The Angry RN.

Here I am, a Registered Nurse in the ER. I am the portrayal of a STRONG BOLD take no shit kinda woman. In all reality, I am just angry. We will come back to that.

To everyone else, this looks like thriving. I work well under pressure. It’s probably because when you procrastinate your entire life, you learn to perform well or fail.

Frankly, I like to win.

I work in the Emergency Room. If you have never worked in or close to the ER, then you have ZERO bases of how/what/when/what kinda shit we go through. It is just a volatile place. We are overworked, understaffed, and every other day a task gets delegated to you, that was once someone else’s job. I refer to this being “voluntold” to do something. Which adds more work to an already over-ran nurse.

Welcome to American Health Care.

Okay, back to the story.

I am running on caffeine, DARK HUMOR, and inappropriate comments at least 80 percent of the time. I am gas to a fire. I in the ER are like a junky and his needle. I freaking thrived. I loved it. They were all like me. Rash, hard, tough, mean, take NO shit, handle your shit kinda people. Those were my people. We saw the worst of the worst. We watched babies die, mothers mourn, wives saying goodbyes, and the biggest of men hit their knees for their loved ones. Every person we see is on their worst day. I remember the first time I cried with my coworker during a pediatric code. It wasn’t your typical mourning. It was the silent look ahead, as we compressed his little chest and breathed for him. It was the steady stream of tears rolling down our cheeks. Without one sound from our mouths. I will never forget the feeling I carried away from that trauma bay……..off to my next room…. My other patient is a narcotic drug seeker and has been to the nurse's station 4 times asking for their Dilaudid the Dr. promised them.

So, I learn to thrive well, with a poker face.

It breaks you a little every day.

Until you learn to be fake.

Before you know it, you’ve witnessed 15 deaths in the last 6 months and you haven’t shed the first tear. You start to question yourself. What kind of person becomes numb to death? Who can disassociate so easily? Hmmm.

So, you tuck that in your little secret pouch of trauma and you learn to call that being tough. Before you know it, you’re one of them. I was cold before, and the ER just made it worse.

I was volatile to myself. I was drinking too much, eating shit every day. Nightshift alone became my reason for everything. I worked nights... Can’t come I work nights, can’t meal prep, can’t make it to the gym. It was my excuse for everything.

I quit CrossFit. I was in a cycle of self-sabotage. AGAIN.

Then came COVID.