Am I worthy?

Do I deserve what I have?

[This post is in response to the daily prompt : the socratic method.]

I recently got promoted from being a nurse contractual to a regular nurse 1 plantilla position in the institution where I’ve been a part of for two and a half years. I was delighted of course, realizing that my efforts and dedication have been noticed and rewarded. However, there’s ambivalence at the back of my mind– am I really worthy?

The question aroused when one by one I met those of my ‘batch’ colleagues who got promoted. Most of them have beem serving the hospital for three long years or more. I felt like a newbie, unknown and novice.

Change, not the length of time, is what experience is all about.

I stumbled upon this quote in one of our classes on nursing theorists.

Yes, its absolutely true. It’s not about the length of time or years of experience. It’s about the quality of care, the self-improvement you developed through the years. Though the amount of learning may be attributed to time and experience, it’s still up to the learner how quickly he can adopt and hone those skills.
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Getting a regular item in a public institution is no joke. We have undergone tedious screening. Exams, interviews, tests, evaluation, etc. But the more compelling question gossiped around the premises is: who backed you up?

Who backed me up?

It is undeniable that the issue of ‘backer’ system is commonly brought up in any office. As for me, I would say, aside from my senior nurses who saw what my capabilities and work ethics are, I have the big boss backing me up.

Him. The owner from up above any organizational structure.

The Lord.

I may not be worthy or deserving of any of these, but through Him, by Him, I am made worthy.

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I miss you!

I cannot continue writing in this blog without first exhausting all these emotional baggage i have.

It has been the saddest turning point in my life when my father died.

Being a nurse myself, it was   frustrating, relieving, and overwhelming at the same time. Frustrating because I have an idea of the prognosis. Relieving because  I am medically-inclined. Overwhelming because I was the one whom they entrusted most of the decisions.

After 9 long months, I could finally say I have freed myself from the guilt of being the one to sign the consent to allow natural death. It was my name on almost every consent and refusal form. It was until lately, when my father appeared to me in a dream saying something like “it was alright”.

I remember the very first time I appraised him of his condition. It was me who kept the laboratory result. I waited 3 days gathering all the strength to tell him he might be dying. I felt like i was a traitor to him so I did not wait for the doctor to tell it. And when I finally said it, I regret. I knew how most of the patients respond to those news. What was even more painful was me crushing the very idea of hope he had left. Pa, I’m sorry.

I recall the last time we had (probably the best)  a heart-to-heart talk one dawn while I was giving him a sponge bath. He could not sleep that night, he was probably in terrible discomfort. He told me all of his frustrations and fears. Most were concerns on what will happen to us if he will be gone, how he is utterly disturbing our work and rest, the medical expenses, etc. I was just there holding his hands as he caressed my face, reassuring him everything will be alright.

I, myself, didn’t believed what I was saying then.

But I thank God for giving us the chance to say goodbye.

It is amazing now that i am able to write this without losing focus from the flow of tears.

It has only been nine months but it seemed so long.

I miss you pa!