Hey everyone, Tina here. To all my fellow healthcare warriors, pull up a chair (if you can even find one that isn’t being used as a temporary charting station).
Last time, I talked about the universal struggle of wanting to clock out, but being a nurse adds a whole different layer to that “I just want to go home” feeling. In most jobs, when you’re “done” for the day, you close a laptop. In nursing, when you’re “done,” you have to make sure every human life in your care is stable, medicated, and tucked in, all while your own feet feel like they’ve been run over by a gurney.
The truth is, I don’t think about nothing at work… except getting off.
The Myth of the 12-Hour Shift
Let’s be real: A “12-hour shift” is a myth, like unicorns or a fully stocked supply room. By hour eight, my brain has officially checked out of the building. I’m standing there, hanging a bag of fluids, nodding professionally at a doctor, but internally? I am already in my shower. I’m feeling the hot water wash away the smell of hospital sanitizer and that one mystery liquid that splashed on my shoe at 10:00 AM.
I’ve reached a point where I can perform a perfect neuro check while simultaneously planning my grocery list, wondering if I left the stove on, and debating if it’s “too late” to order Mexican food at 7:45 PM.
Mastering the “Nurse Face”
We all have the Nurse Face. It’s that calm, reassuring expression that says, “Everything is under control,” even when the call lights are blinking like a Christmas tree and the pharmacy is taking three years to send up a simple Tylenol.
What the Patient Sees vs. What the Brain Thinks:
- Patient: “Nurse Tina, can I have an extra pillow?”
- My Face: “Of course! Let me go find one for you.”
- My Brain: If I find that pillow, and finish my charting, and nobody codes in the next twenty minutes… I might actually see my bed before midnight. I wonder if my bed misses me. I miss it. We had something special.
Finding Humor in the Chaos of Healthcare
You have to laugh, or you’ll cry into a bin of sterile gauze. There’s a specific kind of humor that only nurses get. It’s that look you exchange with your work bestie in the hallway—that “if one more person asks me for a ginger ale, I’m going to scream” look.
We spend our days caring for everyone else’s needs, bodies, and families. So by the time that final hour rolls around, that “pleading face” emoji isn’t just a mood—it’s my literal soul. I’m not just waiting for the clock to hit 7; I’m manifesting a world where I don’t have to use my “professional voice” for at least ten hours.
The Glory of the “Scrub Peel”
There is no feeling in the world quite like the “scrub peel.” You know the one. You get home, you kick off those compression socks (which feel like they’ve become part of your skin), and you finally—finally—stop being “Nurse Tina” and just become “Human Tina.”
If you’re reading this on your 15-minute “lunch” break that you’re finally taking at 4:00 PM: I see you. Hang in there. The handoff is coming. The pajamas are waiting. We’re almost to the finish line.