown breakfast joint for a perfectly delicious Belgian waffle adorned with sliced strawberries and just the right dollop of whipped cream - yum. Talk about unwinding. There is nothing like slaving over patients all night only to gorge on some award winning breakfast and then slip quickly into a coma afterward. I took my normal seat at the breakfast bar and stared day-dreamily into, and almost through, the wall, until my server brought me my water and asked what I'd be having.
"The usual" will actually order me a heaping plate of biscuits and gravy complete with a side of wheat toast, so this time I had to specifically tell her what I wanted. You've gotta switch it up every now and again.
My eyes, as if in a cardinal fields of gaze test, subconsciously followed the waitress as she went to the order window, ripped off my order slip, and then walked back to the bar to pour the man who was sitting near me a cup of coffee.
"How are you doing?" She asked him as she poured.
Casually, he responds "I'm okay. Yeah, I'm just headed up to see my mother at the hospital shortly. She's getting some X-ray done, cause she's got lung cancer."
Mildly stunned at the man's suddenly sobering retort to what seemed like just a simple greeting, I began collecting bits of information to attempt to analyze the situation.
Did this man know the waitress, thereby being contextually appropriate in his depressing update on his mother's condition?
Based on some body language cues and the lack of eye contact, I don't think so. These waitresses know all of their regulars by name, and she didn't address him as such.
Did the waitress know his mother, somehow then making his comment relevant?
It would stand to reason if the answer to question 1 is no, then this one's answer is no as well.
If they truly did just meet and their relationship is strictly waitress/patron, then how will the waitress respond to this blunt, and relatively out-of-place, oddly intimate retort?
I looked up to see what she'd say. She had already had her back turned by the time he finished saying it, and was hastily preparing other people's breakfast items. It dawned on me that she may not have heard him.
This is when it happened.
A flash of fear fell over my body as I realized that I was the only one looking at him, and at the same time, obviously rocking my scrubs and other medical items including a huge name badge with the enormous initials "R.N." on it. "No!" I thought to myself. "He's going to continue the conversation with... ME!"
Visions rush my head of me obligatorily making polite, uninterrupted eye contact as he shells out his sad story - meanwhile my waffle rapidly cools in front of me like an arctic sun patient. He'll ask me an obnoxiously impossible question like "How long do patients like my mother usually live?" and I'll be forced to deflect and ask him more about her disease which he'll know nothing of the specifics. I'll ask what they're doing with her today. He'll be unsure. I'll offer him some vaguely hopeful cliche like, "Well, you never know..." in regards to her condition which means nothing if you actually think about it. We'll get nowhere. I'll apologize for his troubles. He'll thank me. I'll then be socially permitted to pick at my therapeutically hypothermic breakfast, all while awkwardly uncertain if the conversation is truly over or not.
In a desperate attempt to avoid this catastrophe, I immediately turn my head to the empty counter directly in front of me. A pause.
The waitress, finally finishing the task she was conducting, turned around and simply responded, "Awww, that's too bad," before delivering her goods to another table.
And just like that, it was over.
And, just like that, it dawned on me why those nurses didn't want to be identified as such in the general public. All at once, I felt a little guilty, and a little great. I felt as if I had grown up! What happened to me? The old me would have probably gone all Nightingale on him to try to heal his hurting heart STAT. I realized however, that there is maturity in recognizing that this was neither the time nor place to attempt this discussion. I knew what would happen. He would go to the hospital, and if he had a decent nurse, he'd get the comforting he may or may not need. He'd get his questions answered factually and appropriately. He'd get listened to. He'd do it the right way, and it would work, all without me needing to be involved.
I'll soon be starting a new position in the Surgical/Trauma ICU at a huge level 1 trauma center in another city. With any transition, it calls for some reflection on where you've come from, and hopes for where you'd like to go. I've learned a lot over the past year. I've learned that there's a vast amount of information that I don't know, and in turn, to be humble. I've learned not to care so much about people's opinions, or whether or not people are nice to me. "Screw 'em," I occasionally remind myself. I've learned to respectfully tell it how it is, and how to respectfully stand up for those who need it. And, among other things, I've learned not to identify myself as a nurse when I'm outside of the hospital unless absolutely necessary.
I wonder what I'll learn next year.
