Night Shift

[The Story Teller]

NIGHT SHIFT



Graveyard shift, night shift, third shift,

~ they all meant the same thing to me ~

8 hours of no sleep!

I walked up the hill to the hospital entrance,

each leg feeling as if it was cast in concrete.

Mulling over what a nursing instructor

had told me at graduation,

I giggled despite my exhaustion.

"You're working nights?

Take lots of books to read

because you won't have anything to do".

Hah! Little did he know that

there weren't enough hours on the face

of the earth to finish all the tasks in a night.



I barely had my coat off my shoulders

when patients started ringing their call lights

for instant attention.

Medications needed mixing,

doctors were phoning in orders,

and the evening nurse was insistently

trying to give reports in the middle of the chaos.



It was a typical night on a surgical unit.

I took a deep breath,

grabbed my stethoscope,

and began to jot down notes about my assignment.

Ten patients!

How in the world would I ever

give the kind of care that they deserved?

I could feel the hysteria building.

My pulse picked up a couple of beats

and the first cup of coffee was a mere memory

by the time I grabbed the medication cart

parked in the nurse's station

and rolled it into the hall.



Already an hour had passed and I was overwhelmed.

I told myself to "chill"

and to deal with one room at a time.

Easier said than done!

It seemed that every patient had a

complication, a request, a need, or a complaint.

Rushing around like a whirling dervish,

I pushed myself harder and harder.

Taunting me was the image of the paperwork

to tend to when I finished my care,

and I tried to pick up speed

so I could beat the clock.



The last room was quiet and dark.

It looked as though I was in the clear.

I could tiptoe in and out,

then rush off to attack the mountain of reports.

Since the patient was being discharged in the morning,

he really didn't need me for anything right then.

He could be assessed more thoroughly

when he woke later in the night.

No such luck!

"Nurse?" The timid voice reached my ears

just as I was about to close the door.

"Nurse?" Oh, how I wished I never heard that word!

Why hadn't I walked a little faster before

he heard my rubber-soled shoes?

I turned towards the man

under a twisted pile of blankets and sheets

and replied, "Yes?

Is there anything I can do for you?"



"I was wondering...

I was diagnosed with cancer today,

and I was wondering if you have time to talk?"

And so began his cry from the soul.

I sat at this gentle man's bedside

and listened while he bared his emotions

and exposed his fears.

I prayed with him,

forgetting about the work that

I had deemed so important just an hour before.

When he had nothing left to say,

I held his hands and told him that I

wished I could wave a magic wand to cure him.

All I could do was to be there for him,

to listen, and to pray that he would receive the strength

to deal with his illness.

We cried together,

and I stood to leave the room.

His final words continue their echo in my mind.

"I prayed to God to send someone to me so I could talk.

My wife died a month ago

and I have no one.

Thank you for being here with me and

taking the time to listen.

I know the Lord sent you to me

in the middle of the night."



That encounter was a God-tap on my shoulder

to remind me that He knows how much I can handle.

My 8 hours of work while the rest of the world

sleeps is no longer work as I knew it.

It is reporting for duty, ready for whatever

assignment God deems necessary.



Written out of love for my patients & for my profession.

~by Irene Budd (Budzynski), R.N.~









Mother Teresa understood that when she wrote,

"It is not how much you do

but how much love you put into the doing

and sharing with others that is important."



Submitted by Richard