by Becca Kinzer, @BeccaKinzer

After I began working as a critical care nurse, it didn’t take long to come to grips with the fact some patients weren’t going to make it. What took me longer to come to grips with was why we still worked so hard—often times harder—for those patients who weren’t going to make it. 

Inserting tubes. Titrating medications. Transfusing blood products. Changing out dressings. Performing countless procedures. Around the clock dialysis. Skipping lunch. Staying late. And to what end result? A patient who doesn’t make it. 

Hardly seemed fair. 

Now I assure you, I’m not a pessimist. I’m generally a glass half-full type of gal—though I admit the glass has trembled a bit in my hand lately with all that’s been taking place not only around the world, but inside the walls of my hospital. Even so, I don’t mind working hard. What I mind is working my tail off—especially when it means missing lunch—for disappointing results. Don’t you?

You experience this enough times, you start asking yourself questions. Questions like Why am I doing this? What’s the point? Is it too late to quit nursing and take up professional tap dancing?

That’s why I’m so grateful for writing. It’s the one area of my life where doubts and questions never plague me, and I know I can always depend on positive results. Except, of course, during the moments when doubts and questions plague me, and I can’t see any results, let alone ones filled with positivity.

Is anybody reading my blog (besides my mom and aunts)? Does anybody care about my newsletter (besides my mom and aunts)? Is this story I’ve spent countless hours laboring over during my precious days off ever going to make it to publication (and if so, will anybody actually read it—other than my mom and aunts)? 

If you’re like me, some days you stare at your computer screen, thinking Why am I doing this? What’s the point? Is it too late to quit writing and take up professional tap dancing? 

Times like this, I recall the words a physician spoke to me years ago. He said, “Never quit your day job to take up professional tap dancing.”

Okay, he didn’t say that. What he said was, “Nothing is wasted.”  

He reminded me how every patient we take care of—even the ones who do not survive—is an opportunity to grow and improve our skills. Skills that might make all the difference for the next patient who does survive. Or the patient after that. 

I can’t help think of my first manuscript. Talk about a poor prognosis. Looking back I should have consulted hospice long before I ended up pulling the plug on ever seeing it published. But, also looking back, I see how much my writing skills improved crafting that story. Skills I carried with me in creating the next story. And the next story. Stories that actually stand a chance of survival.

Why am I doing this? What’s the point?

The answer is the same whether we’re talking about caring for patients or creating stories. 

We’re doing it because it matters. And it’s what we’ve been called to do.

So whether in nursing or writing, keep trying. Keep showing up. Nothing is wasted. If something doesn’t appear to be working out, perhaps God is building your skills for the next project that does. Which I’m sorry to say will most likely not include professional tap dancing.