A story of a girl in a broken world.

Arms of protectors 

Coming into this world, 
Pure cries and warm hearted. 
The first cry of living, 
Sliding into the arms of her protectors. 

 Innocent without blemish, 
Growing up with joy, 
People introduced, 
Sliding into the arms of her protectors. 

 People of different size and smiles. 
One smile in particular, 
She cautioned and trembled, 
Sliding into the arms of her protectors. 

 Interactions of different love and games. 
One memory in particular, 
She is wrecked and traumatised, 
Sliding out of the arms of her protectors. 

 Scarring with blemishes, 
Growing delusional they spit, 
People leave, 
Sliding out of the arms of her protectors. 

 Leaving this broken world, 
Stained cries and cold hearted. 
The last cry of justice, 
Sliding out of the arms of her protectors. 


This semester in uni we are heavily focusing on mental health because as a nurse, this is definitely something that you’d come into contact with even if you’re not in the mental health department or ward. We all know of someone that has a mental health issue and it’s all around. Personally, this has been something I had to come into contact with just a couple of years ago that has left a heavy weight in me. Emotionally and mentally.

All this talk about mental health so far has left me heavy hearted and leaving classes rather weighted only because I always think about this dear friend that I witnessed battle this issue. I’ve seen her at her worst and seen her in better days. Seen her in the ward and other people seeking help in there too. All clinging onto hope to one day get better. The chilling screams and the painful cries you hear ring through her door when I visited her in the hospital. Nightmares of the dearest just doing the unspeakable in my very room and not being able to sleep for the whole week because I had constant nightmares of her walking into my room, greeting me and proceeding to hang that tie up on my ceiling at the foot of my bed.

 However most of all, my heart goes out to victims who didn’t know any better when they were little. There was a story that my teacher told me that really unsettled me and I felt like at that point in time I could really be in her shoes and feel that fear, break down and Explosion of fear and helplessness. I felt like I really needed an outlet and wrote this poem during then. If you put a line in the middle of the poem, it’s a reflection comparison from the top to the bottom. The top is when she was slowly gaining independence and she has a sense of control whereas in the second half, there's this sense of helplessness and lost of control in her world until the very last line where she had no one now and she felt all alone and no one would take her seriously or listen... 

Nursing and what it means.

Having been on my second hospital pracs, I've never had to come to fully learn of the hearts of nurses until this ward. I am placed in a surgical ward this time round and what this means is that patients we get are pre and post operation. Many a times, we get the good stories where people come out of theatre well and recovering and they then return home and a few would come back bearing gifts of gratitude. Some, wait for news on their progress but truth to be told, even I know the heart breaking results before they do and to see how their behaviour react to such news is hard. Cancer. Terminal. Fatal. "Sorry". It's even harder to watch them in front of loved ones. Things that have suddenly turned their lives inside out. Good people, not so good people, well-to-do, homeless, lonely, anyone.

It's hard being the first few to know but everyone has to keep mum until the doctors do the painful visit through those curtains. It has really shaken me on how I nurse, how I care and how I am guilty to also take life for granted. Doesn't that hard to please patient who is in because of drugs overdose deserve the best nursing care just as much as that nice old lady who had a fall? Doesn't that demented patient deserve as much love and care as much as that child that obeys everything you tell them? I have come to realise that the people I am mostly in contact with are around my parents age and it has hit me hard that one day, when they do become frail, forgetful or even as demanding (who knows) as these "difficult" patients, they fall in the hands of nurses who judge them on how well they listen.

Don't get me wrong, not all nurses are like so but having my eyes open to this has really questioned my intentions and love. Not just to those who are easy to love but to all. My wish is that I will never lose this. I will never lose this sensitivity in me and that I will never compromise my nursing just because one patient demands my time "unnecessarily". I hope I will one day find that balance in knowing to love unconditionally yet for their good if I hold back so they can too push themselves and therefore not give up on something simple like feeding themselves. May my love not be toxic either.