A Farewell to Healthcare

“I want to be an artist!” I proudly exclaimed to my parents one night. It was the end of my eleventh grade year of high school. My art teacher had pulled me aside earlier that day to let me know he believed I should go to college for art and that I needed to think about my senior art thesis- a project that would include ten of my best pieces to show my creative range. I had always loved art and being surrounded by creative souls. From a young age I found them fascinating and loved listening to how their brains worked. While some may have perceived them strange or weird, I saw these artistic humans as magical. I was thrilled at my teacher’s idea because I dreamt of going to art school and remain surrounded by these magical thinkers during college, but I could see the look of concern on my parent’s face. To their defense, I naively did not understand the ends and outs of college tuition and preparing an almost adult for the real world.

Over the next few weeks I tried to convince my parents that being an artist would be a great idea. However, my arguments fell on deaf ears as they were concerned I wouldn’t be able to support myself in the long run. I thought long and hard, then reluctantly gave up the dream and came back with, “I’ll be a kindergarten teacher.”

“Try again.”

Over the next few months I agonized over “what I was going to be when I grow up” since I needed to declare a major before going to college a few hours north of my home town. At some point during my senior year, I came to my parents and said, “I do not know what to major in.”

My father quickly came up with a solution, “You’ll go to school as a business major and maybe over the next year or so you can figure something out.”

It was settled- I would enter the University of Mississippi in the fall as one of the many business majors who had no clue what they wanted to do with their life. August quickly came, and I dove into my freshman year head first. I found my “people” and loved every second of it. Somewhere along the way I called my parents and said, “I’ve decided be a lawyer.”

“That’s a great idea. You’ve been arguing since you could talk,” was the response I received.

So, I enrolled in my first pre-law class and to my surprise, I absolutely hated it. I hated it even more than the accounting class I barely squeaked by in during the previous semester. Back to the drawing board I went. Now at this point, my parents were concerned I would never figure it out, so they scheduled me to undergo an aptitude test. And they scheduled it right smack dab in the middle of Derby Day my sophomore year. Derby Day is an event and competition that all sororities participate in during a week in April. It is both intense and loads of fun, and I was devastated to miss the highly anticipated event. I knew right then and there I better figure out this “what I’m going to be when I grow up” quickly or I may miss out on yet another social function with my friends. The result was that I would go into healthcare- maybe be a nurse. It seemed to make sense because my college boyfriend at the time was pre-med, and we could study together then go on to nursing and medical school together Besides, I had always been a caretaker in a way, so I knew I could do it. And I wasn’t afraid of needles or blood.

My parents were both thrilled and relieved. The path was set for me to become a nurse. In the summer of 2004 I would begin the journey of getting my nursing degree at the nursing school in my hometown of Jackson, Mississippi. I ditched the college pre-med boyfriend, but stayed the course. I found my tribe to help me survive (shout out to Kate and Lauren) and asked a lot of questions to my instructors. I will never forget when one of favorite teachers was explaining colostomies to an extremely green class. I raised my hand in the middle of the lecture and asked, “So, you’re telling me that people have to wear this bag all the time? How on Earth are you supposed to wear a dress for a party?” (Clearly my priorities were still that of a typical college girl.)

She laughed out loud to my questions, then simply responded, “Well, you just have to find a dress loose enough to work with it.”

My mind was blown. I was leaving an extremely sheltered and privileged life and entering a world of real problems- real medical problems. It was eye opening, and it was only getting started.

I eventually graduated and headed north to Nashville, Tennessee, where I took the first job I could find. Nothing will make you get a job quicker than being told you are cut off because you are officially an adult. I entered the Neurological world at Vanderbilt University Medical Center as a bedside nurse on the nightshift. The first night I entered the breakroom to store my dinner in the refrigerator an older nurse welcomed me. She looked at me as I placed my plastic bag of food inside the fridge and simply said, “You’ll either gain or you’ll lose.”

I confusingly looked at her and asked, “Weight?”

“Yep. You’re on nightshift now. You’ll either gain or you’ll lose.”

I thought that was a strange comment, but just replied, “Well I guess we will see.”

I quickly fell into my nursing routine. I felt like a vampire in another dimension who worked all night while my friends slept. I rarely sat down, was always on my feet juggling patients, was almost always sick with something I picked up from a patient, and didn’t know exactly when to eat or sleep. The truth is, I spent more time sleeping than I did eating and didn’t realize I had accidentally dropped over fifteen pounds on my lean five-six frame until my childhood friend, Kelly, announced one day we needed to go to Wendy’s.

“Why are we going to Wendy’s?”

“Because you look anorexic, and I’m making sure you eat chicken nuggets and French fries until you don’t anymore.”

It was then I realized my body was rejecting bedside nursing on the nightshift, and quickly ordered a large of everything, then came to the decision that it was time for a change. I eventually transitioned out of my bedside role and into the sales and marketing side of healthcare which gave me a more structured life while allowing me to use my clinical skills along with my social skills. I will, however, never forget certain things as a bedside nurse:

I’ll never forget my patient who came back from inguinal hernia surgery. No one told me the surgeon went through his belly button for the repair. It made for an extremely awkward situation when I was looking for his incision during my initial assessment at four in the morning. I’m sure his wife was mortified as I unknowingly accosted her husband right in front of her. I never returned to that room again and instead sent my charge nurse to follow up.

I’ll never forget the fellow nurses who took me under their wing- especially one named Mary who became my nurse mom and best friend during the vampire nights. We became so close that administration rarely let us work together because we were having “too much fun.”

I’ll never forget my first code, the first toe I had to tag and place in a body bag, or the first life I got to save.

I’ll never forget when my charge nurse let me know I would have to digitally disimpact a patient as a last resort. (You may have to look that up or you may rather not if you don’t want to gag). I was horrified and told her that it was where I drew the line, and there was simply no way I could do it. I respectfully refused. Sharon became my angel when she took one look at me- the young, naïve, blonde-haired sorority girl from Mississippi and realized I was speaking my truth. She did the job for me, and I am forever grateful. That Sharon has a special place in heaven.

I’ll never forget the young man who was the same age I was and had survived a suicide attempt. The bullet had just missed the exact spot that would have killed him. Every day was filled with the worst curse words you could think of because of his frontal injury until one day he turned into the most kind and gentle soul. I truly felt for what he and his parents were going through and wonder where he is still to this day.

I’ll never forget the stroke victim who could only blink her eyes, but whose husband brought a change of silk pajamas, her favorite blanket, and a stereo full of the most fun rap music for her every day. We had quite the party in that room while it was time or her dressing changes. His loyalty and love for her never wavered until she eventually passed a few months later.

I’ll never forget the morning my older brother and parents scolded me at the kitchen table when I replied “Jesus Christ!” to a surprising fact. I took a serious look at them and said, “Listen, y ’all need to worry about yourselves. If you knew all the things I had to do as a bedside nurse, you’d realize my place in line at the pearly gates is way ahead of each of you. Trust me, I’ve wiped enough strangers’ butts that I know I’m getting into heaven no matter what.” They didn’t have much to say after that comment.

Most importantly, I’ll never forget the people from all walks of life- the patients, the environmental service men and women, the nursing assistants, the doctors, and the fellow nurses. The list could go on and on. The biggest lessons nursing has taught me are so very important – that we are all humans and all need to be taken care of at some point. That we are all the same, and no one is better than anyone. Again, that we are all humans.

After about thirteen years working in the healthcare world, the lovely pandemic hit. It just so happened that my job during this time was in the intensive care units of local hospitals assessing patients on ventilators. It was during this time I saw many people take their last breath alone- without their loved ones. I saw fear and exhaustion like I had never seen in the nurses’ and doctors’ eyes- even behind their plastic face shields. I saw administrators panic and take out their stress on employees. I saw my fabulous and faithful mentor get pushed out of a position she held for twenty years as a result of all this stress. And it is during this time that I realized first and foremost that I must figure out how to return to my true self- an artistic creative.

Once I received my first vaccine, I literally ran off to the jungle for a retreat in Costa Rica where I finally left all the noise of everyday life I had been inundated with. I was able to quiet myself in order to gather direction. (see the previous “The Bee and the Blue” story.) Upon my return, I sat my husband down for a talk at the kitchen table where I told him, “I have three to five years left.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Healthcare. I’m burnt out. Along with everyone else. It’s provided a great life for me and job security, but it is so far from who I truly am- an artistic creative.”

“You’re right. That is who you are.”

“I’m telling you now, and giving us a three to five year time frame where I can transition out of this world with intention instead of abruptly and reactively leaving.”

Taylor agreed this was a reasonable plan, and we went about our life as usual. What I didn’t realize is that when I put my true intention out to the universe and God- really put it out there from my gut and heart, that things finally started aligning.

The best way I can describe doing something that isn’t in alignment with who you truly are is like wearing shoes that are a size too small. Sure, they look great or “complete the outfit” from the outside, but to the person wearing them, they are uncomfortable and constricting. The shoes simply do not fit them. It’s just like healthcare didn’t truly fit me. From the outside I could play the part and do a great job, but inside it just did not fit and was constricting- even suffocating and exhausting at times for my right-brained, artistic, and creative soul.

So, on June 1, I will officially hang up my healthcare hat and transition to a creative role with a company that focuses on large Christmas events in major cities across the country. I will be involved with creatives in my daily life who focus on bringing magic and joy to the community instead of hoping for sick patients to appear in order to meet a monthly number or quota. And I will focus more on my writing. Some may see it as a midlife crisis while I see it as just another way I’m returning to my true, creative self- where I am naturally aligned and living as I should. While I am grateful for all the opportunities, relationships, and security that healthcare has brought to my life, it’s simply time I put on some shoes that fit.

I cannot say enough about Julia Cameron’s works. My favorite is The Artist’s Way, however another amazing book she has is It’s Never to Late to Begin Again: discovering creativity and meaning at midlife and beyond. Feel like you need a change or to return to your true self? I’d check out both of these amazing books.

Just Plain Tacky

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