I’ve been putting off writing this post for a while now, just because in order to write it I am going to have to reflect on past trauma I would much rather forget. That being said, the title of this post has been sitting in my drafts for the last 21 days, so I’ve decided it’s finally time to get it over with.

I never really knew what I wanted to do growing up, but I’ll dive deeper into that another time. Long story short, I was always somewhat interested in healthcare, especially considering both of my parents were in the medical field. So, I decided to become a registered nurse.

Now, one thing about me- I love the action. I need to be busy or I will literally start tweaking out when I get too bored (another symptom of my undiagnosed ADHD). Because of that, my passion has been to work in high intensity, critical environments. I began my nursing journey working on a medical teaching unit (which was essentially a step-down ICU), before making the switch to general intensive care. Most recently, I began working in the emergency department. Needless to say, I love the chaos.

The only caveat of that, though, is the fact that patient’s in these environments can be overwhelmingly sick. It then becomes my responsibility (along with my other team members’) to keep them alive. When we succeed, the feeling is great. However, there are those times that, despite our best efforts, we just can’t save someone. And that, my friends, is a much harder pill to swallow.

I constantly have to remind myself that the average human being never sees a dead body; that seeing a dead body isn’t a regular everyday occurrence for most people. In fact, I practically have to pick up the jaws of my friends who have non-healthcare field related jobs whenever they find out I’ve seen a dead person.

Just over two years ago, I had one of the worst shifts of my career. It was actually what prompted me to finally make the switch to intensive care nursing. This particular shift occurred on the night of Valentine’s Day, so watching a patient die surrounded by posters and flowers from their significant other didn’t exactly make it any easier.

I don’t want to delve too much into the whole situation, but this patient had previously been stable and was not expected to die. So, getting to work for my night shift and having a complete dumpster fire to deal with (when at the same time I was expected to care for five other acutely ill patients), was one of the most traumatizing experiences of my life. And it didn’t help that I had zero support from my management following the situation (big surprise).

I feel like this is part of the reason why I am the way I am; I have seen and dealt with a lot of disturbing stuff, even though I’ve only been a nurse just shy of 4 four years. In order to cope with the traumatizing shit I have seen, I use humour, even when it may not be the most appropriate. Honestly, I think a lot of nurses are this way. That’s why I always have a bit of a chuckle whenever someone tells me I’m funny- it definitely has to do with the fact that I watch people die for a living.

– k.