Dear Future Me: An Open Letter to the Nurse I'll Become

Dear Future Me,

You have your very first day as an RN in the PICU tomorrow. Rather than tapping into my descriptive writing skills and painting a lavishly detailed picture for you, I'll just cut straight to the point and be blunt about what emotions I'm feeling:

• Terrified I'm not good enough
• Tired and conflicted from actively reminding myself I am good enough
• Nervous I'll make an error that harms a patient
• Overwhelmed by the responsibilities of protecting future lives
• Anxious my new co-workers and managers will come to the conclusion they've made a mistake by hiring me
• Excited to learn and grow
• Ready to finally get out there and prove myself
• Actually wait on second-thought oh my god wait no no no am I ready?! Agh!!!!

Future Me, I write to you, because I've seen seasoned nurses who seem to forget what it's like to enter this field. I write to you, because my experiences felt minimized and my feelings felt dismissed when I was brushed off with: you're just new, you'll get used to it, because I don't want you to have become someone who views new grads as naive or incompetent, because I want you to be a source of comfort and knowledge to those fresh out of nursing school, because I don't want you to have put up walls that completely cut off the blood flow to your loving heart. I write to you to remind you what it's like to be me at the start of my nursing journey. I want to ask you some questions; I want to remind you of the hopes I have for how your career has turned out.

Because you took your first RN position in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, I'm sure you have seen quite a bit of death, suffering, and grief. Have you become stronger in the sense that you have fine-tuned your intuition and channeled your empathy into making you a better caregiver and healthcare practitioner, in the sense that you don't feel completely knocked off your feet every time you encounter a sad patient-case? When I envision you, my dream is that you are a tenacious nurse who did not lose your sense of compassion and that you never, ever forgot that each patient you cared for, in life and in death, was someone else's entire world.

Have you become numb to the tasks that accompany emotional moments in nursing? I so strongly hope you still view postmortem care as a privilege and that you have not become someone who gossips and chats about your weekend as you zip up someone's child in a body bag. Please, tell me that you have not become someone who complains about a parent crying. How is your patience nowadays? Do you still realize that kind mothers and calm fathers transform inside the hospital into Angry Mama-Bears and Upset Helicopter Dads out of love, fear, and stress? I'm praying that you aren't taking it too personally, that you aren't becoming cold towards those parents, that you aren't depriving them of the compassionate care you're capable of because you're offended or pissed off (but of course, that you're standing up for yourself and advocating for yourself when such transformations become inappropriate, downright disrespectful, or dangerous).

Moments in nursing may have become what feels a part of your routine job description, but have you forgotten that they are not "normal" to anyone else? While you, the experienced nurse, get to go home to your family, in the hospital you are leaving behind for the evening, someone else's has been torn apart. I hope you remember that something as simple-seeming as a central line insertion feels so threatening, so invasive, so frightening to a patient and his or her family. I hope you haven't gotten too big for your britches, too unavailable, too busy, or too impatient to provide education and kindness throughout these moments. 

Have you forgotten what it's like to have been me? I'm crossing my fingers that you still see the nursing student in the room and that you remember he or she is trying to seem strong and competent, but may have many questions or may need to process what has just occurred. I'm counting on you to see that nursing student after a Code Blue and to invite him or her to the debriefing session to follow, to still understand that even though this patient was not "assigned" to the student, that even though the student perhaps did not actually play a role in the code, he or she is at risk for secondary-trauma too. He or she is confused, and he or she is looking up to you on how to handle these situations. Future Me, you have the power to shape new nurses. Please, wield it wisely.

Nursing is not an easy job; I chose it knowing I am strong, and I am capable. I will walk out onto the unit tomorrow with high expectations for who I will become. It will take self-care, honesty, grit, a support system, vacations, resilience, reframing, (and hey, maybe even some occasional therapy if I need it), for me to maintain my empathy throughout what has the potential to be such an emotional career. It will require humility and patience to refrain from seeing myself as any "better than" new healthcare providers. But, I know you can do it, Future Me, and if you have forgotten that these were your intentions for yourself, let this serve as a reminder for who you used to visualize you will become.

With love, 

Me