Things take time. Unfortunately, that cliche applies even at work.

I have been actively doing nursing care for a year now and the learning never stops. Every so often someone complains and duties get shifted around, and a new responsibility tossed into the salad of my eight hours that really cannot handle one more tomato. Those aren’t happy days.

Some of the cucumbers I have known about all along, but I had to race about like a madwoman to get them done, ignoring every co-worker and resident alike who might send a friendly word my way. I’m not ill-mannered or rude or conceited. I’m just busy! and I power-walk down up and down the halls in such a way that even Oprah would be proud.

Oh and then were the radishes that sometimes never got done but ought to have been, but I’m only human, right? If I tried my very best, but didn’t find the time to manage a few minor details, I’ve learned to just let it go. There was always a serious side-order of guilt associated with that, but in a job where you can never catch up one day in order to make your next day less stressful, where every day is as hectic and fast-paced as the next, just about everyone learns to adjust their priorities when they need to do so.

Funny thing is that the more I let go, the more I found ways to incorporate the uneaten radishes plus extra tasks even, safely, sanely into my insane schedule. And now I can stop to give a hug, encourage someone who is walking, give an extra shave or sit down to visit over tea.

Care is such a personalized task. We get people up, we help them have their meals, we take them to bed when they are ready. And yet the million tiny idiosyncracies in between sunrise and set are my job to know. Who likes their cornflakes with chocolate milk? And who gets breakfast early because she simply won’t eat at the table with everyone else? Who might appear to be independent but loves when you take two minutes to help with a cream on his face?

Recently, I spent all morning on one particular shift strained beyond my capacity. Everything that am was taking longer and harder to accomplish than it should have been. I couldn’t blame anyone, staff or resident. The situation simply was. Then as i walking to my lunch break and the staff room, the dark shades feel from my eyes. Their pieces fell to the floor at my feet and followed, leaving a trail down the hall of emotion piled on emotion. My stress was pent-up anger, and the anger was desperate raw grief. I didn’t get to say goodbye to the last dear one who left us. I wasn’t the one who held her hand. None of us were. Some hospital nurse got that priviledge. Oh my, that aches. The tears filling up in my eyes tells me that that one still needs more time.

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