"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
For as long as we can remember, that iconic question has been brought forth at the most random of times; at family reunions, while sitting in our classrooms, by complete strangers. This question has never failed to elicit bouts of anxiety within all of us, since the majority of us are unable to envision ourselves as anything but students. As anything but daughters, but sons. The idea of an impending adulthood is frightening, as it is unpredictable and unable to be imagined until it actually becomes reality.
While this applies to myself as well, there has always been something lingering in the back of my mind that has fueled me during my years of school. Though my upcoming adulthood has yet to become my livelihood, I have always known that my future years will revolve around ensuring the well-being of those around me. They will consist of patterned scrubs cluttering my wardrobe, of grueling shifts that could only ever be accomplished by countless shots of espresso.
My adulthood will not have a sense of time; it will, instead, run on the smiles that I am able to bestow onto my patients' faces. It will run on whether or not the sun is seeping through the curtains of the hospital's windows, on whether the supplies on my assigned floor are in need of restocking. The passing seconds will be counted by the soft thrums of heart monitors, and the hours by scheduled room checks.
There will be the good days. The lighthearted, miraculous days in which a patient survives a hazardous surgery, in which I am holding a wailing bundle of new life inside my arms following a life-threatening C-section. After returning home from those days, I will collapse into bed with an exhausted smile on my face, eager for what that next morning has in store.
There will be the bad days. The melancholic, eon-like days in which a pediatric patient loses his battle against brain cancer, in which a mother successfully delivers her baby but does not live to formally name him. The drive home from those days will consist of numerous pull-overs and crumpled tissues, as I would have retained my composure while at the hospital for the sake of my coworkers and the families of my late patients. There would be little sleep. But I would still remain eager, hopeful for a much brighter day to come next.
Because I will be a nurse.
And as a nurse, I will become the embodiment of selflessness, of compassion that is undying even during times of crisis. I will become the caretaker that may not be enjoyed by some patients, as I may adjust their bedside trays too low or too high for their liking, or I may give them water instead of apple juice, but I will be the one that will always make the time to ensure that all of their questions have been answered. I will speak "human"; I will not speak in solely medical language that only the boggles the already distressed mind, but I will instead speak to my patients as equals.
Because my future patients could be children, could be siblings, and could be students. And while each of them will already be familiar with the uncertain question that I was once asked:
"What do you want to be when you grow up?". . It will be my duty to make sure that they do grow up and discover its answer.
