take off your shoes

Clock in. Get report. To the computer... make a plan. Put the puzzle pieces of 6-7 patients care for 12+ hrs in the right places so you can get it all done and still eat once and pee a few times if you're lucky. Round and do morning assessments. Pass meds. Chart on the computer. Page doctors. Pass meds. Chart. Check orders. Pass meds. Chart. Page doctors. Discharge. Admit. Assess. Pass meds. Check orders. Chart. Chart. Doctors. Orders. Chart. Meds. Assess. Discharge. Admit. Meds. Give report. Clock out. Home. Eat. Shower. Sleep. Repeat.

A day in the life of a bedside floor nurse. It is so easy to get caught up in all of this. All of the meds and charting and doctors and managing time and smiling and pacifying patients and families as they wait impatiently for healing or doctors or surgery or whatever the next step is to get closer to going home. Sometimes a whole shift might pass, or two, or three in a row, where you get to the end of the day and you think "Whew. What the heck happened? What did I even do for the last 12 hours?" Sometimes it feels like you've been running in place for a very long time and can't even remember anything changing or actually accomplishing anything the whole time. Those are the days that make you not want to get up when the alarm goes off the next morning.

But sometimes there are those patients and those families and those moments in the busyness of the day that stop you dead in your tracks, that take your breath away, that remind you why you're here in.

Like when families have lost hope for loved ones, and I'm able to come in smiling and hugging at 7am which can literally turn a whole day around for someone.

Or when I'm able to explain [which I get to do usually at least twice a day] that the reason I am smiling and hugging and the reason they "feel so much better when I'm in the room" is because I have Jesus in my heart and He's shining through me on to them.

Or when patients who seem to be nearing the end and about to go on to whats next for them get better, and feel better, and then get to go home, and I get to hug them goodbye and tell them they better not come back here, to which they laugh every time.

Or when patients are in pain, excruciating and relentless pain, and I can be there even if just for a few minutes to hold them or distract them or talk them through it, or do the same for their families.

Or when patients have lost control and are at their weakest and most vulnerable state, I can be the one preserving their dignity and using sweet words and gentle hands.

On days like those, thats when the busyness of the day doesn't seem so busy, and time doesn't really matter all that much, and I lean up against the wall of the hallway or the bathroom or the breakroom.. wherever I can catch my breath, and I close my eyes and I thank my God for calling me to this intimate place.. this place where I hold strangers and heal bodies and spirits, where I am a witness for the King.. where I rejoice with people when things go good, and cry with people when things go bad.. where I can love people who need it when they most need it. It's days like these that remind me that this, my friends, this place of loving strangers and taking care of the most basic and important needs of people.... this is holy ground.

So take off your shoes, nurses [and the like]. Take off your shoes and walk carefully. Whisper and smile, and breathe deep, and remember that you are on holy ground.