u/gurlwithcurlls

​

“Look at my family, all three of us are nurses, we worked abroad, supported our parents financially and now they are living in a 2- storeyed mansion. Also you had the privilege of using foreign things when you were a kid, a luxury other kids of your age couldn't even dream of…” my mother went on, glorifying nursing as the perfect career choice.

And slowly, the number of persuaders increased.

“Nursing degree is like holding a global passport” my father said

“you can go to any country you want because nurses are in need everywhere”

Those were the exact words that lured me into the pit that is nursing.

Everyone spoke volumes about how lucrative nursing is and how beautiful the life abroad can be. But noone gave me the faintest idea how mentally and physically demanding it is.

From a carefree, reckless teenager to an empthetic, responsible nurse, those four years transformed me completely.

I learned the hard way that nursing is not just giving medicines and dressing wounds, it's more about taking full responsibility for someone's life, making sure that they are fed, cleaned and taken care of. It's about showing up everyday with a bright smile pasted onto your face, even when you're crumbling inside.

Nursing is a 4 year degree that twists, turns and bends you until you almost reach your breaking point.

The course includes theory blocks where you learn about the human body and clinical blocks where you put everything into practice. Students who study at Government Medical Colleges, half aided institutes like SME and SIMET have better opportunities to develop clinical skills than those who were trained in private colleges in Kerala, Bangalore or elsewhere.

There are a plenty of subjects to learn and a plethora of assignments to complete.

In the first year you will study Anatomy, Physiology, Microbiology, Biochemistry, Nutrition and Dietetics, Psychology, Nursing Foundation an Computer Science (basics).

In the second year tge subjects include Medical Surgical Nursing, Pathology, Community Health Nursing, Pharmacology and Sociology.

In the Third year you will learn Medical Surgical Nursing- II, Mental Health Nursing and Child Health Nursing.

In the final year you deal with Obstetrics and Gynaecological Nursing, Nursing Research and Statistics, Nursing Management and Education and Community nursing - II.

Assignments range from written projects, care plans, case studies, drug presentation, microteaching, health education sessions, return demonstration and even organizing and conducting major programmes like school health programmes and medical camps.

The scope of nursing is wide. We desperstely need more and more nurses to satisfy the ideal nurse patient ratio - 1: 4, that is non existent in India.

A nurse can turn to bedside, administration, teaching or even non- clinical roles, but each require either experience or additional qualifications.

Unfortunately, the work culture in India is toxic, and in many ways Kerala is among the worst with overexploitation and severe underpayment. You get paid well if you are in the government service or else you'll make enough to barely survive, atleast for a few years in the beginning.

Seniority and hierarchy gives people power and that power is often being misused. Freshers are treated like slaves in the name of training.

In short, nursing is an awful job if you work here.

Most countries require 1-3 years of experience without gap for successful prcessing. If you get past that, yeah you could go abroad and earn a fortune.

For UAE, there's Prometric, DHA and HAAD, while for European countries you might need IELTS or OET plus CBT, NCLEX and OSCE depending on the country you choose. They're expensive, time consuming and slightly difficult to crack but very much doable if you put in the work.

Msc. Nursing is a great choice if you want to climb up the career ladder. But again it has got it's downsides as well. An Msc. from a foreign university looks like an easy route to go abroad, but from what I have learnt from my friends, it's a debt trap and there are chances that you might be caught in the loop.

Nursing is not for the faint hearted. It demands soo much mentally and physically.

If you are someone who is genuinely passionate and wants to contribute to the humanity, yes nursing can be a meaningful long-term career. Also the longer you stay, the higher you rise terms of hierarchy. Maybe in the end you wouldn't have to work so much like you did in the beginning.

I've written about my work life in detail. If you ever get time, do go through it so you'll get a clearer idea of what nursing really is.

And if you still decide to go for nursing, I can walk you through the admission process.

“Look at my family, all three of us are nurses, we worked abroad, supported our parents financially and now they are living in a 2- storeyed mansion. Also you had the privilege of using foreign things when you were a kid, a luxury other kids of your age couldn't even dream of…” my mother went on, glorifying nursing as the perfect career choice.

And slowly, the number of persuaders increased.

“Nursing degree is like holding a global passport” my father said

“you can go to any country you want because nurses are in need everywhere”

Those were the exact words that lured me into the pit that is nursing.

Everyone spoke volumes about how lucrative nursing is and how beautiful the life abroad can be. But noone gave me the faintest idea how mentally and physically demanding it is.

From a carefree, reckless teenager to an empthetic, responsible nurse, those four years transformed me completely.

I learned the hard way that nursing is not just giving medicines and dressing wounds, it's more about taking full responsibility for someone's life, making sure that they are fed, cleaned and taken care of. It's about showing up everyday with a bright smile pasted onto your face, even when you're crumbling inside.

Nursing is a 4 year degree that twists, turns and bends you until you almost reach your breaking point.

The course includes theory blocks where you learn about the human body and clinical blocks where you put everything into practice. Students who study at Government Medical Colleges, half aided institutes like SME and SIMET have better opportunities to develop clinical skills than those who were trained in private colleges in Kerala, Bangalore or elsewhere.

There are a plenty of subjects to learn and a plethora of assignments to complete.

In the first year you will study Anatomy, Physiology, Microbiology, Biochemistry, Nutrition and Dietetics, Psychology, Nursing Foundation an Computer Science (basics).

In the second year tge subjects include Medical Surgical Nursing, Pathology, Community Health Nursing, Pharmacology and Sociology.

In the Third year you will learn Medical Surgical Nursing- II, Mental Health Nursing and Child Health Nursing.

In the final year you deal with Obstetrics and Gynaecological Nursing, Nursing Research and Statistics, Nursing Management and Education and Community nursing - II.

Assignments range from written projects, care plans, case studies, drug presentation, microteaching, health education sessions, return demonstration and even organizing and conducting major programmes like school health programmes and medical camps.

The scope of nursing is wide. We desperstely need more and more nurses to satisfy the ideal nurse patient ratio - 1: 4, that is non existent in India.

A nurse can turn to bedside, administration, teaching or even non- clinical roles, but each require either experience or additional qualifications.

Unfortunately, the work culture in India is toxic, and in many ways Kerala is among the worst with overexploitation and severe underpayment. You get paid well if you are in the government service or else you'll make enough to barely survive, atleast for a few years in the beginning.

Seniority and hierarchy gives people power and that power are often being misused. Freshers are treated like slaves in the name of training.

In short, nursing is an awful job if you work here.

Most countries require 1-3 years of experience without gap for successful prcessing. If you get past that, yeah you could go abroad and earn a fortune.

For UAE, there's Prometric, DHA and HAAD, while for European countries you might need IELTS or OET plus CBT, NCLEX and OSCE depending on the country you choose. They're expensive, time consuming and slightly difficult to crack but very much doable if you put in the work.

Msc. Nursing is a great choice if you want to climb up the career ladder. But again it has got it's downsides as well. An Msc. from a foreign university looks like an easy route to go abroad, but from what I have learnt from my friends, it's a debt trap and there are chances that you might be caught in the loop.

Nursing is not for the faint hearted. It demands soo much mentally and physically.

If you are someone who is genuinely passionate and wants to contribute to the humanity, yes nursing can be a meaningful long-term career. Also the longer you stay, the higher you rise terms of hierarchy. Maybe in the end you wouldn't have to work so much like you did in the beginning.

I've written about my work life in detail. If you ever get time, do go through it so you'll get a clearer idea of what nursing really is.

And if you still decide to go for nursing, I can walk you through the admission process.

“Look at my family, all three of us are nurses, we worked abroad, supported our parents financially and now they are living in a 2- storeyed mansion. Also you had the privilege of using foreign things when you were a kid, a luxury other kids of your age couldn't even dream of…” my mother went on, glorifying nursing as the perfect career choice.

And slowly, the number of persuaders increased.

“Nursing degree is like holding a global passport” my father said

“you can go to any country you want because nurses are in need everywhere”

Those were the exact words that lured me into the pit that is nursing.

Everyone spoke volumes about how lucrative nursing is and how beautiful the life abroad can be. But noone gave me the faintest idea how mentally and physically demanding it is.

From a carefree, reckless teenager to an empthetic, responsible nurse, those four years transformed me completely.

I learned the hard way that nursing is not just giving medicines and dressing wounds, it's more about taking full responsibility for someone's life, making sure that they are fed, cleaned and taken care of. It's about showing up everyday with a bright smile pasted onto your face, even when you're crumbling inside.

Nursing is a 4 year degree that twists, turns and bends you until you almost reach your breaking point.

The course includes theory blocks where you learn about the human body and clinical blocks where you put everything into practice. Students who study at Government Medical Colleges, half aided institutes like SME and SIMET have better opportunities to develop clinical skills than those who were trained in private colleges in Kerala, Bangalore or elsewhere.

There are a plenty of subjects to learn and a plethora of assignments to complete.

In the first year you will study Anatomy, Physiology, Microbiology, Biochemistry, Nutrition and Dietetics, Psychology, Nursing Foundation an Computer Science (basics).

In the second year tge subjects include Medical Surgical Nursing, Pathology, Community Health Nursing, Pharmacology and Sociology.

In the Third year you will learn Medical Surgical Nursing- II, Mental Health Nursing and Child Health Nursing.

In the final year you deal with Obstetrics and Gynaecological Nursing, Nursing Research and Statistics, Nursing Management and Education and Community nursing - II.

Assignments range from written projects, care plans, case studies, drug presentation, microteaching, health education sessions, return demonstration and even organizing and conducting major programmes like school health programmes and medical camps.

The scope of nursing is wide. We desperstely need more and more nurses to satisfy the ideal nurse patient ratio - 1: 4, that is non existent in India.

A nurse can turn to bedside, administration, teaching or even non- clinical roles, but each require either experience or additional qualifications.

Unfortunately, the work culture in India is toxic, and in many ways Kerala is among the worst with overexploitation and severe underpayment. You get paid well if you are in the government service or else you'll make enough to barely survive, atleast for a few years in the beginning.

Seniority and hierarchy gives people power and that power are often being misused. Freshers are treated like slaves in the name of training.

In short, nursing is an awful job if you work here.

Most countries require 1-3 years of experience without gap for successful prcessing. If you get past that, yeah you could go abroad and earn a fortune.

For UAE, there's Prometric, DHA and HAAD, while for European countries you might need IELTS or OET plus CBT, NCLEX and OSCE depending on the country you choose. They're expensive, time consuming and slightly difficult to crack but very much doable if you put in the work.

Msc. Nursing is a great choice if you want to climb up the career ladder. But again it has got it's downsides as well. An Msc. from a foreign university looks like an easy route to go abroad, but from what I have learnt from my friends, it's a debt trap and there are chances that you might be caught in the loop.

Nursing is not for the faint hearted. It demands soo much mentally and physically.

If you are someone who is genuinely passionate and wants to contribute to the humanity, yes nursing can be a meaningful long-term career. Also the longer you stay, the higher you rise terms of hierarchy. Maybe in the end you wouldn't have to work so much like you did in the beginning.

I've written about my work life in detail. If you ever get time, do go through it so you'll get a clearer idea of what nursing really is.

And if you still decide to go for nursing, I can walk you through the admission process.

​

“Change into your scrubs,quick. We've got a patient to shift” the nurse said as I entered the ICU.

I quickly changed into my uniform and received patient handover.

65M Post Robotic LAR. When I first heard the term robotic surgery, I imagined an actual robot performing the surgery. The idea fascinated me, a machine perfoming a surgery on the human body with perfect precision .

But once I entered nursing school I realized that robotic assisted systems like Da Vinci Robot are used which are completely controlled by the surgeon. The machine doesn't replace the surgeon. It only extends the hands of the surgeon.

Healthcare is one of the few industries where it is difficult to replace actual human beings no matter how sophisticated the technology becomes.

High tech and high touch, I remembered what my teacher said during a boring lecture. But why such healthcare professionals underpaid is still a mystery.

I skimmed through his files, he was diagnosed with carcinoma of the rectosigmoid junction. Our alimentary canal extends from mouth to anus. It's like a long pipe didvided at different places each woth it'sown functions. He had cancer at the junction where the colon met rectum. That part was cut and the remaining portion was tied together, a process called anastomosis.

I shifted the patient to his room. While transferring him from the trolley to his bed, he suddenly became grumpy. The whole process required him to exert presure and use his strength, which triggered his pain that inturn made him irritable. I tried to reassure him and did everything to comfort him. A robot wouldn't do this, I thought to myself. I smiled and waved him goodbye before I left. I returned to the department fully aware that I would be “pulled out” to a different ward because we had 3 patients and 3 staff, which technically meant I was free.

“SICU. Supervisor asked you to go to SICU,” she said. I sighed and entered the transfer notes and headed to SICU. I hit the button for lift but it had no intention of coming anytime soon, so I cimbed down the flight of stairs from 6th floor.

Surgical ICU was on the first floor. I was posted there for almost a month. The stress was unbearable there and I had multipl mental breakdowns there, to the point I decided to quit altogether. And that was when I was given a different department. Now I was returning to the same place that broke me once.

The staff there seemed to be surprised to see me again. I received my patient, a 79M with vesical calculous and prostatomegaly. He had a calcium stone in his urethra, that was pushed back into the bladder during cystoscopy. Now he came in with Bladder Outlet Obstruction, BOO. He had undergone, TURP to renove the prostrate mass and cystolithotripsy to remove the stone. He had bladder irrigation on flow which meant that I'd be kept busy at night emptying urine and connecting 3L irrigation bottles.

I gave him his medicicnes. He was really talkative. He was an ex army officer, and had endless stories to tell. And I could connect with him because my grandfather was in the army too.

A sudden wave of sadness engulfed me. I was raised by my grandparents when my mom was abroad doing what i am doing now. It's been months since I've met them.

I arranged everything I needed for the next morning near his bedside, inside a steel tray. I learned this habit from a colleague, it saves time and effort. It was 2 am. I heard the phone ring, the voice echoing through the silence of the ICU.

“Supervisor asked you to go to neurosurgery ward” said the staff who picked the call. I could feel my jaw tighten with anguish. Helplessness is a differentkind of anger that silence you. I said nothing and left to the next floor I was ‘pulled out to’.

Neurosurgery ward.

They had 8 patients and 2 staff. I helped them to complete the pending files. Patients were mostly stable so there was nothing much to stress about. I sat there counting hours until I end the shift.

“Do you want a sheet to cover?” one o the nurses asked

I didn't understand at first, then I realized what she meant. I nodded yes and she placed a neatly folded white bed linen on my lap.

I saw them placing it on the table and use the sheet as a pillow. I copied them. This was the first time I am getting some rest during nught shift. It felt good. But it also felt wrong. This profession has conditioned me to a point where I feel guilty for taking even five minutes of rest.

I woke up startled to the sound of the alarm. It took me some time to come back from the dream world I had escaped to. Someone handed me a list with 8 room numbers. My job was to check their vital signs.

I was given a blue tray with a thermometer to check temperature, a pulsoximeter to check the oxygen levels and pulse rate, a manual bp apparatus or sphygmomanometer to check blood pressure and a glucometer to check the blood sugar levels of those patients.

I knocked the first room. “Goodmorning”, I said forcing my sound to be pleasant. “I'm here to check your vitals signs”, I said as turned on the thermometer and slid it between her armpit. I clipped the pulsoximeter to her fingers and pricked on the other hand to get a drop of blood. I touched the tip of the glucose strip on the blood drop and waited until the reading was displayed on the glucometer. The thermometer beeped, indicating she was afebrile. Iconnected the bp cuff on ther upper arm and tightened it. It's been long since I used a manual BP appartus. In the ICU, we just had to tie the cuff and the monitor would do the rest. High tech indeed.

I slipped the stethoscope into my ears and listened for a pulse over her brachial region. I inflated the green balloon and slowly released the screw as the meter hit 180. At around 140 I heard the loud pulse that disappeared at 90. 140/90 mmHG, I wrote it down on the vitals chart.

I remembered the first time I learned to check the blood pressure using the manometer. It was in the nursing skills lab in my college. The teacher first taught us the theory and then demonstrated how to do it. We were supposed to do return demos and when it was my turn, I panicked. I tied the cuff and placed the cuff correctly. But my ears weren't trained for such subtle sounds, I missed the beat. I tried again. And again. Until my friend's hand became numb from repeated constrictions. I felt stupid. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I ran to the classroom and cried. It seems silly now. But for a 19-year old who chose a course that she didn't really like, it was the end of the world.

And yet here I am, 4 years later, doing things he younge self one thought was impossible.

​

“Change into your scrubs,quick. We've got a patient to shift” the nurse said as I entered the ICU.

I quickly changed into my uniform and received patient handover.

65M Post Robotic LAR. When I first heard the term robotic surgery, I imagined an actual robot performing the surgery. The idea fascinated me, a machine perfoming a surgery on the human body with perfect precision .

But once I entered nursing school I realized that robotic assisted systems like Da Vinci Robot are used which are completely controlled by the surgeon. The machine doesn't replace the surgeon. It only extends the hands of the surgeon.

Healthcare is one of the few industries where it is difficult to replace actual human beings no matter how sophisticated the technology becomes.

High tech and high touch, I remembered what my teacher said during a boring lecture. But why such healthcare professionals underpaid is still a mystery.

I skimmed through his files, he was diagnosed with carcinoma of the rectosigmoid junction. Our alimentary canal extends from mouth to anus. It's like a long pipe didvided at different places each woth it'sown functions. He had cancer at the junction where the colon met rectum. That part was cut and the remaining portion was tied together, a process called anastomosis.

I shifted the patient to his room. While transferring him from the trolley to his bed, he suddenly became grumpy. The whole process required him to exert presure and use his strength, which triggered his pain that inturn made him irritable. I tried to reassure him and did everything to comfort him. A robot wouldn't do this, I thought to myself. I smiled and waved him goodbye before I left. I returned to the department fully aware that I would be “pulled out” to a different ward because we had 3 patients and 3 staff, which technically meant I was free.

“SICU. Supervisor asked you to go to SICU,” she said. I sighed and entered the transfer notes and headed to SICU. I hit the button for lift but it had no intention of coming anytime soon, so I cimbed down the flight of stairs from 6th floor.

Surgical ICU was on the first floor. I was posted there for almost a month. The stress was unbearable there and I had multipl mental breakdowns there, to the point I decided to quit altogether. And that was when I was given a different department. Now I was returning to the same place that broke me once.

The staff there seemed to be surprised to see me again. I received my patient, a 79M with vesical calculous and prostatomegaly. He had a calcium stone in his urethra, that was pushed back into the bladder during cystoscopy. Now he came in with Bladder Outlet Obstruction, BOO. He had undergone, TURP to renove the prostrate mass and cystolithotripsy to remove the stone. He had bladder irrigation on flow which meant that I'd be kept busy at night emptying urine and connecting 3L irrigation bottles.

I gave him his medicicnes. He was really talkative. He was an ex army officer, and had endless stories to tell. And I could connect with him because my grandfather was in the army too.

A sudden wave of sadness engulfed me. I was raised by my grandparents when my mom was abroad doing what i am doing now. It's been months since I've met them.

I arranged everything I needed for the next morning near his bedside, inside a steel tray. I learned this habit from a colleague, it saves time and effort. It was 2 am. I heard the phone ring, the voice echoing through the silence of the ICU.

“Supervisor asked you to go to neurosurgery ward” said the staff who picked the call. I could feel my jaw tighten with anguish. Helplessness is a differentkind of anger that silence you. I said nothing and left to the next floor I was ‘pulled out to’.

Neurosurgery ward.

They had 8 patients and 2 staff. I helped them to complete the pending files. Patients were mostly stable so there was nothing much to stress about. I sat there counting hours until I end the shift.

“Do you want a sheet to cover?” one o the nurses asked

I didn't understand at first, then I realized what she meant. I nodded yes and she placed a neatly folded white bed linen on my lap.

I saw them placing it on the table and use the sheet as a pillow. I copied them. This was the first time I am getting some rest during nught shift. It felt good. But it also felt wrong. This profession has conditioned me to a point where I feel guilty for taking even five minutes of rest.

I woke up startled to the sound of the alarm. It took me some time to come back from the dream world I had escaped to. Someone handed me a list with 8 room numbers. My job was to check their vital signs.

I was given a blue tray with a thermometer to check temperature, a pulsoximeter to check the oxygen levels and pulse rate, a manual bp apparatus or sphygmomanometer to check blood pressure and a glucometer to check the blood sugar levels of those patients.

I knocked the first room. “Goodmorning”, I said forcing my sound to be pleasant. “I'm here to check your vitals signs”, I said as turned on the thermometer and slid it between her armpit. I clipped the pulsoximeter to her fingers and pricked on the other hand to get a drop of blood. I touched the tip of the glucose strip on the blood drop and waited until the reading was displayed on the glucometer. The thermometer beeped, indicating she was afebrile. Iconnected the bp cuff on ther upper arm and tightened it. It's been long since I used a manual BP appartus. In the ICU, we just had to tie the cuff and the monitor would do the rest. High tech indeed.

I slipped the stethoscope into my ears and listened for a pulse over her brachial region. I inflated the green balloon and slowly released the screw as the meter hit 180. At around 140 I heard the loud pulse that disappeared at 90. 140/90 mmHG, I wrote it down on the vitals chart.

I remembered the first time I learned to check the blood pressure using the manometer. It was in the nursing skills lab in my college. The teacher first taught us the theory and then demonstrated how to do it. We were supposed to do return demos and when it was my turn, I panicked. I tied the cuff and placed the cuff correctly. But my ears weren't trained for such subtle sounds, I missed the beat. I tried again. And again. Until my friend's hand became numb from repeated constrictions. I felt stupid. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I ran to the classroom and cried. It seems silly now. But for a 19-year old who chose a course that she didn't really like, it was the end of the world.

And yet here I am, 4 years later, doing things he younge self one thought was impossible.

“Change into your scrubs,quick. We've got a patient to shift” the nurse said as I entered the ICU.

I quickly changed into my uniform and received patient handover.

65M Post Robotic LAR. When I first heard the term robotic surgery, I imagined an actual robot performing the surgery. The idea fascinated me, a machine perfoming a surgery on the human body with perfect precision .

But once I entered nursing school I realized that robotic assisted systems like Da Vinci Robot are used which are completely controlled by the surgeon. The machine doesn't replace the surgeon. It only extends the hands of the surgeon.

Healthcare is one of the few industries where it is difficult to replace actual human beings no matter how sophisticated the technology becomes.

High tech and high touch, I remembered what my teacher said during a boring lecture. But why such healthcare professionals underpaid is still a mystery.

I skimmed through his files, he was diagnosed with carcinoma of the rectosigmoid junction. Our alimentary canal extends from mouth to anus. It's like a long pipe didvided at different places each woth it'sown functions. He had cancer at the junction where the colon met rectum. That part was cut and the remaining portion was tied together, a process called anastomosis.

I shifted the patient to his room. While transferring him from the trolley to his bed, he suddenly became grumpy. The whole process required him to exert presure and use his strength, which triggered his pain that inturn made him irritable. I tried to reassure him and did everything to comfort him. A robot wouldn't do this, I thought to myself. I smiled and waved him goodbye before I left. I returned to the department fully aware that I would be “pulled out” to a different ward because we had 3 patients and 3 staff, which technically meant I was free.

“SICU. Supervisor asked you to go to SICU,” she said. I sighed and entered the transfer notes and headed to SICU. I hit the button for lift but it had no intention of coming anytime soon, so I cimbed down the flight of stairs from 6th floor.

Surgical ICU was on the first floor. I was posted there for almost a month. The stress was unbearable there and I had multipl mental breakdowns there, to the point I decided to quit altogether. And that was when I was given a different department. Now I was returning to the same place that broke me once.

The staff there seemed to be surprised to see me again. I received my patient, a 79M with vesical calculous and prostatomegaly. He had a calcium stone in his urethra, that was pushed back into the bladder during cystoscopy. Now he came in with Bladder Outlet Obstruction, BOO. He had undergone, TURP to renove the prostrate mass and cystolithotripsy to remove the stone. He had bladder irrigation on flow which meant that I'd be kept busy at night emptying urine and connecting 3L irrigation bottles.

I gave him his medicicnes. He was really talkative. He was an ex army officer, and had endless stories to tell. And I could connect with him because my grandfather was in the army too.

A sudden wave of sadness engulfed me. I was raised by my grandparents when my mom was abroad doing what i am doing now. It's been months since I've met them.

I arranged everything I needed for the next morning near his bedside, inside a steel tray. I learned this habit from a colleague, it saves time and effort. It was 2 am. I heard the phone ring, the voice echoing through the silence of the ICU.

“Supervisor asked you to go to neurosurgery ward” said the staff who picked the call. I could feel my jaw tighten with anguish. Helplessness is a differentkind of anger that silence you. I said nothing and left to the next floor I was ‘pulled out to’.

Neurosurgery ward.

They had 8 patients and 2 staff. I helped them to complete the pending files. Patients were mostly stable so there was nothing much to stress about. I sat there counting hours until I end the shift.

“Do you want a sheet to cover?” one o the nurses asked

I didn't understand at first, then I realized what she meant. I nodded yes and she placed a neatly folded white bed linen on my lap.

I saw them placing it on the table and use the sheet as a pillow. I copied them. This was the first time I am getting some rest during nught shift. It felt good. But it also felt wrong. This profession has conditioned me to a point where I feel guilty for taking even five minutes of rest.

I woke up startled to the sound of the alarm. It took me some time to come back from the dream world I had escaped to. Someone handed me a list with 8 room numbers. My job was to check their vital signs.

I was given a blue tray with a thermometer to check temperature, a pulsoximeter to check the oxygen levels and pulse rate, a manual bp apparatus or sphygmomanometer to check blood pressure and a glucometer to check the blood sugar levels of those patients.

I knocked the first room. “Goodmorning”, I said forcing my sound to be pleasant. “I'm here to check your vitals signs”, I said as turned on the thermometer and slid it between her armpit. I clipped the pulsoximeter to her fingers and pricked on the other hand to get a drop of blood. I touched the tip of the glucose strip on the blood drop and waited until the reading was displayed on the glucometer. The thermometer beeped, indicating she was afebrile. Iconnected the bp cuff on ther upper arm and tightened it. It's been long since I used a manual BP appartus. In the ICU, we just had to tie the cuff and the monitor would do the rest. High tech indeed.

I slipped the stethoscope into my ears and listened for a pulse over her brachial region. I inflated the green balloon and slowly released the screw as the meter hit 180. At around 140 I heard the loud pulse that disappeared at 90. 140/90 mmHG, I wrote it down on the vitals chart.

I remembered the first time I learned to check the blood pressure using the manometer. It was in the nursing skills lab in my college. The teacher first taught us the theory and then demonstrated how to do it. We were supposed to do return demos and when it was my turn, I panicked. I tied the cuff and placed the cuff correctly. But my ears weren't trained for such subtle sounds, I missed the beat. I tried again. And again. Until my friend's hand became numb from repeated constrictions. I felt stupid. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I ran to the classroom and cried. It seems silly now. But for a 19-year old who chose a course that she didn't really like, it was the end of the world.

And yet here I am, 4 years later, doing things he younge self one thought was impossible.

​

I stared at the screen, hoping the numbers would change.They didn’t. 13179. A month of gruelling work, and my salary was still less than what a normal housemaid in Kerala earns. I cursed the exact moment I chose nursing. My thumb pressed hard against the lift button, as if the anger in my body could make it arrive faster.

I entered the ICU with a heavy heart and a tired body.

I had to look after a 74F diagnosed with carcinoma stomach, post near-total gastrectomy. Along with that, I had to shift out a 32M patient to his room.I love shifting patients out of the ICU. It feels like setting them free. No more lines and tubes hooked to machines. No more constant beeping alarms. No suffocating silence.

I checked his file and arranged the transfer.

He had been diagnosed with colon cancer last year and had undergone six cycles of chemotherapy. That explained the dark brown veins on his arm, I thought to myself. He was admitted again because the cancer had recurred.

The same disease that took his mother’s life six years ago was now stealing his. He was a new parent someone who should have been spending his evenings with his son. But cancer had deprived the child of his father’s attention, and the father of his own life. Still, he was better now. And he looked relieved about being shifted to the room.

I disconnected the machines attached to him and helped him onto the trolley. I gave him a cap and mask, neatly tucked him under the cover sheet, and wheeled him out. We left the ICU behind and headed to the room where his family waited eagerly. I helped him onto the bed and connected his IV fluids.

“Bye. Take care. Get well soon,” I said.

“Thank you, sister,” he replied with a smile.

I returned to the ICU feeling lighter, knowing I now had only one patient to manage.

I administered the medications that were due and completed the file work before starting her sponge bath to my patients. I administered the medications that were due and completed the paperwork before starting my patient’s sponge bath. Being an ICU nurse is like being a full-time mother—you make sure they eat, drink, and poop. You worry about the smallest changes in their condition, and you take full responsibility for their well-being. The only difference is, here I take care of people twice or three times my age. I smiled at the irony and continued my work. I arranged— everything I needed on the cardiac table near her bedside—an underpad, a diaper, clean bed linen, a new gown, and dressing materials.

I pulled the curtains and removed the BP cuff that clasped her arm. Then I donned gloves and wiped her body gently using wet wipes. I tied knots at the four corners of the bedsheet and tucked them on one end. Then I pushed the old sheet, underpad, and diaper beneath her back, and slid the new sheet over it. I layered the fresh underpad and diaper neatly.With the help of my colleague, I slowly turned the patient to one side, taking care not to hurt her or dislodge the tubes and drains attached to her body. I quickly pulled out the soiled linen and disposed it, then spread the new bedsheet and tucked it in neatly. Bed-making was one of the first things we were taught in nursing school. I used to wonder if it was really that important.But now, it all made sense.

Finally, I removed her dressing to inspect the wound.The interrupted sutures and the bulged skin in between resembled a string of pearls. The wound site looked healthy and was healing well. I cleaned it carefully and applied a fresh dressing.

Then I helped her into a new gown and tucked her into the blanket.She fell asleep almost immediately.

Later, I helped my colleague care for her patient.

We cleaned his body, and when we moved on to change his diaper, we noticed something unusual.He had passed stool, but it was a dark reddish-brown colour. Melena, I thought, and looked at my colleague. She nodded, as if she had read my mind. We cleaned the area with wet wipes, but the stool kept coming. The smell was pungent—like rotten eggs—and it pierced through our face masks straight into our nostrils.

I felt nauseous.But I had no choice. I cleaned the mess and informed the doctor.The doctor ordered a haemoglobin test immediately. We drew blood and sent it to the lab.The results came back normal.

“But it’s been three days since I ate anything,” the patient asked, anxious. “Why am I still passing stools?”

He tried to hide the fear in his voice, but his vitals betrayed him. His blood pressure climbed as high as 170/100 mmHg.

“In gastro surgery patients, bleeding can persist for a few days after surgery,” I explained calmly.

“Your stool is brownish-red, which means it isn’t actively bleeding. During surgery, some blood might have leaked into your intestine, and that digested blood is now passing out as stool. We are closely monitoring you.”

He nodded, but I could still see the fear behind his eyes.

It was 2 am. I could feel my head getting heavier minute by minute. I longed to close my eyes and lie down for just five minutes.I sat down hoping to get some rest. But the monitor screeched, demanding my attention. My 74-year-old patient had a sudden drop in saturation. I tried repositioning her, but nothing worked until I applied 2 litres of oxygen via nasal prongs.

I brought a chair to her bedside and sat there, my eyes glued to the monitor. Her vital signs had a rhythm of their own. They kept me awake, hypnotised, almost trapped. Through the glass window, I could see the city lights outside.

I sat there counting the tiny dots of light, when suddenly lightning painted streaks across the sky.

At 4 am sharp my alarm rang, I snoozed immediately and went to the washroom, splashed water across my face, and stretched a little. I could hear my joints popping. Then I went to collect blood samples. It was easy, because my patient had a central line. I looked at her wrinkled face as I drew blood from the line. She reminded me of my grandmother.

“My back hurts… can I sit for some time?” she pleaded.

I couldn’t let her sit up, but I helped her turn to one side and gently massaged her back. I made sure she was comfortable before emptying her drain and urine bag. People know nurses as angels who give injections.But there’s another side too.The raw, ugly side. The side where you have to note the colour, consistency, and amount of stool, urine, and other bodily fluids. The kind that makes you nauseous. The kind of smell that lingers in your head and refuses to let you eat.

Should I really continue this job? Or should I quit and take a pivot as soon as possible? I remembered a Japanese quote I once read:

“When you realise you’re on the wrong train, get down at the nearest station. Because the longer you stay, the more expensive the return will be.”

I allowed myself to sit with that thought for a moment. Then I stood up again.

And dragged myself back to work.

​

I stared at the screen, hoping the numbers would change.They didn’t. 13179. A month of gruelling work, and my salary was still less than what a normal housemaid in Kerala earns. I cursed the exact moment I chose nursing. My thumb pressed hard against the lift button, as if the anger in my body could make it arrive faster.

I entered the ICU with a heavy heart and a tired body.

I had to look after a 74F diagnosed with carcinoma stomach, post near-total gastrectomy. Along with that, I had to shift out a 32M patient to his room.I love shifting patients out of the ICU. It feels like setting them free. No more lines and tubes hooked to machines. No more constant beeping alarms. No suffocating silence.

I checked his file and arranged the transfer.

He had been diagnosed with colon cancer last year and had undergone six cycles of chemotherapy. That explained the dark brown veins on his arm, I thought to myself. He was admitted again because the cancer had recurred.

The same disease that took his mother’s life six years ago was now stealing his. He was a new parent someone who should have been spending his evenings with his son. But cancer had deprived the child of his father’s attention, and the father of his own life. Still, he was better now. And he looked relieved about being shifted to the room.

I disconnected the machines attached to him and helped him onto the trolley. I gave him a cap and mask, neatly tucked him under the cover sheet, and wheeled him out. We left the ICU behind and headed to the room where his family waited eagerly. I helped him onto the bed and connected his IV fluids.

“Bye. Take care. Get well soon,” I said.

“Thank you, sister,” he replied with a smile.

I returned to the ICU feeling lighter, knowing I now had only one patient to manage.

I administered the medications that were due and completed the file work before starting her sponge bath to my patients. I administered the medications that were due and completed the paperwork before starting my patient’s sponge bath. Being an ICU nurse is like being a full-time mother—you make sure they eat, drink, and poop. You worry about the smallest changes in their condition, and you take full responsibility for their well-being. The only difference is, here I take care of people twice or three times my age. I smiled at the irony and continued my work. I arranged— everything I needed on the cardiac table near her bedside—an underpad, a diaper, clean bed linen, a new gown, and dressing materials.

I pulled the curtains and removed the BP cuff that clasped her arm. Then I donned gloves and wiped her body gently using wet wipes. I tied knots at the four corners of the bedsheet and tucked them on one end. Then I pushed the old sheet, underpad, and diaper beneath her back, and slid the new sheet over it. I layered the fresh underpad and diaper neatly.With the help of my colleague, I slowly turned the patient to one side, taking care not to hurt her or dislodge the tubes and drains attached to her body. I quickly pulled out the soiled linen and disposed it, then spread the new bedsheet and tucked it in neatly. Bed-making was one of the first things we were taught in nursing school. I used to wonder if it was really that important.But now, it all made sense.

Finally, I removed her dressing to inspect the wound.The interrupted sutures and the bulged skin in between resembled a string of pearls. The wound site looked healthy and was healing well. I cleaned it carefully and applied a fresh dressing.

Then I helped her into a new gown and tucked her into the blanket.She fell asleep almost immediately.

Later, I helped my colleague care for her patient.

We cleaned his body, and when we moved on to change his diaper, we noticed something unusual.He had passed stool, but it was a dark reddish-brown colour. Melena, I thought, and looked at my colleague. She nodded, as if she had read my mind. We cleaned the area with wet wipes, but the stool kept coming. The smell was pungent—like rotten eggs—and it pierced through our face masks straight into our nostrils.

I felt nauseous.But I had no choice. I cleaned the mess and informed the doctor.The doctor ordered a haemoglobin test immediately. We drew blood and sent it to the lab.The results came back normal.

“But it’s been three days since I ate anything,” the patient asked, anxious. “Why am I still passing stools?”

He tried to hide the fear in his voice, but his vitals betrayed him. His blood pressure climbed as high as 170/100 mmHg.

“In gastro surgery patients, bleeding can persist for a few days after surgery,” I explained calmly.

“Your stool is brownish-red, which means it isn’t actively bleeding. During surgery, some blood might have leaked into your intestine, and that digested blood is now passing out as stool. We are closely monitoring you.”

He nodded, but I could still see the fear behind his eyes.

It was 2 am. I could feel my head getting heavier minute by minute. I longed to close my eyes and lie down for just five minutes.I sat down hoping to get some rest. But the monitor screeched, demanding my attention. My 74-year-old patient had a sudden drop in saturation. I tried repositioning her, but nothing worked until I applied 2 litres of oxygen via nasal prongs.

I brought a chair to her bedside and sat there, my eyes glued to the monitor. Her vital signs had a rhythm of their own. They kept me awake, hypnotised, almost trapped. Through the glass window, I could see the city lights outside.

I sat there counting the tiny dots of light, when suddenly lightning painted streaks across the sky.

At 4 am sharp my alarm rang, I snoozed immediately and went to the washroom, splashed water across my face, and stretched a little. I could hear my joints popping. Then I went to collect blood samples. It was easy, because my patient had a central line. I looked at her wrinkled face as I drew blood from the line. She reminded me of my grandmother.

“My back hurts… can I sit for some time?” she pleaded.

I couldn’t let her sit up, but I helped her turn to one side and gently massaged her back. I made sure she was comfortable before emptying her drain and urine bag. People know nurses as angels who give injections.But there’s another side too.The raw, ugly side. The side where you have to note the colour, consistency, and amount of stool, urine, and other bodily fluids. The kind that makes you nauseous. The kind of smell that lingers in your head and refuses to let you eat.

Should I really continue this job? Or should I quit and take a pivot as soon as possible? I remembered a Japanese quote I once read:

“When you realise you’re on the wrong train, get down at the nearest station. Because the longer you stay, the more expensive the return will be.”

I allowed myself to sit with that thought for a moment. Then I stood up again.

And dragged myself back to work.

​

I stared at the screen, hoping the numbers would change.They didn’t. 13179. A month of gruelling work, and my salary was still less than what a normal housemaid in Kerala earns. I cursed the exact moment I chose nursing. My thumb pressed hard against the lift button, as if the anger in my body could make it arrive faster.

I entered the ICU with a heavy heart and a tired body.

I had to look after a 74F diagnosed with carcinoma stomach, post near-total gastrectomy. Along with that, I had to shift out a 32M patient to his room.I love shifting patients out of the ICU. It feels like setting them free. No more lines and tubes hooked to machines. No more constant beeping alarms. No suffocating silence.

I checked his file and arranged the transfer.

He had been diagnosed with colon cancer last year and had undergone six cycles of chemotherapy. That explained the dark brown veins on his arm, I thought to myself. He was admitted again because the cancer had recurred.

The same disease that took his mother’s life six years ago was now stealing his. He was a new parent someone who should have been spending his evenings with his son. But cancer had deprived the child of his father’s attention, and the father of his own life. Still, he was better now. And he looked relieved about being shifted to the room.

I disconnected the machines attached to him and helped him onto the trolley. I gave him a cap and mask, neatly tucked him under the cover sheet, and wheeled him out. We left the ICU behind and headed to the room where his family waited eagerly. I helped him onto the bed and connected his IV fluids.

“Bye. Take care. Get well soon,” I said.

“Thank you, sister,” he replied with a smile.

I returned to the ICU feeling lighter, knowing I now had only one patient to manage.

I administered the medications that were due and completed the file work before starting her sponge bath to my patients. I administered the medications that were due and completed the paperwork before starting my patient’s sponge bath. Being an ICU nurse is like being a full-time mother—you make sure they eat, drink, and poop. You worry about the smallest changes in their condition, and you take full responsibility for their well-being. The only difference is, here I take care of people twice or three times my age. I smiled at the irony and continued my work. I arranged— everything I needed on the cardiac table near her bedside—an underpad, a diaper, clean bed linen, a new gown, and dressing materials.

I pulled the curtains and removed the BP cuff that clasped her arm. Then I donned gloves and wiped her body gently using wet wipes. I tied knots at the four corners of the bedsheet and tucked them on one end. Then I pushed the old sheet, underpad, and diaper beneath her back, and slid the new sheet over it. I layered the fresh underpad and diaper neatly.With the help of my colleague, I slowly turned the patient to one side, taking care not to hurt her or dislodge the tubes and drains attached to her body. I quickly pulled out the soiled linen and disposed it, then spread the new bedsheet and tucked it in neatly. Bed-making was one of the first things we were taught in nursing school. I used to wonder if it was really that important.But now, it all made sense.

Finally, I removed her dressing to inspect the wound.The interrupted sutures and the bulged skin in between resembled a string of pearls. The wound site looked healthy and was healing well. I cleaned it carefully and applied a fresh dressing.

Then I helped her into a new gown and tucked her into the blanket.She fell asleep almost immediately.

Later, I helped my colleague care for her patient.

We cleaned his body, and when we moved on to change his diaper, we noticed something unusual.He had passed stool, but it was a dark reddish-brown colour. Melena, I thought, and looked at my colleague. She nodded, as if she had read my mind. We cleaned the area with wet wipes, but the stool kept coming. The smell was pungent—like rotten eggs—and it pierced through our face masks straight into our nostrils.

I felt nauseous.But I had no choice. I cleaned the mess and informed the doctor.The doctor ordered a haemoglobin test immediately. We drew blood and sent it to the lab.The results came back normal.

“But it’s been three days since I ate anything,” the patient asked, anxious. “Why am I still passing stools?”

He tried to hide the fear in his voice, but his vitals betrayed him. His blood pressure climbed as high as 170/100 mmHg.

“In gastro surgery patients, bleeding can persist for a few days after surgery,” I explained calmly.

“Your stool is brownish-red, which means it isn’t actively bleeding. During surgery, some blood might have leaked into your intestine, and that digested blood is now passing out as stool. We are closely monitoring you.”

He nodded, but I could still see the fear behind his eyes.

It was 2 am. I could feel my head getting heavier minute by minute. I longed to close my eyes and lie down for just five minutes.I sat down hoping to get some rest. But the monitor screeched, demanding my attention. My 74-year-old patient had a sudden drop in saturation. I tried repositioning her, but nothing worked until I applied 2 litres of oxygen via nasal prongs.

I brought a chair to her bedside and sat there, my eyes glued to the monitor. Her vital signs had a rhythm of their own. They kept me awake, hypnotised, almost trapped. Through the glass window, I could see the city lights outside.

I sat there counting the tiny dots of light, when suddenly lightning painted streaks across the sky.

At 4 am sharp my alarm rang, I snoozed immediately and went to the washroom, splashed water across my face, and stretched a little. I could hear my joints popping. Then I went to collect blood samples. It was easy, because my patient had a central line. I looked at her wrinkled face as I drew blood from the line. She reminded me of my grandmother.

“My back hurts… can I sit for some time?” she pleaded.

I couldn’t let her sit up, but I helped her turn to one side and gently massaged her back. I made sure she was comfortable before emptying her drain and urine bag. People know nurses as angels who give injections.But there’s another side too.The raw, ugly side. The side where you have to note the colour, consistency, and amount of stool, urine, and other bodily fluids. The kind that makes you nauseous. The kind of smell that lingers in your head and refuses to let you eat.

Should I really continue this job? Or should I quit and take a pivot as soon as possible? I remembered a Japanese quote I once read:

“When you realise you’re on the wrong train, get down at the nearest station. Because the longer you stay, the more expensive the return will be.”

I allowed myself to sit with that thought for a moment. Then I stood up again.

And dragged myself back to work.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as my eyes traced the ECG lines on the monitor.

It was 3:45 a.m. The world seemed to be fast asleep, while I sat here, alone, my eyes glued to the screen.

Just four hours, I told myself. Just hold on for four more hours, and then you’re done.

But the thoughts didn’t stop. How long are you going to do this? How long are you going to pretend you love a job that drains the life out of you? The tears came again, heavier this time. I couldn’t control them anymore.

I could’ve been an artist… a teacher… a designer—something peaceful. Something that felt like living.

It feels good when people call you an angel. It feels good when they say thank you for the things we do.

But kind words don’t buy bread. And they don’t ease the pain.

“It is what it is. This stress is normal in this profession. Wherever you go, it’s going to be the same.”

That was what my supervisor said when I told her the stress was too much for me.

I felt powerless. Why did I spend lakhs on a course that would rip me apart? Deep down, I knew it. I wasn’t meant to be here. But then… what else would I do? Who else would I be? How else am I supposed to make money, look after my family, and survive?

My mind searched for answers, but none came.

So I wiped my face, stood up, and forced myself to finish the tasks, waiting for morning, waiting to go back home.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as my eyes traced the ECG lines on the monitor.

It was 3:45 a.m. The world seemed to be fast asleep, while I sat here, alone, my eyes glued to the screen.

Just four hours, I told myself. Just hold on for four more hours, and then you’re done.

But the thoughts didn’t stop. How long are you going to do this? How long are you going to pretend you love a job that drains the life out of you? The tears came again, heavier this time. I couldn’t control them anymore.

I could’ve been an artist… a teacher… a designer—something peaceful. Something that felt like living.

It feels good when people call you an angel. It feels good when they say thank you for the things we do.

But kind words don’t buy bread. And they don’t ease the pain.

“It is what it is. This stress is normal in this profession. Wherever you go, it’s going to be the same.”

That was what my supervisor said when I told her the stress was too much for me.

I felt powerless. Why did I spend lakhs on a course that would rip me apart? Deep down, I knew it. I wasn’t meant to be here. But then… what else would I do? Who else would I be? How else am I supposed to make money, look after my family, and survive?

My mind searched for answers, but none came.

So I wiped my face, stood up, and forced myself to finish the tasks, waiting for morning, waiting to go back home.

I pushed open the door of the Surgical ICU, sanitised my hands, and picked a cap and mask from the box kept at the entrance. I wore them while walking across the room, counting the number of beds occupied—eight out of eleven.

Probably I’ll be assigned two patients today. I wrote my name and signed the assignment register when the senior nurse asked,

“Have you ever taken a TURP case before?”

My brain had to travel back to my third-year medical-surgical textbook to find the full form of TURP—Transurethral Resection of Prostate.

“No, I haven’t,” I admitted.

“Well, today you’ll learn how to manage a post-TURP patient.” I nodded, slightly confused.

“Don’t worry,” she continued, almost as if she could read my mind.

“The patient has bladder irrigation running. You just have to change the bottles when they’re empty, empty the urine bag when it’s full, and document the intake and output carefully.”

I took the patient file and received the handover from the evening duty staff. The patient was a 69-year-old male diagnosed with benign prostatic hypertrophy, who had undergone surgery to remove the mass. He had an IV cannula and a urinary catheter. It was the first time I had ever seen a three-way Foley catheter. Normally, it has two lumens—one connected to the urine bag and the other used to inflate a balloon at the tip of the catheter so it stays in place. But in a three-way catheter, the third lumen is connected to a large 3-litre can of normal saline for bladder irrigation. Initially, his urine had a dark red tint—hematuria. I noted it in my charting.

My second patient was a 25-year-old female who had undergone spine surgery for adult idiopathic scoliosis.

Scoliosis is a sideways curvature of the spine. The reason for this deformity is often unknown—hence the term idiopathic. She had also undergone costoplasty, a procedure done to reshape the ribs. In some scoliosis cases, the curvature causes the ribs to twist and create a prominent hump, which is corrected through this surgery.

She had plenty of lines and tubes connected to her—BP cuff, ECG leads, SpO₂ probe, central line, arterial line, epidural catheter, Foley’s catheter, and a surgical drain.

She had a petite figure and looked extremely tired. Her face looked like life had been sucked out of her. Countless tubes and excruciating pain. I administered her pain medications and asked the doctor if we could increase the dose of her morphine-fentanyl infusion.

My 69-year-old patient kept asking for water, but I couldn’t give him any until 9 pm, as per the order. Still, I took some water in a 2 ml syringe and dropped it gently over his lips.

“I know you’re thirsty,” I said softly, “but we can’t give you water now. You’re recovering from anaesthesia, and there’s a chance you may not be able to swallow properly.”

“Are my vitals stable?” he asked anxiously. “Is the urine draining properly?”

I reassured him and moved on to the next set of tasks.

I kept two big buckets by his bedside to empty his urine. Every time the bag filled, I measured the volume carefully, poured it into the bucket, and later flushed it down the toilet.

I decided to sit for a while. I entered the nurses’ notes and made a mental list of what I still had to do. It was already 10 pm. My 25-year-old patient was fast asleep.

The ICU fell silent for some time.

Suddenly, the alarm from the syringe pump startled me.

The noradrenaline infusion was about to finish. Her BP was being supported with noradrenaline and I knew this part was especially stressful. Ideally, there should be minimal interruption. I quickly loaded the medication into the syringe, ensured the correct dilution, and connected it to the syringe pump. My hands moved fast, but my heart was faster. The drug constricts blood vessels and raises blood pressure. If it stops even for a minute, there can be a sudden BP drop—and sometimes, that drop can be fatal.

By the time I finished my work at her bedside, it was almost time to change the irrigation fluid bottle. The 3L saline can was nearly empty. Despite having a catheter in place, my TURP patient suddenly said he had an intense urge to pass urine.

At first, I thought he was disoriented. I reassured him that the urine was collecting in the bag.

But he kept repeating it. My colleague suggested giving a bladder wash. I took help from my senior nurse and performed it. The relief on his face was immediate.

At 11 pm, I finally broke his NPO and gave him a few sips of water. After some time, I ordered black tea for him.

By midnight, he fell asleep amidst the constant ICU alarms.

I stayed wide awake.

I kept changing fluid bottles, emptying urine, measuring it, documenting everything, and calculating the intake and output. Around five bottles were already over, and three more were left.I looked at the clock. 2:30 am.

Four more hours until my shift ended. To keep myself awake, I labelled the blood sample bottles with patient name and ID.

When the clock ticked 4 am, I got up to collect samples for routine investigations. The 25-year-old patient had a central line in her neck and an arterial line, which made sample collection easier. I donned gloves and began collecting blood. In complicated cases where peripheral access is difficult, doctors insert a central line. For her, the line was placed in the internal jugular vein in the neck, draining into the superior vena cava, which opens into the heart. It is much safer to administer drugs like noradrenaline and blood transfusions through a central line. But utmost care is needed, because any contamination can introduce microbes directly into the bloodstream.

After collecting the samples, I flushed the line using 10 ml normal saline with the push-pause method. This creates a turbulent flow that clears drug residue, prevents blockage, and reduces the formation of bacterial biofilms.One simple technique—yet so many benefits.My mind wandered. Small actions really do create big changes.

I moved to my next patient.

The 69-year-old man didn’t have a central line, so I had to prick him for blood samples. I tapped his shoulder gently to wake him up.

“I’m going to take some blood to run a few tests. Is that okay?”

He nodded.

I placed the tray near his bed, pulled my gloves into place, applied a tourniquet above his elbow, and asked him to clench his fist. I waited for the vein to become prominent. Using my fingers, I traced a vein in the antecubital fossa. I opened an alcohol swab and cleaned the area.

“I’m going to prick you now,” I warned him. “Please don’t move your hand.”

I inserted the needle. Blood flashed into the hub. I gently pulled back the piston of the syringe and watched it fill.

“You may release your hand now,” I said, removing the tourniquet.

I placed gauze over the puncture site and withdrew the needle

“Please fold your arm for a while,” I instructed, as I poured the sample into the bottles.

Then I heard his sleepy voice.

“You are very efficient.”

For a moment, I thought I misheard him.

“Sorry… did you say something?” I asked.

“You are very efficient,” he repeated. “It didn’t hurt when you took the blood sample.”

I stood there in disbelief, smiling. It had been a month since I joined, and this was the first time a patient had complimented me. I thanked him, still smiling.

I was exhausted from the night shift, but those words made me feel lighter. A sudden surge of energy rose inside me. Maybe this is why nurses continue to work despite the exhaustion. No matter how drained we are, a kind word or a smile instantly refills us.

I filled the lavender tube up to 4 ml first. It contained an anticoagulant that prevents blood from clotting.

I gently rolled the tube to mix the blood with the anticoagulant. Then I filled the red tube. It was a plain tube that allowed blood to clot and separate serum.

After sending the samples to the lab, I administered medications for both patients.

Around 6 am, I gave them mouth care and sponge baths. I changed their clothes, diapers, bedding, and blankets.

My 25-year-old patient’s hair was messy, so I braided it and tied it neatly with a band so she could lie comfortably. I tried to talk and lighten her mood, but she was in so much pain that she couldn’t even smile.

I emptied their drains, measured the output, noted the colour, and calculated total intake and output. I did the same for my TURP patient as well.

The irrigation fluid was almost empty again. I lifted the next bottle and connected it to the set.

My back hurt from constant bending and lifting, but I ignored the pain and went on to give him his breakfast.

By 7:30 am, the bystanders started arriving. My patient’s wife asked me if he was doing okay. I reassured her that he was stable. She gave me a smile of relief in return.

Then I heard him asking her,

“Did you eat and sleep well last night?”

Despite his pain, he was worried about his wife eating and sleeping on time.

“Can I please call her? She’ll be worried and skip dinner,” he had told me last night, when I served him black tea after breaking his NPO.

I looked at them and felt something soften inside me.

I hope this kind of love finds me too— the kind of love that stays when I’m no longer young and beautiful.

The morning staff arrived, but they were busy checking inventory. I stayed for the morning rounds at 8 am. By the time I completed the nurses’ notes and punched out, it was already 9:30 am.

I walked back to my room slowly. My legs felt heavy.

I dragged myself into the shower and stood there, processing the night. I imagined the water as a golden light, washing away all the pain from my body. I lathered the soap and scrubbed off the smell of sanitiser from my skin. I set an alarm for 5 pm. It was already 10:30 am.Five hours of sleep, I thought. And then I’ll do it all again.

Everything looked so peaceful today, I thought to myself while looking outside the glass window of the ICU. I could see the river flowing, trees swaying in the wind, and the roads buzzing with vehicles.

I was assigned just one patient for the evening shift. Honestly, I felt relieved. I started with the paperwork first. Then I began assessing my patient, counting the lines and tubes attached to his body. He had a feeding tube passing through his nose into his stomach, and an IV cannula for administering medications.

His feed was a protein shake that directly reached the jejunum, the second part of the small intestine, to bypass the workload of the initial parts. He had been fed through this tube for a week now.

How lucky are we to be able to chew and enjoy the taste of the food we eat, yet we still complain.

The shift stayed peaceful for a few more hours… until chaos set in.

The doctor barged in and said, “We are bringing a patient back to ICU. Get ready.”

The patient came in wheezing and coughing. His saturation was dropping. I immediately connected oxygen and checked his vitals. His heart rate was dangerously high.I started copying the readings into the flow sheet while I heard the doctor shouting at the ward nurses. Apparently, the patient had a mass in his food pipe (esophagus) and had been admitted for excision. He had been shifted out of ICU to the room in the morning, but now he was back, because he aspirated the water he drank.

There’s a small flap called the epiglottis that covers the trachea while we swallow. But sometimes, if a person coughs, laughs, or talks while drinking, water can enter the lungs. This can lead to a serious infection called aspiration pneumonia.

“I gave him just a few sips of water in an upright position,” the nurse explained.

The doctor snapped back, “Who asked you to give him water? Didn’t you know he was kept NPO?”

“But it was written in the order sheet that sips of water can be given under supervision,” she replied.

The doctor fell silent, but his anger was still evident. When things go wrong, nurses are the first to be blamed. People call nurses 'malakha/angels', but angels don't get blamed like this.When did giving a thirsty man a few sips of water become such a terrible thing? And why did he have to react like that in front of the patient and the staff?

I felt sorry for both of them. She was just following the written orders and helping that old man finally drink a few drops of water by mouth. I saw her eyes tearing up while she pleaded the doctor to not raise a complaint. Being nurse isn't easy, most of the time you become the scapegoat for someone elses mistakes.The doctor might have been frustrated. Maybe he regretted shifting the patient too early. Or maybe he was worried because he would have to answer to senior doctors.

The patient settled for a while, but the cough returned again. He started coughing violently, mouth wide open, tongue protruding out. The sound echoed through the ICU. His heart rate and blood pressure shot up.

I called the doctor.

“Good evening, sir. The patient we just shifted is having tachycardia and his BP is rising. Also, his cough—”

“I’m coming,” he said, and hung up.

Meanwhile, on the next bed, my first patient suddenly said he felt like vomiting. He threw up pink-tinted mucus mixed with dark clots. Then he asked to use the washroom. When he returned, he said his stool looked like black tar. That immediately worried me.

It could be a sign of bleeding somewhere in the alimentary canal, which explained the hematemesis (blood in vomit) and melena (black tarry stool caused by digested blood). I quickly went through his blood reports, there was no drop in his hemoglobin levels. I ensured that the NJ feed and IV fluids were on flow to prevent dehydration.

The doctor arrived and ordered nebulisation and a pulmonology consultation for the other patient.

It was already 7 pm. My shift ended at 7:30, but there was still so much left to do.

Soon, using Xray and USG, they identified a collection of fluid in the chest,pleural effusion.

Our lungs are covered by a thin membrane called the pleura, which protects them and helps in smooth movement during breathing. Unfortunately, fluid can sometimes collect in the space between the pleura and the lungs. That is called pleural effusion.

The doctor said it might require tapping, a procedure where fluid is removed by inserting a needle into the pleural space. But I knew that would take time.

I felt overwhelmed.

How would I finish everything before leaving?

I started writing the nurses’ notes first, because in healthcare, if it’s not documented, it’s not done.

Thankfully, the night staff arrived early. I did everything I could and handed over the remaining tasks to them.

By the time I changed, it was already 8:30 pm.

For some strange reason, I took the stairs down from the 6th floor. As I walked, I replayed the entire shift in my head, checking every step and wondering if I missed anything.

When I finally reached downstairs, my stomach was grumbling.All I ate today was two slices of bread, tea, and a snack. I hoped there was something in my room.

My room was a 15-minute walk from the hospital.

I checked the road and began crossing.

But when I reached the middle of the road, I saw a car speeding towards me. The bright light of the headlight pierced into my eyes. I knew, with absolute certainty, that it wasn’t going to stop. For a moment, I saw myself being hit, bleeding on the road.

I ran with every bit of energy left in me.

Somehow, I made it to the other end alive.

But as soon as I reached the pavement, a chill ran down my spine and my legs felt weak.Today might have been my last day on this planet. Maybe I was remembered in someone’s prayer. Maybe my guardian angel saved me. Maybe I still had a lot left to give to this world.

I silently thanked the Lord and walked home.

I stood under the shower, letting the cool water wash away the stress of the day. I set my alarm for 6 am and went to bed around 10:30 pm.Despite the sweltering heat, I slowly drifted into a deep sleep.