Most days pass without registering on the Richter scale, some have very mild tremors, and some days are like big earthquakes. The other day it seemed like all of my patients were extra emotionally needy. I know this is a common occurrence in a patient or two at a time, but to have all of them this way at once was a bit overwhelming. We can’t explain to patients why things happen the way they do, but offering words of comfort without being overly optimistic is an art. It seemed like that was the theme for the day.
I also stayed late at work to finish a long first-time chemotherapy treatment. I finished up 13 hours into my shift and ready to go home to get some sleep before the next day’s 12-hour shift. The patient packed up her belongings to go home so happy that she was a quarter of the way done with her four cycles of chemotherapy. She was so excited that she wasn’t nauseated (yet) that she gave me a big hug before leaving.
Sometimes, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Sometimes, I can’t believe they’re paying me to do this. Sometimes, I can’t believe it took me almost 50 years to begin.
At the end of the day, when I leave work at 9 pm after 13 hours and walk toward the parking garage, I take a deep breath. That breath speaks a language of prayer, thanks, gratitude, and love. I know I will be back at 8 am the next day ready to do it again and be better for what I experienced the day before.
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Alene Nitzky, PhD, RN, works in an outpatient oncology clinic. She has an interest in survivorship and wellness. An ultramarathon runner, writer, and pastel artist, she enjoys spending time with her husband and their two Australian Shepherds and sees every day as an adventure. Her blog, Journey to Badwater, is about running and life. She lives in Fort Collins, Colorado.