I See You, Nurse
By Connor Bond
Remind me, why do I do this?
Why I chase the rush
of chaos, of drama
of resus & trauma
Why I’ve held distraught mothers
Cared for fathers
and leant by the bedside to explain to brothers,
why their sister simply won’t wake up after
I switch off infusions
and call out after her.
On the surface I’ll hold steady,
dry and stern
but I crack on the underground home.
I hold thankless floodgates in my hands
Staying strong for
another shift,
another patient,
another family looking to be shown
Improvement in those lines and trends that I’ll struggle to decipher to a devastated mother, who wants her baby home.
But we’ll still push and still go
Stretching resources, and ourselves.
I’m doubled with patients,
double strength pressors,
double pumping,
double shot espresso for that fourth night in a row.
And then the ward round comes
and I ask myself
have I done enough?
are these lines labelled, is my bedside straight?
but can we be too tough,
on one another
and ourselves?
They call nurses “Angels”,
but my wings are long singed
from holding too tight to Dear Nightingale’s lamp,
but I carry on because I will it,
and because i can,
Because I’ve seen eyes open after weeks without sedation,
while family rallies behind a young man with such determination
as he takes his first steps for the second time in his life.
We are not Saints
We are not Angels
I will never cause miracles at handover
But I’ll give them my mind,
my hands,
my words
until my best is enough, no more.
