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Tired, But Still Trying

“Tired, but still trying." I read this line on someone’s social media the other day and it really stuck with me. That’s exactly how I feel. I’m tired, but I’m still trying.


The Beginning:

Back in May 2020, my whole department completed modules and half day in-person training on delivering comfort care to patients. This was our organization’s effort to be prepared for whatever Covid-19 threw at us. We completed the training, but weren’t immediately scheduled to be redeployed to help. Instead, in June 2020, we were redeployed for an entirely different task (click here to read about that). Months passed while we were redeployed elsewhere. While case numbers remained high, we all kind of figured that any sort of redeployment to provide comfort care wasn’t going to happen (or at least I did).


However, a week into 2021, we got the announcement. At 3pm on a Wednesday. Effective the following Monday, we would be scheduled to provide comfort care on inpatient units. My department would be scheduled to do two weeks of comfort care and then two weeks of our normal work; continuing this cycle until we were no longer needed. Comfort care includes: delivering meals, fetching items for nursing staff, supporting bathroom hygiene, making beds, transferring patients to/from their beds, showering patients, doing laundry, and providing companionship. From a healthcare perspective, none of these tasks sound particularly gruesome. However, I am not a nurse. These tasks are not within my skill set nor my scope of practice and many are completely new for me.


In a moment of selflessness, I put my name forward to work evening shifts (3pm-11:15pm) so that the many people in my department with children wouldn’t have to. What I didn’t factor into this decision was Drake’s schedule. He works 7am-6pm. So, when I work evenings, he’s gone before I get up in the morning, I leave before he gets home, and then he’s asleep when I got back. This means a whole week of living solo. Le sigh.


I’ll admit to being less than enthusiastic about this redeployment. I often found myself on the verge of tears, feeling squashed under a sense of impending doom leading up to my first shift. I kept telling myself that the only thing in this situation I could control was my attitude. Did I want to be redeployed? No. Was I freaked out about it? Yes. Do these patients still deserve quality care? Yes. It’s unfortunate for them that it has to come from me, but I’d give it my best. I bought scrubs and pulled out the sturdy running shoes I’d bought when redeployed for Covid-19 swabbing.


The Middle:

Fortunately, they put us in pairs of two for redeployment which helped me feel less alone. My first week was uncomfortable. The nursing staff didn’t know what we could do for them and neither did we. Can we make beds? Yes. Can we take blood sugars? No. Can we change incontinence products? Yes, but show us how. Can we hand out meal trays? Yes. Can we shower patients? Yes, but show us how. Slowly, painfully, and awkwardly, we started to figure out the evening routine and the tasks that we were comfortable with. I did my best, but all I kept thinking was, “This isn’t my job. I didn’t go to school for six years to do this. I didn’t choose this. I want to stop.”


Truthfully, this redeployment strained my relationships more than I’d anticipated. Drake and I as much as possible have a “talk it out” policy. This means that we try to have open communication and let the other person know when something is bothering us as soon as possible. We’re not the passive aggressive or go to bed mad types. However, how do you talk something out before it festers when you only see each other for four out of fourteen days? I’ll admit to having a tense phone conversation about the division of household labour. During the call, Drake said, “I need you to tell me what you need.” And I exclaimed, “When?!” Then I cried.


When my friends and coworkers asked how it’s going I didn’t know how to respond. The ones that haven’t been or won’t be redeployed don’t really understand the stress and anxiety of jumping into a brand new role with a brand new population (I usually work with kids, not adults). They kept asking, “how are things going?” with big smiles. The kind and rational Laura knows that they mean well and want the best for me. She knows they may be trying to give me a safe space to vent. She knows that they might be anxious about their upcoming rotation and need me to alleviate their fears. But the overwhelmed and tired me just wants to rail at them for not understanding how hard this is and how much energy it takes just to come up with an answer that isn’t, “This isn’t my job. I didn’t choose this. I want to stop.” I told one friend, “I’m fine. I’m getting in the groove of working late” in an attempt to find something positive to say and she said, “Oh really? Everyone else I talked to is really struggling.” Yes. So am I. But I can’t go around shouting my displeasure to the universe (I can’t right?). I’m tired, but still trying.


The End (for now):

I’ve finished my first two-week rotation. The second week was easier than the first. I felt more confident in what I should be doing and how to do it. I also gained some familiarity with my partner, the patients, and the nursing staff on the unit. A couple nights ago, one of the patients needed a covid-19 swab and his assigned nurse had never performed one. I volunteered thinking, “Finally, something I know how to do.” What world am I living in when giving covid swabs feels like coming home!?


A part of me feels disappointed that my rotation ended just when I started to feel like I knew what I was doing. Another part of me is relieved. Most of me is just excited to spend some time with my husband when he gets home from work in an hour. It’s been a long 14 days.


If you’re tired, keep trying. You can do it.


Laura


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