As described in previous posts, the first half of this year took me sideways on a cancer journey that I never anticipated. I had my lumpectomy in January, which was followed by a complication with a massive hematoma at the surgical site that had me swollen, in pain, and oozing old blood from my incision for three months.

Despite the hematoma, I went back to work two weeks after my lumpectomy and worked mainly as charge nurse or with very light patient assignments with tremendous support from my managers and colleagues. In our current climate, I should explicitly state that this was entirely by choice and not because any manager or hospital leadership compelled me to try and keep working. I went to work because I wanted to and knew I could do the charge nurse role with the support of all my colleagues. After working for eight weeks with my slow-healing hematoma, I went on medical leave so that I could focus on my four weeks of radiation. I returned to my normal part-time work schedule two weeks after completing radiation, and am now on long-term hormone therapy.

If I’m honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what my cancer experience was going to do to me as a nurse. I wasn’t sure who I was going to be on all levels at the end of radiation. As important as nursing had been to me, I was giving myself generous space to consider all my options, given the seriousness of the diagnosis. I was just going to pay close attention to how I was doing as I returned to work and try to heed what was going on inside me with wisdom.

It has been a joy and a bit of a relief to find that I still love bedside nursing. My cancer experience has shaped me into a different nurse, and these are the initial inner transformations I’ve noticed:

1. I believe more than ever in the value of the small things, and feel less disheartened by my inability to fix everything for my patients and their families. I remember every mammogram and radiation tech, every nurse, who treated me with sincere kindness in my brief interactions with them in my screenings and treatment sessions. I remember their faces, their short intentional moments of expressing genuine compassion, the ways they helped me feel like a human and not just part of their work flow. None of them had the time to go deep with me, and none of them could fix my whole situation. But I remember how they made each hard, dark day so much more tolerable, interrupting my lonely suffering with kindness, safety, support, and moments of levity.

Even if I am helpless after all my efforts to remedy the big picture situation for my patient and family, I am so comforted to believe once again that even the small, seemingly throwaway gestures of kindness, can leave a real lasting impact.

2. I feel less impatient for my patient and family to arrive quickly at a place of acceptance with their situation, to have capacity for clear and articulate conversations, or to “cope well” (which if we think about it, can often be a rather judgmental and far-removed assessment of coping on our end as the healthcare team). I understand now how emotionally, mentally, socially and logistically overwhelming it is to receive a serious diagnosis and navigate difficult treatments. The shock and trauma of the experience makes it so hard to take in and process information each day, much less make big decisions. I have more patience for the time my patients and their families need to process what is happening, and I can walk with them with more empathy and gentleness. Rather than trying to talk at them about what is going on, I feel more inclined to ask questions to better understand where they really are and what approach from the doctors and nurses would serve them best.

3. I feel less frustrated by my inability to make sense of others’ suffering. For so long, I would go through our PICU and wrestle with such deep angst over the question, “Why do these things happen?” But when I got sick, I certainly grieved but I couldn’t explain why I had to go through a cancer journey. It wasn’t helpful to me to try and decipher a reason for my suffering; what was helpful was simply understanding that suffering is universal for everyone at different times – including me – and finding a deeper grounding in my faith and my community to help me persevere with each step. I still grieve over all the suffering I see in my patients and their families, but I am less tormented by the ‘why’ question. I am more compelled to just keep coming alongside them to help them endure and to help them know they are not alone.

I am grateful for every healthcare worker who has come alongside me and my family with presence, kindness, and a commitment to giving their best even when the work day was hard for them too. I feel more than ever that it is such a privilege to be a nurse. Your work, your efforts, your small gestures – none of it is in vain.