I have had to be much more flexible in many aspects of my working practise and have had to deeply consider not only how I do what I do but whether I have wanted to continue being a nurse at all. It was disconcerting to scrutinise the initial reasons for choosing nursing as a career, reasons I have barely examined for twenty years, but it was one of a thousand corners of my current life worth reconsideration. In the last three and a half years I have critically looked at other ways I may be able to make money- baker, writer, bicycle maker, plumber, fireman- and will continue to consider these and others over time. For now though I will continue nursing and working with homeless people in the city as I have for the last ten years.
I used to have a very clear work/life border. The second my work phone was turned off, I was not working. My work brain would easily disconnect and then it was time for real life, for my family, for me.
But now the boundaries are blurry. The old coping mechanism of creating an obvious dichotomy began to break down after Ruby died and have been gradually replaced with a stratification of work and "mainly not work". There is less separation now.
Objectively it makes perfect sense- I enjoy nursing, it is a vocation, the qualities one needs to do it well are qualities I naturally have or have consistently cultivated over the years, I am a nurse and also a Nurse- but it took the trauma of losing Ruby to subjectively understand the importance of appreciating that me, the nurse, is the same as me, Ben Dench and not a separate "other" attached to a job.
The pragmatics have changed too. I see fewer patients face to face than I had previously, much of my contact is now via telephone, text or email. For many years it was an unquestionable demand of my work to see all patients in person for as long as they needed, regular meetings lasting one or two hours. This way of working, for who I am now and the way I work, is not constructive.
My work is now less face-to-face and more by telephone, email or sometimes a text. This can be as supportive as face to face but keeps me in greater control of my caseload and relationships and, quite simply, keeps me at work. A two hour face to face meeting with a client can sometimes be replaced with a ten minute phone conversation if very well timed and if the subject matter is closely planned (with obvious flexibility within the subject matter of course). A well-placed text message can sometimes be more galvanising than a tear-filled hour together.
My clients were most often were my priority. Now it is my colleagues. If staff are well supported and cared-for almost any difficulty can be dealt with. I have had no pay rise since the day I started ten years ago- an issue for millions of people of course- but I continue in this team for two main reasons- the interesting patients and the lovely people I work with. Every team has its drama-queens, it's cliques and its tensions but these are simply one of the many chemicals in the compound glue that bonds every group. I put psychic effort into encouraging the warmth and relationships in the team to facilitate these bonds.
And it does take great effort at times. I am not naturally sociable, generally preferring my own company, and coping with depression and grief means constant endeavour. But when my team works together, supports each other, volunteers their time and minds, it feels we can deal with any difficulty from terrible salaries to patients' threats to the death of a colleague. And my grief.
As always in my grief navigation is key. Putting the effort into navigating these new pathways through work and life have resulted in a stable coexistence which, in turn, feeds into my own abilities to cope. Work works and life is easier.
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