Saturday, April 08, 2006
Loneliness vs. Solitude
I normally *love* night shifts. The hospital is quiet. There are less people running around. But the few of us who are there create a sense of a small party or get-together. The nurses frequently bring in food to share, creating impromptu potlucks. We exchange stories from our personal lives. There is a strong sense of community among the nurses on my floor who work nights.
Tonight, however, I was floated to another floor. That's almost like being told at the last minute that you are going to start a new job somewhere else with an entirely new group of co-workers. So much for my potluck party!
I got my assignment and started introducing myself to my patients. The other not-so-great thing about floating is that I know I'll only have these patients for this one night, so I'm less inclined to build rapport with them, since I'll never see them again after this shift.
Three hours into my shift and a sense of profound loneliness settled firmly into my chest.
"I'm going to take a quick break and go visit my floor," I told the charge nurse on this new floor.
After a quick visit to see my friends on my regular floor, I grabbed my cell phone and headed for a stairwell. I called my friend who serves as a spiritual guide of sorts.
"I'm feeling terribly lonely. I got floated to another floor and I don't know anyone there," I explained to her. "I'm hating it."
"But you're not alone! There is a spiritual presence with you always," she reminded me.
"True," I agreed. "But it's not taking the ache in my chest away," I continued to argue.
I got a call that my patient's blood was ready, so I hung up the phone. As I continued about my work, the ache in my chest eased up. It's interesting to me to realize that I do not feel the same about nursing when my patients are expected to live as I feel when I am expecting them to die. Ironically, I feel much more at peace and much more centered when I'm expecting them to die. Perhaps that is that spiritual presence again.
In any case, the ache eased up. And then...
I was told I could go home, because we were overstaffed!
I was delighted, of course. But felt like the universe was coddling me a little. I had finally surrendered to the loneliness in me and now it was like an unspoken prayer had been answered. But, I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
It was midnight by the time I headed out of the hospital. I considered waiting for a cab or asking security to walk me home, but instead, I *chose* to walk home *alone*. And I enjoyed the walk.
Funny how being among a group of people can feel even lonelier than being completely alone.
The photo is of me walking away from my little sister in the White Sands Desert in New Mexico in 1981. The open desert and the clouds in the sky somehow remind me of the peace of solitude.
The walk home from work was serene; the weather lovely.
Then I came home and started a new painting on this line between loneliness and solitude. I got a good start, but ran out of white paint. I'm looking forward to heading back to the art supply store to pick up more paint, so I can work on it some more. And I'm glad to have been inspired to start a new piece.
The events of tonight reminded me of the film Me and You and Everyone We Know. I had just watched it last night.
There was a certain sense of loneliness or quiet solitude about several of the characters in that film. Everyone in some way seemed to be seeking out a sense of connection with others. Though the film misses the very thing which helped me the most this evening. That sense of something beyond, larger than life.
Addendum: Struck with insomnia, I climbed out of bed to smell my new painting.
Tonight, however, I was floated to another floor. That's almost like being told at the last minute that you are going to start a new job somewhere else with an entirely new group of co-workers. So much for my potluck party!
I got my assignment and started introducing myself to my patients. The other not-so-great thing about floating is that I know I'll only have these patients for this one night, so I'm less inclined to build rapport with them, since I'll never see them again after this shift.
Three hours into my shift and a sense of profound loneliness settled firmly into my chest.
"I'm going to take a quick break and go visit my floor," I told the charge nurse on this new floor.
After a quick visit to see my friends on my regular floor, I grabbed my cell phone and headed for a stairwell. I called my friend who serves as a spiritual guide of sorts.
"I'm feeling terribly lonely. I got floated to another floor and I don't know anyone there," I explained to her. "I'm hating it."
"But you're not alone! There is a spiritual presence with you always," she reminded me.
"True," I agreed. "But it's not taking the ache in my chest away," I continued to argue.
I got a call that my patient's blood was ready, so I hung up the phone. As I continued about my work, the ache in my chest eased up. It's interesting to me to realize that I do not feel the same about nursing when my patients are expected to live as I feel when I am expecting them to die. Ironically, I feel much more at peace and much more centered when I'm expecting them to die. Perhaps that is that spiritual presence again.
In any case, the ache eased up. And then...
I was told I could go home, because we were overstaffed!
I was delighted, of course. But felt like the universe was coddling me a little. I had finally surrendered to the loneliness in me and now it was like an unspoken prayer had been answered. But, I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
It was midnight by the time I headed out of the hospital. I considered waiting for a cab or asking security to walk me home, but instead, I *chose* to walk home *alone*. And I enjoyed the walk.
Funny how being among a group of people can feel even lonelier than being completely alone.
The photo is of me walking away from my little sister in the White Sands Desert in New Mexico in 1981. The open desert and the clouds in the sky somehow remind me of the peace of solitude.
The walk home from work was serene; the weather lovely.
Then I came home and started a new painting on this line between loneliness and solitude. I got a good start, but ran out of white paint. I'm looking forward to heading back to the art supply store to pick up more paint, so I can work on it some more. And I'm glad to have been inspired to start a new piece.
The events of tonight reminded me of the film Me and You and Everyone We Know. I had just watched it last night.
There was a certain sense of loneliness or quiet solitude about several of the characters in that film. Everyone in some way seemed to be seeking out a sense of connection with others. Though the film misses the very thing which helped me the most this evening. That sense of something beyond, larger than life.
Addendum: Struck with insomnia, I climbed out of bed to smell my new painting.
Comments:
I know exactly what you mean about working nights :).
That is such a cool picture.
How symbolic to run out of white paint.
This whole entry is so interesting.
BB and I watched that movie on cable and hy liked it more than me, I think, which was ironic since it's alternative :).
That is such a cool picture.
How symbolic to run out of white paint.
This whole entry is so interesting.
BB and I watched that movie on cable and hy liked it more than me, I think, which was ironic since it's alternative :).
'Funny how being among a group of people can feel even lonelier than being completely alone.'
ain't that the truth.
on another note entirely, i had to spend a couple of months in hospital overhere in the uk. we were told not to use cell phones whilst in the hospital as i mucks up the electronic heart machines. is that all bull or is there a grain of truth in that?
ain't that the truth.
on another note entirely, i had to spend a couple of months in hospital overhere in the uk. we were told not to use cell phones whilst in the hospital as i mucks up the electronic heart machines. is that all bull or is there a grain of truth in that?
Jenny - Thanks. Yes, I'm surprised you didn't like that flick. I watched it twice in one weekend, I liked it so much.
CJ - It's mostly the ICU and the ED that we worry about the cell phones. We don't have equipment on our floor that would be affected by them. Though I did go into the stairwell, because I know cellphones can irk some folk.
CJ - It's mostly the ICU and the ED that we worry about the cell phones. We don't have equipment on our floor that would be affected by them. Though I did go into the stairwell, because I know cellphones can irk some folk.
Anonant here feel free to link the photo if youd like. And if you want more I just did a few from the Manchester beach area NorCal.
Post a Comment
