All that glitters...

This badge feels like a Scarlet Letter burning on my chest.

It's tan. Sterile. My picture, just a tiny square on the back. Far different from the white, horizontal badges of honor worn by my counterparts. This is a first. Don't they know we don't need ANY help feeling like outsiders? 

"It's *Anēssa." "Hi! *Anēssa, actually. What's up?!" (ignores the mispronunciation and answers anyway) I'm used to this. It takes about a month for that long e to stick; longer for those who don't actually care to get it right. And this is fine, I tell myself. It's fine. 

I "lucked up" and got the unit president for a patient. You know the one; that's been in the hospital for months, with the room decor to prove it. You'd have to close the door to keep Nurses + Doctors away from their cuteness, and even then... good luck! "You just turn the oxygen tank to 8 liters" my patient's Mom instructs, as she plugs in the cords to the transport monitor and turns down the QRS volume to prepare for the walk I must accompany. "Yep, I know" I reassure. The heat emitting from my badge intensifies. And this is fine, I tell myself. It's fine. 

An assignment that's changed twice in the same shift. No lunch. Dehydration. These things are familiar. It's fine. 

I put salve on the burns left on my chest this week. I'll be reminding myself why I started all weekend.

to be seen

7am traffic and an unforecast morning rain. Great. My first day hair won't last 5 minutes in this humidity.

The, "hey, just checking in!" phone call I received yesterday from the unit educator confirmed today would be like most traveler orientations: new badge, parking pass, meet with leadership, unit tour, online education modules until I decompose. Ugh. 45 minutes later — donning shiny new placards across our chests — we sat in the unit conference room making small talk. The faint cries of self importance echoing in the background. 

She spoke all about the unit's infrastructure and culture in that gleeful way that educators do. I faded in and out, searching for something to attach myself to. My eyes landed on two Sterilite bins full of travel-sized toiletries. The familiarity of them made me smile. Memories of past patients + families rolled in; my smile widened.  

"We have a drawer in the unit full of products for African American hair too." I sat up tall, head tilted slightly in astonishment. "We did a few focus groups with families of our patient's and it came to our attention that we weren't caring for all of our patient's equally. In particular our Black patients. Of course, nobody wants to hear that. You want to shrink from your racial biases and shout, 'yes we do!' but, we weren't. We weren't washing our Black patient's hair; simply because we didn't know how. Kids that were with us for weeks; months. Instead of challenging our (White) selves and asking, we just didn't do it at all. We expected that it was 'someone else's job' and we used not having the right tools as a crutch." Tears formed in the corners of my eyes. "We acknowledge that our nursing staff isn't reflective of our diverse patient population. We understand now how much of a difference it makes for patient's to see nurses that look like them within these walls." It was like fresh air, but I couldn't exhale what was already in my lungs.

She went on to say that the unit had started a book club; nurses could choose between 'The Hate You Give' or another book she couldn't remember off hand.  "Some are really excited about it, some not." Uncomfortability. "Well. Growth comes from being uncomfortable", she added. I couldn't agree more. 

Today was NOTHING like most orientations. 

September 30th, 2016.

I sat down for my first solo meal today after dropping my Mom off at the airport.

I reached out to a friend who grew up in the area for food recommendations and as she mulled over all of the possibilities, I happened upon a Whole Foods Market. Finally, some familiarity. I made my way to the hot foods bar and piled my plate high with all of the things my body — secondary to hormone fluxes, was craving. Quinoa, lots of veggies, a creamy sauce... and cornbread. (Listen, I don't make the rules.) I decided to dine in, finding comfort in the music that hummed in the background.

As I ate, all of the angst I had repressed hit me like a ton of bricks. I am A L O N E. In a foreign place, and it's not a vacation. I miss my tribe. What if this PICU is terrible? What if the nurses & doctors aren't kind? Am I good enough to be a travel nurse? Racism is seemingly ingrained in the fabric of Virginia, do the local residents hate my brown face?

Just as anxiety threatened to take me under, an elderly white woman interrupted. "Honey, have you eaten here before? Do you know where the trash is?" I smiled, and explained that I was new here too. We laughed. She asked an employee for help and then returned to collect her trash. "I'm heading that way, would you like me to take yours too?" I handed over my box, "yes please, thank you!” I exclaimed. We wished each other well as she headed for the door.

I sat a moment longer, floored by God's timeliness. Praise.