Greg's Journal: Nursing Taught Me to Slow Down

Greg's Journal | Entry No. 11

I didn't become a nurse because I wanted to work in a hospital. I became a nurse because I wanted to make a difference.

There's a subtle difference between those two things.

One is about a job. The other is about people.

When I started nursing school, I thought success meant learning everything there was to know. The medications. The procedures. The anatomy. The physiology.

Those things mattered. They still do.

But after spending more than twenty years caring for people, I've realized something. The greatest lessons I learned in nursing school weren't found in a textbook.

They were sitting in hospital beds.

My First Job

My first nursing job was in the Trauma Transplant ICU at Duke University Medical Center.

It was a place where very sick people came to get another chance at life. Some had been in terrible accidents. Some had received organ transplants. Some weren't expected to survive.

As a young nurse, it was intimidating. The pace was relentless. The responsibility was enormous.

Every day I learned something new. Every day I realized how much I still had to learn.

Looking back, I wouldn't trade those years for anything. They shaped me.

Night Shift

I worked nights.

Not because I preferred being awake at two o'clock in the morning. Because it paid more.

I had student loans. Bills. Goals.

Weekend option meant I worked twelve-hour shifts every Saturday, Sunday, and Monday night. If someone wanted extra help during the week, I usually volunteered.

Looking back, I probably worked too much.

But I also found something I wasn't expecting.

Community.

Night shift nurses depend on one another. When someone needs to turn a patient, everyone helps. When someone needs another set of hands, people show up. When things go sideways, nobody asks whose patient it is.

You simply help.

That kind of teamwork stays with you.

Learning From Experience

One of the greatest gifts of nursing was getting to work alongside nurses who had seen everything.

Nothing rattled them.

A blood pressure dropped. They knew what to do. Someone stopped breathing. They knew what to do. Families became emotional. They knew what to say.

As a young nurse, I watched them constantly. Not because they were louder. Because they were calmer.

Experience has a way of replacing panic with perspective.

I've tried to become that kind of nurse for younger people entering the profession.

Mr. Mitchell

There are patients you never forget.

Mr. Mitchell was one of mine.

He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't move his legs. He had a tracheostomy and spoke very little.

I spent a lot of time feeding him. Chocolate pudding was one of his favorites. Mashed potatoes with gravy weren't far behind.

We developed a rhythm. I'd point to the next bite. He'd nod.

The television was usually off. The room was quiet.

Some of the most meaningful conversations I've ever had contained very few words.

He taught me that gratitude isn't something you talk about. It's something you live.

I still think about him. Often.

The Older Patients

One of my favorite parts of nursing surprised me.

It wasn't the emergencies. It wasn't the excitement.

It was helping older patients. Bathing them. Helping them eat. Listening to their stories.

Older people have lived fascinating lives. Most of them aren't looking for someone to solve every problem. They're looking for someone willing to listen.

Healthcare often moves too quickly. But sometimes the most important thing you can do is simply pull up a chair.

Caregiver Fatigue

One thing people don't always recognize is how exhausted families become.

You see someone sitting beside a hospital bed for days. Sleeping in uncomfortable chairs. Barely eating. Trying to stay strong.

Eventually I'd tell them,

"Go home. Get some sleep. We'll call you if anything changes."

They'd often resist. Then they'd finally leave. The next morning they'd return looking like different people. More rested. More present. More able to support the person they loved.

That taught me something.

You can't pour from an empty cup.

Taking care of yourself isn't selfish. Sometimes it's one of the best ways to take care of someone else.

Nursing Changed My Definition of Success

When I was younger, I thought success meant accomplishing more. Doing more. Working harder.

Nursing changed that.

Today, I think success looks a lot like showing up consistently. Being dependable. Treating people with dignity. Doing ordinary things extraordinarily well.

No one applauds a nurse for helping someone brush their teeth. Or giving a bath. Or sitting quietly beside a frightened patient.

But those moments matter. Often more than we realize.

What Nursing Gave Me

People sometimes ask whether I miss being an ICU nurse.

The truth is, I'm still a nurse. I just practice differently now.

The operating room changed my role. It didn't change my heart.

Nursing taught me to slow down. To notice people. To appreciate stories. To understand that healing isn't only about medicine.

Sometimes healing begins because someone took the time to care. Not just for the illness. For the person.

That's a lesson I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.

And I hope I never become too busy to remember it.

For the Quiet Hours,
Greg Wiggins, CRNA
Co-Founder, Bloomfield Schoolhouse Lavender