An Open Letter to the Experienced Nurse on My Floor. From a New Grad.

I see you walking into your shift. Coffee in hand, bag slung over your shoulder. You casually glance at the assignment board as you go to clock in and set your things down. It seems in that moment, you already know how your shift will go. A few minutes later you are on the computer, flying through your charts while waiting to get report. You know more about your patients than the off-going nurse, and know exactly what questions to ask as she gives you report. 

As I begin my night, I am anxious; I grab some supplies to fill my pockets, and have to stop and think about what patient I should assess first. I am calculating how to most effectively pass meds when you pass me in the hall. Your eyes meet mine. "Your patient in room 201 just called asking for water, do you want me to get it for him?" you ask. I say no, I will be in there soon and don't want to put you out. But, I wonder how you seem to know more about my patients than I do. Your confidence is intimidating and comforting at the same time, with one feeling growing stronger, depending on how patronizing or supportive you are.

I finish passing meds just as my first admission is called...a potential STEMI. My heart sinks for a moment wondering how stable he will remain through my shift. As I look through his chart, I begin to question myself and my abilities. When the patient arrives, I go down to the room, and am grateful to see you come too, helping me assess him and get all his information. It seems there is always one more thing to do, but you work through it smoothly, treating the patient with dignity, even as he is getting tired of answering questions and just wanting to go to sleep.

After getting that new patient settled, I get a call, "Your patient in room 203 just hit the call light, but I couldn't make out what he said beyond 'nurse.'" I head down there, only to find that patient fast asleep. His wife is anxious, stating he has been restless and uncomfortable all night. She asks me to check his blood sugar: it is 53. My heart races just for a moment as I call an aide to get his vitals and bring him some juice and crackers. I see you down the hallway and quickly fill you in on what's going on. It's not that I don't know what to do; but I need the reassurance that I am on the right track. I need the approval and support you offer, and the confidence boost you provide by taking the time to listen and agree with what I did. And, in case I missed something, I need your assistance to fill in the blanks of my lack of experience.

Suddenly, my phone rings. "Your new patient is in VT." At the same time I hear footsteps running down the hall, I realize they are mine, and yours are close behind. I enter the room; you have stopped only long enough the grab the crash cart and call for more help. You tell me to mentally review the patient's history and allow the other nurses who have filled the room to perform CPR. You help to keep me calm as I realize my hands are shaking. You stay by my side as the doctors enter and I give them report. You assure me, as the patient is revived and then emergently transferred to the OR that I did everything right. That the patient didn't code because I missed something. That I have had a part in saving a life.

As our shift ends, you pack up your things and prepare to walk out. I follow, my mind still spinning with the events of the shift. I wonder if I will ever be as knowledgeable as you are. If I will ever feel as calm and in control of my assignment as you appear to be. I know even when that day comes, I will still want you by my side as my co-worker, my teammate, and my friend.