confessions of a ward nurse

Yesterday was my first day of work on the ward. Things were a little hectic. With every nurse working with a preceptor and only one ward being open, we had a good twelve people jostling for position around the supply carts and med cabinets. The shift started off with singing and prayer (such a difference from shift change at home!) followed by report. One of my patients was Adolpho. He was six, with wide eyes and a wider smile, complete with a dimple big enouch to lose yourself in. He spent the shift running around the ward, coloring and trying on his blue surgical bouffant cap that a kind-hearted recovery nurse had left with him. We spent a good 45 minutes on the floor together building lego bridges. This is my kind of work.

We also had a bit of excitement. Last week, the head and neck surgeons had held a teaching session where we learned what to do in case a thyroid patient started to bleed once she was back on the ward. We all joked around and laughed about how it would never happen. I said the same thing to my mum when I talked to her before my shift. Imagine my chagrin when I had to call her afterwards and tell that, in fact, we had had to call in the surgeon, open her incision and rush her back to the operating room. I was able to help grab supplies and get her ready to go, and when I got back to my own side of the ward, my preceptor just grinned, shook her head and said, "You really are an ICU nurse, aren't you?" I guess I am. Thanks PICU!

That situation was actually what made me feel the most at ease on the ward. When things were quiet, I was having small small moments of panic when I realized that I had to do things like calculate IV rates based on report of "medium slow." But all this will come with time.



In the meantime, I have a confession to make. I feel like I've been fooling myself (and maybe you) into thinking that all is well with me when, for the past few days, I'd be flat-out lying if I told you I was content and happy. In fact, I spent the entire morning on Thursday sitting on the dock, listening to music and crying to God. I felt like He tricked me. I've been totally overwhelmed by the feeling that this is not what I came to Africa for; this luxury and apart-ness is sickening to me. I've felt almost bitter at moments. Choking on the fact that God got me totally excited to be in the place where my heart is, and then told me I'd be living in a ship at the end of a secured dock, totally caged away from Liberia proper. I hadn't realized how different my expectations were from what the reality of this would be. And of course, like the petulant child I am, I blamed God for it. If He was going to bring me here, He should jolly well have let me know what it would be like, right?

Nope. He promises a lamp for my feet, not floodlights to illuminate the entire road. And He asks me to be content in every situation. Hungry or well-fed. In plenty or in want. Abased or abounding.

So I am going to learn how to have much. I am going to discover what it means to the people of Liberia that I'm able to offer all this. After caring for Adolpho and his dimple yesterday, that all seems, if not easy, at least much more possible.