Try a little kindness!

I recently had the exquisite pleasure of attending and presenting at the Creating Healthy Work Environments (CHWE) conference in Indianapolis, Indiana, sponsored by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International. What an incredible conference! I loved being among my peers and thoroughly enjoyed being among like-minded nurse leaders and innovators.

Yours Truly at CHWE conference.

During one of the sessions, I was captivated by the remarks made by Beth Ulrich, EdD, RN, FACHE, FAAN, a senior partner at Innovative Health Resources and editor of Nephrology Nursing Journal. Among her many achievements, Ulrich and her colleague, Peter Buerhaus, PhD, RN, FAAN, Valere Potter Professor of Nursing at Vanderbilt University, have been researching and trending nursing workforce data for a number of years. I took several notes, jotted down some of the highlights, and shared them with my leadership students upon returning to Boise.

Part of Ulrich’s presentation focused on the need and desire of nurses to be both respected and meaningfully recognized. Interestingly, these concepts—respect and meaningful recognition— are often ill-defined and left to personal interpretation. Following up on this deficiency of definition, I asked my senior nursing students to free write their responses to the following questions: 1) In your opinion, what does it mean to be respected as a nurse? 2) What does it mean to be meaningfully recognized for your work as a nurse?

Back in Boise with my students.

The student responses were illuminating. With regard to the first question, they overwhelmingly reported that they want to be treated as valuable colleagues and vital members of the health care team. They want to have meaningful input into patient-care decisions and their opinions heard, and to be an integral and trusted member of an interprofessional team. Additionally, respect means to be treated with dignity, civility, and kindness.

One student wrote: “I really want to be treated like a professional and to have other health care workers come directly to me with their concerns if they see I need help. I hope they will ask me for input, learn to trust my judgment, and provide me with constructive feedback to help me grow as a professional nurse.”

Another wrote: “I know it will take time, but I hope to enjoy a high level of respect by having my ideas carefully considered and not dismissed completely out of hand. I don’t want to be talked down to, belittled, or ignored. I want to instill confidence in my patients and co-workers.”

Another student summed it up this way: “Please show me kindness, value my contributions, teach me without malice, and be mindful of my need for time off—please don’t call me into work when you know I’m exhausted and need to refuel—and I promise to always do my best.”

Respect means taking time to really listen and giving someone our full attention. I recently heard Naomi Judd express the following, “What we really need is not a good talkin’ to but, instead, a good listenin’ to.” My students and I couldn’t agree more. As one student noted, “Respect is allowing another person to completely and fully express their ideas with a genuine attempt to understand, and doing so without bias or judgment.”

As to the second question about meaningful forms of recognition, the vast majority of my students expressed a desire to be acknowledged by their patients, co-workers, and other members of the health care team. They want the acknowledgement to be specific and personalized—not just a generalized “Good job!” Others described meaningful recognition as being sought out by their peers and being appreciated as a valuable team member. Only a few mentioned salary increases as a mean of recognition, while others wanted organizational support and opportunities for advancement to achieve their career goals.

This free-write assignment provided an excellent platform for group discussion and conversation. In fact, some students wanted to know how I would respond to the two questions. To me, respect is a mutual process where people—including me—act with grace, candor, appreciation, and consideration. It means treating people with dignity and living by the “Civility Wisdom” described in my recent book, Creating & Sustaining Civility in Nursing Education (Clark, 2013, p. 207)—to practice forgiveness, express gratitude, affirm others, exceed expectations, address unkindness, and stand for something good. To me, meaningful recognition is a reciprocal process where genuine gratitude is expressed and where self and others are acknowledged for their ideas and contributions. Meaningful recognition is a basic, fundamental human need and vital to our inherent sense of self-worth.

Shortly after class, a student came by my office and told me she had been deeply affected by our class discussion. She said, when she graduates and begins her nursing career, she plans to ask her co-workers how they perceive respect and how each of them would like to be meaningfully recognized, and then she plans to follow-through.

What strikes me most about my students’ comments is the simplicity and elegance of their responses and how, in nearly every case, respect and recognition cost nothing in terms of dollars and cents. Instead, respect and recognition are mostly about displays of kindness and consideration, and honest acknowledgement of a job well done. Perhaps each of us can learn from our students, colleagues, and nurses in practice by asking our selves and each other, what does it mean to be respected and meaningfully recognized? And then, how will we demonstrate both?

Reference: 

Clark, C.M. (2013). Creating & sustaining civility in nursing education, Indianapolis, IN: Sigma Theta Tau International.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Keep dancing!

Last summer, my husband Greg and I traveled to northern Idaho to explore, hiking and biking some the most incredible and scenic trails in the country. We bicycled the Route of the Hiawatha, riding through tunnels that required headlamps and crossing railroad trestles so spectacular that the views took our breath away. We hiked and biked more than a hundred miles along the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes, where we saw moose, an elk with her baby, a vast variety of water fowl—including the amazing Great Blue Heron—and an assortment of other wildlife.

Greg and Cindy Clark

We also explored mining towns and the unique splendor of the Silver Valley. One day, we visited Coeur d’Alene’s Old Mission State Park, which contains the oldest standing building in Idaho, constructed in the mid-1800s by Jesuit missionaries and members of the Coeur d’Alene Tribe. While visiting the mission, we discovered an amazing poem written by a Bitterroot Salish tribal elder Debra Magpie Earling. The poem, titled “We Dance,” reads in part:

We dance for our families

We dance for those who cannot dance

We dance for our babies and our elders

We dance in memory of all those who have left us and can no longer join us in the dance

So, when dancing becomes difficult, keep dancing

When your feet fall heavy on the ground—dance harder

Dance for your people, dance for all living things, and dance for yourself.

To me, the poem is a testament to the human spirit—a declaration of the ability to persevere, remain steadfast and, ultimately, succeed in the face of adversity and challenges. Not surprisingly, there are people among us—including our students—who epitomize this capacity. To illustrate, I share a story I wrote about a person who not only perseveres, but does so with humility and grace.

It was nearly midday on a bitterly cold and windy Friday, the last official day of winter break. The new semester was scheduled to begin the following week. Very soon, students would flood the campus with chatter and excitement, ready for another term of learning and moving one step closer to commencement and starting a new career. But it was Friday, and I was super-busy. It was nearly time for me to facilitate a class on civility for the new, incoming nursing students.

I was excited to meet them, get to know them, and begin our ongoing conversation about civility. I was just getting ready to head out the door, when I was greeted by a nursing student, who was entering his senior year. I’ll call him Dom (not his real name). He was on campus that day looking for information about the new background-check policy, which required all students enrolled in a particular clinical course to be fingerprinted. His knowledge about the new policy was somewhat limited and, unfortunately, so was mine. We sought advice from one of my colleagues, who informed us that the fingerprinting had to be done in a specific location. We called the office in question and were advised that students must arrive no later than 5 p.m., when the office closed for the day.

The office was about 13 miles from campus—26 miles round-trip. The temperature hovered around 10 degrees and, with the wind chill factored in, it felt below zero and was nearly unbearable. This is an important part of the story, because Dom does not own a car. In fact, he relies solely on his bicycle for transportation. I would have gladly given him a ride, but I was due in new-student orientation in less than 10 minutes. Clearly, he could not ride his bike that day, so we looked for other faculty members or students who would be able to transport Dom. With classes not in session and the campus nearly deserted, we decided that bus transportation was the best option, so we quickly logged onto the computer to look for the best route. We were still checking when it was time for me to get to class, so I said farewell to Dom and wished him well.

Later that evening, I text-messaged Dom to see how he had fared and was flabbergasted to learn he had ridden his bike to the fingerprinting office. Not finding a suitable bus route that would get him to the office on time and knowing that, without being fingerprinted, he would be unable to attend his first day of clinical, Dom muscled through the freezing temperatures and biting wind because, to do otherwise would have put him “in the hole,” so to speak, before his classes even began.

It’s a riveting example of tenacity and perseverance. What I haven’t told you is that Dom is an international student, working hard to assimilate into American society and achieve academically in an unfamiliar educational system. For Dom, as with so many other nursing students, money is tight. Sometimes, I wonder if he rode his bicycle that day because there was no bus was available, or if it was because he lacked sufficient funds to pay the fare. Whatever the reason, Dom’s story is one of determination, resolve, and an unimpeachable work ethic. A motivating lesson to be sure.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Attention, page turners, tappers and swipers!

I grew up among a family of readers. I have deep and vivid mental images of my father relaxing in his slightly tattered recliner and reading books ranging from Dale Carnegie’s How to Win Friends and Influence People to Homer’s The Iliad and The Odyssey, epic poems about the siege of Troy and the return home, 10 years after the Trojan War, of the Greek hero Odysseus.

My mother, on the other hand, loved fiction. With a book propped open on the kitchen counter, she would read while cooking supper or fulfilling any number of motherly responsibilities. My big sister was and is an avid reader who peruses works that encompass an extensive span of genres.

Click photo to order.

As a teenager, my favorite books included biographies of famous sports figures like Lou Gehrig, Knute Rockne, and Cassius Clay (before he became Mohammed Ali). I enjoyed sports biographies so much that, finally, my high school English teacher declared, “Enough, Cindy, you need to expand your horizons!” and would not accept any more reports from me about books based on sports figures. As I reflect on that time—and my teacher’s mandate—I am grateful for her insistence that I broaden my taste for books, because I started reading just about everything I could get my hands on.

Years later, I met my father-in-law, who always seemed to have a book in hand. When visiting, he would arrive with an extra suitcase filled with his beloved books. He enjoyed a wide variety of subjects, and I loved the way his glasses perched on the end of his nose as he read, how he marked the pages with a folded corner and then entered notes in the margins with his thick, black, felt pen. Even more, I basked in the conversation that ensued as we discussed the author and his or her thesis. It didn’t matter what the subject matter was; what mattered more was the banter and repartee that filled the room and the mind-stimulating dialogue.

As a child and, later, as I grew into adulthood, I hoped to be an author someday, not an author of just any book but one that made a difference in the lives of others. My mother believed I would write a book for children, because I love to tell stories that delight the young of heart. I always thought that my mother was right, so who would have thought I would write a book for colleagues?

When the publishers of Sigma Theta Tau International contacted me with the prospect of authoring a book on “fostering civility in nursing education,” I was a bit taken aback, but not for long, because I soon realized I had been writing just such a book in my head for a long time. I couldn’t wait to put my stories and thoughts down on the pages of a manuscript that has now become a published book with the title Creating and Sustaining Civility in Nursing Education. What a thrill! I wrote the book with you in mind—nurse educators who each and every day rise to the challenge of educating and mentoring our students and future nursing workforce.

I must admit, I love the feel and smell of an old tome, cracking the binding and turning the pages of a book to discover unlimited possibilities, experiencing an incredible intellectual or entertaining journey that transports me to any place my mind can travel. Now, I invite you to experience the feel and smell of a new tome and to have fun delving into a book that offers myriad ideas and reflections on ways to foster civility in nursing education, your lives, and beyond. Enjoy the journey!

Oh, you prefer E-books? Well, start downloading!

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Meet Stolle: An educator's educator

There is a compelling quote from an unknown source that immediately centers me when I consider the power of positive role modeling and the importance of a life well lived: “I strive to be the person my dog believes I am.” Dog lovers know exactly what this means. The lessons we learn from our furry friends have a lasting impact and make an indelible imprint on our lives.

We have an assortment of shelter pets—dogs and cats—that others have thoughtlessly tossed along the roadside, both literally and figuratively. One of them, Stolle (STOW-lee), is an Australian shepherd and border collie mix. She is named after Stolle Meadow, an incredibly beautiful mountain meadow nestled near the South Fork of Idaho’s wild and spectacular Salmon River, a magical place where visitors and local hikers watch chinook salmon spawn in late summer.

Stolle

Our Stolle is pretty magical. too. We rescued her from the local animal shelter when she was 7 months old. It was clear from the outset that someone had mistreated her, perhaps badly. Initially, she acted afraid most of the time—cowering, skittish around strangers, especially terrified of men. I remember very clearly the day the cable guy came to hook up our TV. As he exited his truck and approached our door, Stolle nearly came unglued. Although frightened to the point of panic, she nonetheless fiercely defended her home and family. Despite her fear of others, Stolle loved us from the beginning.

We’ve learned many life lessons from Stolle during the short time we’ve owned her—she just turned 2 years old—as we have from all of our other dogs, past and present. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s important in our lives, but dogs keep us on track, mindful of life’s treasures. Yes, misfortunes occur and hardships happen, but it’s how we deal with such matters that makes us strong, our lives memorable.

Our dogs have taught me to bark less and wag more often. They have shown us that life is an adventure worth living and that it is a privilege to be loved by a canine friend. Having a dog reminds me that it is OK—if not mandatory—to have fun and to take life a little less seriously; to play more and enjoy the thrill of the outdoors, no matter the weather; that snow is meant to be tossed exuberantly into the air with one’s nose and that newly raked leaves are fair game for jumping and diving and finding out what’s underneath that cushion of color. Being a dog is synonymous with going for the gusto. No matter how old we are, in people years or dog years, we can choose to be youthful and playful—puppies at heart.

Our canine friends remind us in so many ways that life doesn’t need to be so complicated or complex. They teach us the importance of simplifying and decluttering our lives—to take lots of naps; to curl up by the fire with a favorite toy or person; to spend lots of quiet, lazy days lying in the sunshine with your belly in the air. Stolle makes me strive to be a better person; a better wife and mother; a better teacher and friend; really, a better everything. She is a faithful and loyal friend who loves us unconditionally and guards us with her very life. Dogs are more than dogs—they are the epitome of caring and compassion.

Stolle has a warm and sheltered place to relax, but she chooses to wait, sometimes in pouring rain, drenched to the bone, anticipating the sound of our vehicle coming up the lane, signaling our arrival home. Jumping for joy, her enthusiasm and excitement is a sight to behold and a heartwarming delight. At the end of a busy day, it’s the perfect, love-filled greeting to come home to. Dogs are always happy to see us, even when we leave for only a few minutes. Stolle reminds us to slow down, pay attention, and take delight in life’s simple pleasures. Often, they are what bring us the greatest joy.

The time will come when Stolle will leave this earthly place. It won’t be easy to say good-bye. We have bid farewell to several loyal and treasured furry friends over the years, and it is one of life’s most difficult moments. Mack, our beloved Labrador retriever, lived to a ripe old age of 15 years. Putting him down was terribly sad. We still miss him and cherish our memories of one of the best dogs ever to grace our lives. I am comforted in my belief that there is a special place in heaven for dogs like Mack and Stolle—loving, affectionate, and kind friends who inspire me to be the person they believe I am.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Living the joy of authentic conversations

For many of us, the world is a busy and noisy place, a high-tech, digital environment—often stressful—where we are besieged with text, e-mail, phone calls and other instant messaging. We madly check, send, receive, exchange and process a vast amount of information every day. And, if we teach in the virtual environment, our days are filled with managing and responding to an incredible amount of complex and multifaceted data. This explosion of technology and our preoccupation with it can interfere with our privacy, disrupt our relationships and create yet another venue for incivility.

At a recent community event, I was seated next to a civic leader who expressed concern about the impact of technology on relationships. She told me about having an important conversation with her grown son who, in the middle of their discussion, took a call that lasted several minutes. Annoyed, she asked her normally well-mannered son why he chose to take the call when they were obviously engaged in an important dialogue. He thought for a moment and then said, “I think it’s because I wanted to stop the noise, to quiet the jarring disturbance of a ringing cell phone.” Ah, there it is again. We are torn between our desire to silence the noisy din of our busy, hurried world and our preoccupation with responding in “real time” simply because technology makes it possible.

What will it take for us to engage in meaningful, genuine, face-to-face conversation; to carve out time from our hectic schedules to seek and savor the quiet and calm that often comes with open, honest communication? Margaret Wheatley (2002) reminds us that we can “change the world if we start listening to one another. Simple, honest, human conversation … a chance to speak, to feel heard, and where we each listen well. The simple art of conversation may ultimately save the world (p. 3).” If Wheatley’s assertion is true, and I believe it is, then faculty play a key role in facilitating this process with students by creating learning environments for teaching, learning and practicing the complex skills needed for authentic conversations.

My students and I spend a good deal of time practicing and improving our skills for engaging in conversation with patients, members of the health care team, one another and with the people who matter most in our lives. We discuss mental and cognitive preparation for critical conversations, how to gauge and create emotional safety, setting goals and determining mutual interests, and seeking common ground. We practice giving and receiving constructive feedback, and we use that feedback to set realistic short- and long-term goals for life and for nursing practice.

I challenge my students to use their newly acquired skills to engage in meaningful conversation with others. I ask students to select someone in their lives with whom they wish to have an important conversation, using the skills we’ve practiced in class, and then, if comfortable, to share their experiences with the class. If students agree to report back, I have them briefly describe the situation and the person or people involved, key issues and reasons for the conversation, and steps used to engage in the conversation. I also ask them to describe how the conversation started, progressed and ended. Many students rise to the challenge and openly share their experiences, which, of course, help all of us learn and improve.

I challenge my students to use their newly acquired skills
to engage in meaningful conversation with others.

This semester, I had a very interesting experience. After our “critical conversations” class, I was working in my office when one of my students—I’ll call him Harry—knocked on the door and asked if I had time to meet for a few moments. I did, so invited him to have a seat. Taking the chair across from me, he sat quietly for a few moments, seemingly to compose his thoughts, and then said, “Dr. Clark, you suggested that we find someone with whom we would like to engage in a critical conversation, right?” I nodded, and he continued, “Well, I picked you!”

I was surprised and flattered, all at the same time, but more than that, I was very curious, so I asked him to proceed. Harry seemed to gather himself, and then asked, “Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when I was playing computer games and not paying attention to the class discussion?” I nodded, asked him to continue, and he said, “What I did was wrong. My behavior was rude, and I came to apologize. You deserve better—and you deserve more respect. I promise that, from here on out, I am going to do better. You will see a different me. I am going to be more involved in class, pay closer attention and show you that I mean it.” I thanked him, expressed how impressed I was with our conversation, and then he left.

The following week, I arrived at my classroom early, as usual, to give me time to visit with my students before class began. I immediately noticed that Harry was sitting in a different seat. Instead of his normal spot in the last row in a far corner, he had selected a new seat—just a bit off center and only two rows from the front of the classroom. I approached him and said, “Good morning, Harry. I see you have a new seat.” He smiled and said, “I promised you that I would make every effort to be involved in class, and that’s what I’m doing. Sitting here helps.”

Since the day of our critical conversation, Harry has lived up to his promise. He is fully engaged and participates in small and large classroom discussions. He is a very impressive young man and well on his way to becoming an excellent nurse.

Engaging in critical conversation is an art that must be developed and honed over time. Being a positive role model and teaching this important skill is integral to preparing our students for successful nursing careers. The end goal is to create a safe space for authentic dialogue, to treat one another with civility and respect, to seek common ground, to give a little, pursue a win-win outcome and, ultimately, to improve our relationships.

Reference:

Wheatley, M.J. (2002). Turning to one another: Simple conversation to restore hope to the future. San Francisco, CA: Berrett-Koehler Publishers.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

The final chapter and a new beginning

More than seven years have passed since my doctoral-program adviser died from metastatic lung cancer. Since then, I have struggled to find the words to describe our scholarly and personal journey together but, in this blog post, I will attempt to pay fitting tribute to the experience.

When I first considered pursuing a doctoral degree, I met with my adviser to seek his counsel about my academic options. When I arrived at his office, we immediately connected. Our first meeting lasted two hours as we shared our perspectives about the academy, love for learning and passion for education. We quickly formed a strong student-professor bond, and when he was diagnosed with bilateral lung cancer a year later, everyone who knew him was devastated. Soon after his diagnosis, our discussions began to shift. While we continued to discuss the merits of graduate school and the trajectory of my research program, our conversations also centered on the fragility of life and living each day with purpose.

In the months following his terminal diagnosis, there were times when my scholar-mentor was utterly exhausted and in a severely weakened state, yet his spirit remained resolute. By January of 2005, I began finalizing my proposal. Two months later, in what I believed would be a routine meeting, my adviser suggested we “fast track” my program. He proposed an ambitious course for completion and, in retrospect, I should have realized his health was swiftly failing. I worked hard to accomplish the plan, and in May I went to his office to make plans for the summer.

It was pouring rain that day. After our meeting, he asked me to meet him in the parking lot, because he had a gift for me. When I met him, he was carrying a large cardboard box. He placed it in my car and told me not to open it until I got home. I drove away absorbed in curiosity. What could be in the box? When I finally opened it, I found 30 books inside. Most were used, and many were marked with personal notes and thoughts that must have struck him while he read. I gently closed the box of books and considered their meaning, but did not want to dwell too long on their significance.

In early July, we met for a lengthy meeting at a local coffee shop. We had a wonderful time discussing my study and my future as a scholar. At the end of our meeting, he suggested we set a date for defending my dissertation. This was clearly not what I expected and, with staggering clarity, it hit me. His prognosis was bleak. He told me his current chemotherapy treatment was not effective and that he had only a few weeks to live. I was shaken to my very core. I could only imagine his state of mind.

For the next few weeks, we kept in touch by phone and e-mail. Toward the end of July, we met at his home because he was too ill to keep office hours. His condition had deteriorated, and it frightened me. We continued to discuss my study and its implications, but we also talked about the circle of life and the process of living and dying. I was nervous about my proposal defense, but he was undaunted. He said, “Dr. Clark, you are going to do an excellent job.” Of course, he had never called me that before, as I had not yet earned the title, though it occurred to me later that, if he didn’t do it then, he would never address me as Dr. Clark.

Our meeting on August 5, 2005 would be our last. We met again at his home. When he opened the door, I was dismayed to see he was attached to oxygen and having difficulty breathing, but he had a twinkle in his eye, a big smile on his face and said he was happy to see me. Because of the death and dying process, our conversations had become more personal. We talked as colleagues and as friends. We talked about my children and his grandchildren and our unlimited dreams for each of them. We talked about our hopes and fears, and then he told me about his experience as a young doctoral student.

He described how he had endured crushing put-downs and belittling remarks by one of his professors, and how angry and hurt he had felt. His professor had questioned whether my future adviser would even graduate and attempted to rob him of his confidence. But he did graduate and went on to do great things.

Then my adviser’s true spirit shone through. He told me how, just recently, in the final weeks of his life, he had contacted his former professor and had worked through the past acts of incivility. He felt as though he had come full circle.

Then the meeting was over. I hugged him tightly, sensing that his life was slowly ebbing away. Standing on his doorstep, he waved goodbye until my car was out of sight. He died 10 days later.

Today, as I reflect on my time with him, I see the experience for what it truly was—a gift of discovery, transformation and human connection. After successfully defending my dissertation and after feeling the weight of my doctoral hood settle on my shoulders, I finally emptied the box of books and ceremoniously and lovingly placed them where they belonged—on the bookshelves of my office—where they serve as a constant reminder of our scholarly and personal journey, and a special friendship I will always remember.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

The power of mentoring: My story

Nearly three decades ago, I started my first nursing position. It was a dream job for an energetic and eager, newly minted nurse. I worked on a surgical floor where my major responsibilities included educating and preparing patients for pending procedures, and caring for them when their procedures were completed. I loved my job, my patients, my colleagues and my free time! I began my shift at 5 o’clock in the morning and ended at 1 p.m. In good weather, I rode my bicycle, because I didn’t own a car. During the harsh winters of the upper Midwest, I rode to work in a taxi driven by a trusted cabbie. My hours were awesome, especially for a young, single person who loved to recreate and be outdoors. But, as with so many times in life, change happens.

The author, circa 1980

About a year and a half into my job, the hospital hired a new director of nursing. I have to believe that her heart was in the right place and that she was doing what she thought best for the hospital and patients, but for me, her decisions would be life changing. She decided, for reasons that still perplex me, to reassign many of the nurses to various units, according to seniority and date of hire. Though I was thoroughly enjoying my role on the surgical unit and thriving, I was one of the nurses reassigned. I was moved to the evening shift on what was then known as the “terminal unit.” It was a dismal setting compared to where I had been working , because I am a “morning person,” it was a like a death sentence. But very quickly, I grew to love my teammates and our patients, and I was surprised to discover that I had a knack for being present and listening to patients’ stories.

Many patients were in the end stages of their illnesses and in various phases of the dying process. Although a highly competent nurse, I clearly needed improvement in my timeliness and efficiency. I discovered—and, of course, so did my charge nurse—that because I enjoyed engaging in prolonged conversations with patients, my task completion often fell short. My charge nurse genuinely liked me and believed I was a skilled nurse but, on many occasions, she was compelled to admonish me on my inability to complete my work on time. I realized that I needed to improve my timeliness, and I was working on it, but there were times when I still fell short of my goals. And then one night, I experienced a defining moment in my young career.

It was a busy night, late in the shift. One of my tasks was to remove the irrigation apparatus from an elderly male patient who had recently undergone surgery for a transurethral resection. This surgery required an elaborate series of bottles and tubing, including a urinary catheter inserted through the male genitalia and progressing into the bladder where fluids could be used for irrigation. The charge nurse asked me to remove the apparatus and to do it with expediency, because there was much more work to be done. I was determined to show how well I could perform the task, and to do it in a swift and efficient manner.

I walked into the patient’s room, greeted him and began to explain the procedure. He gazed at me with tired eyes and asked, “Will it hurt?” I paused, and then said gently, “Of course, I’m not a man, but when I have done this procedure for other gentlemen, they have told me it is pretty uncomfortable.” He responded, “I’m not ready yet. Can we talk for awhile?” So, I sat beside him, and we talked. He had recently lost his wife of many decades. He spoke of her that night—about their life together, their children and how aggrieved he was when his beloved wife took her final breath. We talked for about 10 minutes, and then he said he was ready. I briefly explained the procedure and went about removing the tubing and disengaging the apparatus.

I started to say good night when I noticed tiny, unshed tears in the corners of his eyes. I couldn’t just leave, so I sat with him for a few more minutes. Then, I gathered the equipment and, as I was rolling it down the hall, bolstered myself for a “talking to” by my charge nurse. Clearly, I had not performed my responsibilities in the desired time frame. Sure enough, as I walked down the hallway, she met me, politely asked me to dispose of the equipment, finish my assigned responsibilities and meet her in the conference room after completing my shift.

Believe me, I was pretty worried. I prepared myself for the possibility of that night being my last on the job. After our shift, we entered the conference room and the charge nurse gently closed the door, folded her hands, and said, “Cindy, you have missed your calling. I want you to think seriously about going back to school to become a psychiatric nurse. You have a genuine gift for being present with people and listening with real compassion and interest.” And then she sat back quietly in her chair.

Imagine my surprise. I looked at her, acknowledged her suggestion and promised her I would give it serious thought. Later, I reflected on our conversation, realized she was right and began making plans to return to school to become a psychiatric nurse. She was right—I loved my clinical career as a psychiatric nurse. I am forever grateful, and will never forget the care shown me by my charge nurse who saw something in me I did not. Rather than reprimand, discourage or suggest I find another position, she shined a light on a pathway of new discovery that launched a fabulous career in psychiatric nursing.

I learned many lessons from that experience. I learned that when we look for what’s right and good, and when we genuinely care about people, we can change their lives. In the course of my own career, I have tried to model for others the guidance my charge nurse bestowed on me more than 30 years ago. As a clinical nurse, I looked for and celebrated the strengths of my patients, and now, as a nursing professor, I try to do the same for my students. These valuable lessons have made and continue to make an impression on how I view and navigate the world.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership  (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.