Pediatric Intensive Care Unit Nurse

by Macy Roy

Note: The post was written by an Our Lady of the Lake College student in fall 2016.

As the transparent sliding doors opened in front of me, I took a step onto the freshly waxed floor. I looked above me in search for the Pediatrics Unit, and I saw scrubs of many different colors pacing from one area to another. When I found the pediatrics sign, I stood before the elevator as the orange light brightened before me at elevator D. The elevator doors opened, and I headed up to the fourth floor. I picked up the black “assistance needed” phone hanging on the wall, and I heard a lady answer, “Pediatric intensive care unit?” I replied, “Hi, I am here to see Audrey to do an observation.” “Visiting hours are over ma’am.” I answered, “Oh ok...?” Chattering began in the background of the phone. Worried that I was no longer able to do my observation, she told me that I was in the right place and apologized. The white locked doors slowly opened, and I saw Audrey waving at me. With a smile on my face I hung up the phone, and I approached Audrey to give her a hug. “Hey!” After a few minutes of welcomes and hellos, I followed her footsteps to the next destination. I looked to my right, and I saw a sweet baby with thick blue tubes and thin white tubes surrounding his entire body. His body was undistinguishable to my vision, because his 5-month-old body was fighting from a traumatic gunshot in the chest. I began to break down inside, and told myself I am unable to handle this. However, my heart reassured me that I was able. Audrey and I approached her desk with a clipboard and an orange ink pen sitting in front of a Lenovo desktop screen. I took a seat in a blue and black rolling chair, while Audrey finished her charting for the two little girls she had seen that night. A CNA walked over and explained that Heather, one of Audrey's patients, needed a new IV, because her hand was swollen from the previous one. “Poor baby, I will be there as soon as I finish charting!” Audrey poked her lips out in sadness. She rushed to finish her charting, so she could take care of her patient. 

“Are you ready to go meet our first patient?” I was super excited, but also worried that I would get emotional. Confused, I answered yes. Audrey wiped her hand across the Germ-X dispenser, and I followed her same motion. She opened the curtain, and I instantly heard Frozen playing on the TV. As I stepped into the room, I saw a little girl with blonde hair and pink Bratz pajamas tucked into the blankets, holding her respirator against her pale face. Audrey unwrapped the supplies from the packaging and scattered them across the bottom half of the bed. “Ok sweet girl, I am going to clean your arm, and on three stick the needle in.” “Do you know all of the Frozen theme song.” Heather skittishly shook her head up and down. “Will you sing it with me?” “Do you want to build a snowman...” she continued to push the needle deeper under the first layer of Heather's skin. “Aw Heather! You are doing so great, sweet girl.” “You are awesome, sweet girl.” Heather continued to kick a little bit, but showed her bravery at the same time. “All done, sweet girl! You are so awesome Heather!” As I stood there watching the interaction between these two, I noticed that Audrey’s leadership made the pain from the needle tolerable for Heather to take. Heather's face immediately began to brighten, and she cracked a thin smile. “Ok sweet girl, I will be back soon to come check on you darling, ok? Do you need anything?” Heather answered no ma’am in confidence. We made our way out of the room, and Audrey had a big smile on her face. She began to tell me how cute her kiddo is, and she was super excited that she was able to spend the night with her. I could see true joy placed on her smiling face, after helping Heather. Her smile continued until we arrived back at the desk to chart everything accomplished in room 11.  Audrey had submitted the final changes to Heather’s chart, and grabbed the chart for room 13.

“Now we need to go see our other kiddo, Aja.” We followed the same routine, as we did before entering Heather’s room, swiping our hand across the Germ-X dispenser. Audrey opened the curtain to room 13, “My Aja girl, you’re not feeling good?” Audrey frowned in worry and sympathy. Aja’s mom was curled up in a fuzzy LSU blanket on the couch sitting next to the bed. I could see her eyelids lowering, as she could barely hold them open anymore. I realized that sleep became the last thing on the mom’s agenda. Audrey pressed her ID against the drawer to access the medicine needed to ease Aja’s pain. “Ok sweet girl, I am going to put some morphine in your IV, so you can start feeling better.” Aja’s puffy lips began to stick our farther from pain. Audrey wrapped her hand around Aja’s arm and inserted the morphine shot inside the IV. As Audrey pushed the morphine in the IV, she questioned Aja about her baby-doll lying on her pillow next to her. To relieve Aja from focusing on the pain, Audrey asked Aja if her baby-doll had back surgery too. Aja answered, “Yes, and she is hurting too.” Audrey and I both laughed. Then, Audrey motioned to give Aja's baby-doll morphine, while continuing to laugh. That moment seemed to brighten everyone’s day a little bit. It seemed to brighten Audrey's, mine, Aja's, and Aja's mom’s day. She threw the trash in the red bin labeled hazardous, and washed her hands. “Ok my sweet girl, can I get you anything else right now?” Aja shook her head no, but still showed pain in her eyes. Audrey frowned and told Aja to call her if she did not feel any better soon. We opened the curtain and walked out of room 13. Audrey frowned and said, “I hope my kiddo starts feeling better.” “She looks so sad, and it makes me sad too.” I realized that the emotions bottled up inside the children were bottled up inside of Audrey as well. I began to understand why working with children was Audrey’s calling. It was not just because she was good with children, but she genuinely cared about these children’s medical problems. She wanted to fix it properly. Audrey never complained or fussed about serving Aja and Heather.

After we left Aja's room and made it back to the desk, I was able to ask Audrey a few questions. First, I asked Audrey how she has the strength to approach these families and children with bad news. Without hesitation, she responded, “God.” Then she elaborated on her answer by saying, “I find my strengths in God because he brought me here, so I know that this is what I am supposed to do no matter how hard it gets. This job is so rewarding, and the bad moments do not compare to the great ones.” She continued to emphasize on the word “rewarding” as if it had a deeper meaning to her, although I never figured out why. I began to explain why I wanted to be a nurse, and why I felt pediatrics was my calling. In addition, I told her that I have such a giving heart, kind heart, and loving heart just like her. She had an emotional smile on her face. I was confused, because I did not know if she was getting teary-eyed with joy or sadness. She grabbed my hand, stared at me in my eyes, and claimed, “Macy, you are going to be an amazing nurse, I can tell! You are so sweet!” My cheeks began to blush as I thanked her for encouraging me. She began to go on about how she does not see herself working anywhere else. She stated that if she had any other job, she would be miserable. “I am so blessed to be a part of these kiddos lives!”

It was approaching 9 PM, but I still had one more question for her. I asked, “How has nursing changed you?” She hesitated for a minute, but then answered, “It has made me a stronger person; however, it has not changed me.” I kind of laughed, because that was not the answer that I was looking for. I needed a better answer than that. She continued, “The most important thing about being a nurse is staying true to yourself, and not letting bad people and bad moments redefine you. You have to have strength, but you do not have to ignore the positive traits that got you here.” I felt goosebumps form on my freckled arms. My mind was blurred. I had no more questions. Audrey’s response answered it all. Her sweet, loving heart makes her an outstanding nurse. I gathered my notebook, pen, and purse, so I could head out. “I am so glad that you came!” Audrey quickly stood up and spread her arms out, motioning for a hug. I gave her a hug, and found my way back to the white, locked double doors. I pushed the steel bar, and it did not open. “I have to open it ma’am.” The secretary pushed the button, and the doors slid open. I walked out the door, I turned my head back, and I glanced back at the babies. These babies were unable to walk out of the locked double doors that I just walked out of. In that moment, it hit me. I began to cry out in a bitter sweet moment. I felt thankful for being able to walk out of those doors healthy, but I did not want to leave the people that could not. I wiped my tears as I remembered that nurses must be strong, but I also remembered something Audrey said. While I was interviewing Audrey, she said, “We should be strong, but it is ok to cry: I do it all of the time.” I let the tears roll for a few seconds, then I developed a sense of joy. I confidently walked out of Our Lady of the Lake Hospital with my head held high and truly inspired.

Audrey could not have demonstrated vocation in a better way. She was gentle and caring to both of her patients equally. The differences between the two little girls are blurred in Audrey’s eyes. Through her vision, they were both helpless little girls that needed her attention. My observations of her interaction with the little girls demonstrated a true servant’s heart. Witnessing the joy she had in serving these children, I knew being a pediatric nurse was her calling. I could not have asked for a better representative of vocation than Audrey.

Health Educator

           

by Matthew L. Arnett 

Note: This post was written by an Our Lady of the Lake College student in fall 2016.            

 “This class - room is my OR, and these students are my patients.”  The words ring out and resonate in both of my ears as Renee N., an RN of almost 20 years, takes the front of the class.  Students begin to pile in, and she does not hesitate to begin the lesson.  She stands at around five feet two inches tall and has dark hair that reaches for her back but is stopped abruptly by the greed of her shoulders.  “Today class, we have a special visitor” she explains “He is a former student of mine, and he is here to observe me.”  I feel my face get warm and my cheeks brighten as ten pair of eyes, all carrying a wealth of opinions and beliefs behind them, focus on me.  The students’ gazes are quickly interrupted by Mrs. Renee’s authoritative interjection.  She declares in a dominate voice that today they will be continuing their practice of vital signs and CPR.  The students’ mixed expressions are telling of their future intent.  Some smile, and some seem almost disgusted with the thought of CPR.  Mrs. Renee leans over and whispers to me in a hushed voice, “You know a lot has changed since you left my class.  It is no longer called CNA, but it is now considered Pre- Nursing.”  

            Renee N. knew at a young age that she wanted to be a teacher.  She prepared all throughout grade school and had every intention of pursuing her calling with a college degree in education.  That calling was re- directed when she came across a scholarship her junior year that required her to volunteer at a hospital.  She accepted with a smile, content with the reward the scholarship awarded.  She never dreamed she would end up having a complete shift in vocation.  While volunteering, she helped a young boy suffering from a neurodegenerative disease walk for the first time in months.  She was so inspired and in awe at the smile she helped produced, she changed directions, applied to college for pre nursing, and never looked back. 

            As I sit in the corner of the class, I watch all the students congregate around Mrs. Renee.  She urges the students to really focus on this particular skill.  “Learning CPR is one of the most valuable skills you will learn in my class.”  She goes on to explain a story of when she had to use CPR in the Neonatal ICU when she worked at Women’s Hospital.  With the memory burning in her mind, she explains to every student and college observer how without the knowledge of CPR, an infant on her floor would have faced eternity, but through her training and education of the skill, she was able to save the child.  The story is so compelling that I want to shout “Selah,” as though she is David from the Bible, recording a psalm.  I am not the only one who is mesmerized.  I can see it in the faces of her students.  The ones who earlier were not enthused at the thought of repeatedly throwing their weight on a mannequin, seem to have a different glint in their eyes.  They begin to ask questions, and Mrs. Renee answers apprehensively, making sure to maintain the laws of HIPPA. 

            A little while later there is no talking in the class - room except for the occasional yell for the AED, or the command to call an ambulance.  Hearing the sound of mannequins being brought back from the grave at the hands of eager high schoolers, brings me back to my junior year.  I reflect on how inspirational Mrs. Renee’s stories always were and how they inspired me to work harder at the task we were tackling that week.  My thoughts quickly return to reality as Mrs. Renee stands before me.  She asks me how college is going and I explain to her that I really like it, but I miss having her as a teacher.  Before she can ask another question, we are interrupted by a female student with long blond hair and a dense patch of freckles entrenching her nose.  She asks Mrs. Renee if she can move on to practicing vital signs.  With a nod she is excused and blood pressure cuffs begin to be passed around like an offering plate on a Sunday morning.  

            “Who knows why we take vitals?” Mrs. Renee pries. A variety of hands pop up as she scans the room searching for an appropriate candidate to answer. I begin to feel flustered as a memory of a test I almost failed resurfaces like a ship that just won’t sink.  A boy with curly hair blurts out the facts that he studied the night before without her calling on him. “That’s right, and it is important that you all know how to take vitals before we go to clinicals next semester, no matter how long it takes you to master them.”  She nods at me and smiles, referencing her remembrance of my failed attempt to find her pulse a few years back.  My feature in her lesson does not stop there, as she laughingly blurts about how I once had a hard time locating her biracial pulse on a skills exam.  I offer a rebuttal to defend the mishaps of my junior year, but It is no use. The class is amused and I am as well.  It reminds me of the way she used to appeal to me and my classmates.  We were her friends, not just her students.  I smile and leave my pride in the trash, right next to the grade that I had received on the test to which she is referencing. 

            The bell rings and students begin to shift and relocate like fire ants after their pile has been kicked over.  “Remember that we have a test next week.  I love you guys, so be safe this weekend and don’t forget to study!”  The students nod and exit the building with thoughts of the weekend dancing above their heads, drowning out the warnings of a very passionate and concerned Mrs. Renee.  The students have all left and she turns to me.  “So how was it being my shadow for today?” she jokingly says as she smiles.  We begin talking and she commences to interview me on my future plans and career.  I almost forget that I have questions of my own.  She answers intently and seriously and after thanking her profusely, I walk to my truck to head home.  

            Once home, I recall the events of that day and the faces of the class.  To me they are just nameless students, but to Mrs. Renee they are different.  They are her patients and her priority.  After working in the NIC U for more than 13 years, she began to feel like she needed to teach students, to connect with them and give accurate information that only someone who has actually been in the line of duty can give.  She does not see her becoming an instructor as a shift in vocation, but rather an expansion on what she is already called to do.  The hum of a water fountain in the back of the class replaces the hum of a vitals monitor; the sharp pricks of needles are now the sharp tips of pencils, perched and ready to puncture the white staring back at them.  Patients are no longer deprived of an immune system or a body function, but rather lacking vital information.  Through her training, it is her job to resuscitate them through knowledge and lead them to a better understanding of the medical field.  Mrs. Renee is more than a teacher.  She is more than a nurse.  She is a fluid that is needed.  Her vocation saves lives and inspires people like myself to peruse our vocation the way she has pursued hers, whole heartedly and without looking back. 

Pediatric Oncology Nurse

An Insight into Another’s Vocation 

by 

Bailey Fairess 

Note: This post was written by an Our Lady of the Lake College Student in Fall 2016. 

As I step into the frigid and lengthy hallway of OLOL hospital, I notice something. The night shift is very still, very silent. I can almost hear myself breathing; the gift shop and restaurants are shut down for the night, and there is not a soul in this corridor except for me. I am supposed to be meeting Mrs. Kelly T., a pediatric oncology nurse for a job shadow, and I find myself suddenly nervous. Whether the nerves are from anticipation, anxiety, or simply my body’s reaction to the chilling air of the hospital, I do not know. She walks up to me with a friendly smile and because she must have picked up on the nerves, ensures me that it is going to be a very interesting night. We venture toward the third floor of the hospital, or “PEDS 3”, and she begins to describe everything she does in a shift. She speaks with such passion and excitement; it is like it is her first day on the job. 

“Hey Carla, how are ya tonight?” She is incredibly friendly with her coworker, who makes a joke or two about the night shift and being fatigued, and we continue to walk. We arrive at the nurses’ station, where she tells me how we will open the night shift and the process that will take place to make sure each patient is up-to-date with their vital check-up and medication. She checks each chart very carefully, making sure she does not miss a thing. It is obvious that she cares deeply for these kids. 

While moving from room to room, she speaks to these children as if they are her own, even though she may have met them less than thirty minutes ago. She is friendly, and the children pick up on it. I smile as one little boy, no older than three, looks at me and says “hey! I can’t figure out this remote to the tv!”. Mrs. Kelly giggles and helps the little boy, acting as if the remote is her most valued task for the night. She grew up in a big family with a lot of siblings, so her love for children is natural. She has three children herself, and spends all her time with them when she is not with her children at work. Her passion for pediatrics is so strong that in her twenty-four years of experience as a nurse, she has never switched to another area. She has been offered other jobs, but insists on staying in pediatrics. This passion shows through her work, and I make a mental note of how much I enjoy watching her with the kids. Although they may be very sick, her presence alone is enough to make them smile. 

We move through the night with ease. Two children are sent up to the HemOnc floor (Hematology and Oncology) and we are assigned to them. One little boy has sickle-cell disease and requires a blood transfusion, and the other little girl is suffering from leukemia. I can only imagine that dealing with children who have cancer day in and day out can be mentally and emotionally draining; however, Mrs. Kelly has a different perspective. She tells me how rewarding it is getting to know the family and seeing them complete their goals. While some of these goals may be minor, such as attending prom or graduating high school, the looks on the kids’ faces when they achieve such goals is what brings her the most joy. She mentions how childhood cancer has a very high survival rate, and the hardest part is the journey. Chemotherapy can be tough on anyone, especially a child. However, the spirt and happiness of these children is something that makes the whole situation a lot less somber. I notice this as we make our rounds. The children have tiny tubes coming out of everywhere- one for saline, one for oxygen, one for blood, etc. This is enough to make me uneasy and emotional, but the children continuously look at us with wide grins and some are even alert and perky enough to ask for more apple juice. 

Mrs. Kelly and I hurriedly walk down the white tile path to the blood bank. The five-year-old with sickle-cell needs a blood transfusion; his temperature is much too high and his blood cell counts are completely off. I wonder how she finds all of this so interesting, the good and the bad. I notice that even while walking down this hallway to retrieve blood for a small child she is smiling from ear to ear. I learn, though, that it is because she feels called to do this. She loves taking care of children, no matter the case. They give her a purpose in life, an inspiration if you will. She describes how the job can be demanding because she must work with both the children and the parents, but mentions that the good far outweighs the bad. 

“There you go, lay your head back down on the pillow.” It is now nearing three in the morning, and we have just completed the blood transfusion. I follow Mrs. Kelly’s lead by smiling at the child’s mother, whispering because the boy is sleeping, and then squeezing a large amount of hand sanitizer into my hands. That is another expectation when one is working with children. Sanitize in and out of the rooms. With the children sound asleep, and vitals in check, we make our way down to the cafeteria for a break. As I am sipping on my sweet tea, which is odd for three-thirty in the morning, and look at her smiling face, I wonder if there has ever been a case that has gotten her down. There were two instances in which children with bone cancer had to get their legs amputated, but even then, Mrs. Kelly could look at the positives and help them overcome that obstacle. 

While observing Mrs. Kelly during a full shift as a pediatric oncology nurse, I came to several realizations. It is incredibly important to not judge or make assumptions about an occupation prior to seeing someone in that element. Mrs. Kelly, being the happiest of people, remained joyful and influential on the HemOnc floor and makes incredible impacts on the lives of children every day. She knows that this is where she belongs, because her passion and desire for helping children is so strong. She truly believes that they have just as big of an impact on her life as she does theirs, and she lives with a certain enthusiasm towards her career that I only hope I will have one day. 

Writing for Profiles in Vocation

This blog is meant to be a collaborative effort by many writers. If you have intimate knowledge of a person's sense of vocation in any profession, please consider writing for Profiles in Vocation, following these guidelines:

• Topics: The focus is on individuals working in any profession and the role that vocation (a sense of a divine calling) has played in their careers. Each blog post tells the story of a professional in action at work, with insights into their sense of vocation incorporated into the story.  
• Audience: The blog targets readers who are considering working toward or entering certain professions. We assume that readers come here looking for insights into the personal aspects of a job rather than hard facts and information. Each blog post gives readers an up-close, individual perspective on a profession.
• Length: Each blog post should be approximately 1000-1250 words. Anything significantly shorter is likely to lack depth, while significantly longer posts are inconvenient to read online.
• Research: Writers for Profiles in Vocation should have witnessed the work and workplace of their subjects. Writers should also talk to their subjects about the role of vocation in their careers. Writers who have had such observations and conversations can create the kind of vivid, personal narratives that we publish for our readers.

About This Blog

Anyone looking for information about a profession will have no trouble learning about employment prospects, wages and salaries, working conditions, and qualifications. Insight into the personal aspects of a profession are harder to come by. What kind of person is well suited to the profession? What is fulfilling about the job? Can a person develop a sense of higher purpose working in the occupation?

These are the kinds of questions Profiles in Vocation seeks to answer. We provide the personal stories of individuals in a variety of occupations, focusing on their sense of vocation, which we understand as a divine calling to serve. We hope to give our readers perspective on the kind of commitment it takes to work (and continue to work) in certain professions.