There is more going on than I know how to put words to.

The wildfires have ravaged Los Angeles. My home and family are safe, but I could see the flames glowing six miles north of me, which was beyond bizarre and disorienting. I know more dear friends than I would like who have lost everything – including a retired care partner from our ICU whom I worked with for over a decade. Many staff from our hospital were evacuated from their homes, or their homes remained intact but suffered significant smoke damage. The amount of loss is staggering, and obviously beyond disruptive.

Politics are heavy on my mind. Again, this space is not primarily for political discussion, but I have grave concerns about what this President will do to healthcare in America, and to those of us who are trying so hard to do right by our patients and keep our heart in this work.

Work itself always remains so multi-layered, with complicated and very sick patients, tight staffing, and unique needs amongst all staff for support on so many levels. It is not an easy time to be working in our pediatric ICU.

My heart and mind feel heavy these days, but I keep coming back to this experience:

About three days into the fires, I had brought my daughters to our local fire department with their homemade thank-you cards and some doughnuts. We had heard the firefighters were pulling 40 hour shifts out on the front lines before their first hot meal, so we wanted to express our deep gratitude. We rang the doorbell, and two firemen came out. One was younger, a Latino firefighter I’m guessing in his late 20s. The other was a taller Caucasian firefighter who looked to be in his mid-50s, with piercing blue eyes and a full mustache. The moment they saw my daughters and the box of doughnuts, they smiled warmly. I apologized we didn’t have more doughnuts to offer, but the taller firefighter reassured me, “This means… so much,” and I believed him. 

I wondered if the younger firefighter saw this historic moment as exactly what he signed up for, or if he was questioning all of his life decisions this week. I could tell the older firefighter was seasoned, and he held a poise that told me he had seen quite a bit in his career. I pictured the seasoned firefighter telling wild stories to the younger one, describing how his teams over the years figured out how to pull through other situations that felt overwhelming and insane.

As we drove home from the fire station, I was so deeply struck by how much the visit resonated with what we experience in nursing now. Those of us nurses who have been around the block for awhile, who know what it is to persevere through hard seasons, need to be here to mentor and support our younger staff in the most overwhelming moments in the unit. And we need the passion of the younger staff to constantly remind us why we first came into this work, and why we are still here.

It’s one step, one helpful action, one apology, one good word,

one step at a time.