"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28
Tears spilled over as I clicked off my cell phone and started the car, instructing my GPS to take me to my next hospice visit thirty miles away. The tears were not, as you might suppose, out of sadness for the dying patient that I was headed to see; they were instead tears of fatigue and self-pity, of overwork and of frustration.
As I drove, I struggled to re-direct my emotions and to achieve control over all these unwanted feelings that seemed to bubble up from murky depths of discouragement. Deep breaths, calming thoughts, a focus on the particular patient that I was about to see, and a silent prayer, all helped me gather myself to continue to offer the best possible care when I arrived at the home.
Being a professional nurse of many years, I know the signs of compassion fatigue or just fatigue in general. But life is not an idealized parade of lovely patients in an orderly pattern, nicely separated by re-energizing breaks where well-balanced meals suddenly appear, consumed while a favorite selection of music plays in the background. Real life as a nurse looks more like concentrated discipline to stay focused on the needs of the patient, while dismissing or delaying the cacophony of missed messages, equipment failures, scheduling snafus, and documentation demands.
With time and experience, we all learn to prioritize and master the art of offering ourselves without becoming completely depleted--that is, unless you look at days like the one I refer to above. If we are to be honest, we all have days like that one: days where we overextend ourselves physically, emotionally and spiritually; days where we give until we are running on empty.
Are you a person that fills up your car's gas tank when it gets half way to empty? Do you wait until the light comes on? Or are you the person who waits until the car sputters a bit before coasting in to the nearest station? As nurses who are also spiritual beings, sometimes we expect to keep running on fumes. We don't take the time we need to in order to fill our spiritual tanks. Instead, we survive on "fast food" of the spirit.
I work as both a Hospice Nurse and as a Parish Nurse. I am usually asked to help with the orientation sessions for the new Parish Nurses. My topic is usually, "Time Management." One of the things I tell the new Parish Nurses is: "Minister out of the overflow." Use your imagination to picture a cup, a chalice. Now pour water into that cup until it runs over, like a fountain. As long as our nursing and care for others comes out of the overflow of our hearts, then we will not run dry. We will continue to be able to give and meet others' needs. But when we stop the in-coming nurture of our own souls and bodies, and begin, instead to dip into the cup itself, then we quickly find ourselves in tears as we ride down the road or the elevator, ready to step out to another shift.
If we keep our lives in balance, then we can be those excellent nurses that we so long to be. It is our work to overcome cynicism, doubt, frustration and to journey on as advocates, compassionate healers who reach forward through the maze of computerized care to see the patient and meet them where they are. We move beyond the chores to the connections, to the real and therapeutic touch.
And we don't give up because it is so hard. Let me tell you something: nursing has always been hard and it always will be. We find reasons to complain--we are human, after all--but truly, we have more technology, more ability to relieve pain and suffering, more treatments and more understanding than ever before. Let's do ourselves and our profession a service by focusing less on what is wrong, and instead maximizing what is good.
Mother Teresa once said, "If you can't feed a hundred, just feed one." The idea that we may not be able to do everything for everybody assaults us daily. But we can make one person's day better. One patient. One co-worker. One environmental services person. Just one.
Being competent and compassionate nurses stems from a balanced life, one that focuses on mind, soul, body--or said another way: if we focus on spiritual nourishment and self-care then our words and deeds will be those of a nurse who is both competent and compassionate. Self-care is not a self-centered, self-absorbed state of mind. It is not the mentality of "I work hard, so I deserve what I take for myself." Instead, it is maintaining a rhythm of giving from the spirit and receiving into the spirit. It is nurturing our whole selves so that we can continue to give.
George Saunders, a contemporary fiction writer, writes, "What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded...sensibly. Reservedly. Mildly. Err in the direction of kindness. Do those things that incline you toward the big questions, and avoid the things that would reduce you and make you trivial. That luminous part of you that exists beyond personality--your soul, if you will--is as bright and shining as any that has ever been."
Let us remember that between the twin hills of competency and compassion lies the mountaintop of the true art of nursing. It is a place we all long to do more than just visit. We desire to live there, day in and day out, creating art through our work and making a difference one person at a time.
Joy Eastridge, RN, BSN, CHPN
May 13, 2015
