I hit my 15 year anniversary as a PICU nurse over the weekend. This was a few days after we said goodbye to some of our most beloved senior nurses in our unit, after their positions were eliminated at the hospital due to all the budgeting constraints from nationwide political pressures. I’ve found myself reflecting a lot on my journey and how I’m starting to think about things moving forward, as I recognize that those of us who’ve been around this long need to step up even more in filling the huge gaps left by our incredible predecessors.

This is what I wrote as reflection over the weekend in other social media sites:

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I’ve only ever known this PICU as a nurse. From the moment I set foot here, I knew this was the place for me, though I never would’ve predicted it.

Fifteen years is long enough for the romance to have faded. I dreamt, as most did, of having magical meaningful moments every shift. I would be the helper, the healer, the compassionate servant of all.

There have been many days when I’ve found myself so smack in the middle of God’s clear calling and gifting that there was no denying, “Yes this is exactly what I was meant to do here.”

There have been other days when grief-stricken families have looked at me and said “I don’t know how you do this job,” and though I’ve just quietly responded, “We are all here to walk with you,” inside I have echoed, “I don’t know how I do this job either.”

Most days, regardless of recovery or tragic death or some lingering in between for my patients, I’ve felt it a genuine privilege to be entrusted with their care. Some days, when I barely had anything left and couldn’t see the how or why, I’ve thought, “I just don’t want to do this any more.”

I’ve given birth to my own children two times in these last 15 years. We have been through a deadly worldwide pandemic. I was struck with cancer. My husband almost died and endured months of intense rehab and a questionable future.

This job taught me to be grateful for my health and we almost lost it all. And oh we are so grateful, but sometimes we still get grouchy.

I’ve watched people love us, hate us, entrust their children to us, and curse us for suggesting we vaccinate those children. I’ve had people thank me profusely, accuse me of being heartless, tell me my husband was probably messing around while I was at work, and tell me I was the best nurse they’ve ever had.

You don’t go into this work for the romance. Or maybe you do, but you find yourself staying in it for so many other reasons.

I stay because every critically ill child needs and deserves people who are committed to stay by them, even on the days we secretly want to quit. Every family deserves people who will stand in their places of horror and dig deep to create beauty and gentleness. Every nurse barely finding their way needs a seasoned nurse to say, “It’s ok. I’ve been thru this too and look, I’m still here. You’re going to be ok.”

I stay because the Lord gives grace to stay when the romance fades. And He gives grace to bring back magical moments just in time, too. He gives grace through my team, my family, my community. He gives grace through my giftings and in spite of my weaknesses.

I’m grateful for all of it. Or, let’s be honest, most of it. It’s still such a privilege to be a nurse.