So today I wanna just dump my thoughts about this nursing student prayer thing. Yeah, I know, sounds kinda fluffy at first, right? Like, what’s praying got to do with changing bedpans or taking blood pressure? Bear with me, it gets realer.
Where It Started (Honestly, I Was Skeptical)
Okay, look. When I first heard people chatting about “praying makes nurses care better,” I kinda rolled my eyes. Seriously? Praying? Sounds like something nice for Sunday morning, not the crazy emergency room chaos. I figured it was just feel-good talk, maybe even a bit of that fake sunshine crap. But then, stuff started hitting the fan.
It was like… the third week of my placement? Pure exhaustion. Long shifts, patients grumpy or scared, loads of meds to give, charts piling up. Felt like drowning, y’know? All those textbook perfect “nurse empathy” feelings? Gone. Poof! Just trying to get through the tasks without collapsing was the whole goal. Felt kinda hollow inside looking at patients – like I was just doing robot tasks.
Threw My Hands Up and Tried It
Honestly, desperation move. Sitting in my car before a brutal night shift, feeling totally fried. Brain fog thick like pea soup. I thought maybe it’d work, maybe not. Who knows? Worth a shot, right? Couldn’t hurt.
Didn’t do anything fancy. Leaned my head back against the headrest, eyes shut. Didn’t say magic words or anything scripted. Just kinda thought:
- “Man, I feel like crap.”
- “Please, help me just not screw up today.”
- “Give me some kinda… patience? For the people relying on me.”
- “Help me see them as people, not just tasks.”
It was less than a minute. Seriously. Felt kinda silly walking in after that.
The Damndest Thing Happened
That shift? Different. Not magically sunshine and rainbows. Still busy as heck. But inside? Felt… calmer? Noticed it when Mrs. Henderson in Bed 3 was getting super anxious about her new medication again. Normally, I’d be mentally groaning “Oh here we go,” rushing through the explanation just to get moving. But that night? Paused. Looked at her. Saw she was genuinely scared, not just difficult. Took an extra minute, sat on the edge of her bed even though my feet were killing me, explained slowly, held her hand. Wanted to. Didn’t feel forced.
Then later, that teenager admitted after the car crash – angry, scared, pushing everyone away. Usually, I’d kinda shut down and keep it strictly professional. Quick in-and-out. That night? Felt this little nudge to ask about the band poster he had on his phone screen. Bam! Eyes lit up. Talked for maybe 90 seconds about his band, and he visibly relaxed, stopped fighting everything. Still had his pain meds to give, IV to check… but that tiny human moment changed the interaction.
It wasn’t some giant holy light moment. Just little things. Little choices to connect instead of just rushing. That “hollow” feeling? Wasn’t there.
Why I Think it Matters Now (No Fluff)
Here’s the messy truth after actually trying it myself, not just hearing about it:
- It ain’t about changing God, it’s about changing ME. It slowed my frantic brain down for a hot second. Made me check my own tank, remember why I was there before diving into the chaos.
- Helped shift focus off my exhaustion (temporarily!). For those 12 seconds in the car? It was about the patients needing my help, not just me needing a nap. Big difference.
- Made me remember I need help too. Nursing ain’t solo superhero stuff. Sometimes you gotta recognize you’re drained and quietly ask for a bit of back-up (even if it’s just to the universe).
- Compassion ain’t just automatic. That “caring feeling” gets burned out, scraped off by the grind. Taking that tiny pause? Felt like scraping some of that gunk off my own heart, making a tiny bit of space for someone else’s fear.
Look, I’m not saying every shift is magic now. It’s still hard, gritty work. Some days I forget to do it, and it shows – I feel snappier, more robotic. But I keep doing it. Not because it’s some religious duty, but because practically speaking, it helps ME be a tiny bit less burned out, helps me actually SEE the person in the bed, not just the chart. That extra ounce of patience? That genuine willingness to stop and listen for an extra beat? That stuff matters. To the patients, and to my own sanity. Turns out those little prayers? They’re kinda like mental defibrillator paddles for a drowning nurse’s soul. Just enough juice to keep the heart in the work.
