Gettin' My Teal On (Or Shucking The Shirt)
September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month. A week ago Sunday I attended the annual Teal Ribbon Race and Walk, something I have been part of as either a volunteer or participant for more than ten years. It was a bittersweet day for me spent hugging the survivors as well as the families of women who have lost their battle. This year was different for me because I'm not sure how much longer I want to continue to be an Oncology Nurse. Whether it's burn out, caregiver fatigue, dislike of my current working atmosphere or the changing of health care, it might be time for me to do something else. Something without the death and sadness that goes hand and hand with cancer care and something without a boss that dislikes me.
Bright and early Sunday morning I reported to the volunteer table ready to assume my annual job of photographing all the teams and individuals participating in the walk and race. It's a job that has brought a great many people joy as they stand proudly with their loved ones proclaiming their strength and resilience against an equally strong and resilient disease. And I have found just as much joy documenting this special group of people. It's a reunion of sorts for me because of the vast numbers of lives I have been a part of. But the pain of losing a loved one is just as palatable and for every hug I get from a survivor, I get ten from the families and friends of those who didn't make it.
Most years I have gained strength from the day and a continued desire to work with this amazing group of women, but this year my thoughts of a career change weighed me down. I have looked at the pictures I took that day countless times looking for an answer, but the answer is not in the smiling faces or in remembering the women who have died, many of whom I loved, but deep within me. And my soul searching is still ongoing and my decision continues to weigh me down. For someone raised to believe loyalty is everything, the thought of leaving a job that I have loved for twenty years is agonizing. But loyalty goes both ways and ultimately I am responsible for my own happiness. Life is too precious to waste time doing something that doesn't bring me joy. That is a lesson that my patients have taught me.
Bright and early Sunday morning I reported to the volunteer table ready to assume my annual job of photographing all the teams and individuals participating in the walk and race. It's a job that has brought a great many people joy as they stand proudly with their loved ones proclaiming their strength and resilience against an equally strong and resilient disease. And I have found just as much joy documenting this special group of people. It's a reunion of sorts for me because of the vast numbers of lives I have been a part of. But the pain of losing a loved one is just as palatable and for every hug I get from a survivor, I get ten from the families and friends of those who didn't make it.
Most years I have gained strength from the day and a continued desire to work with this amazing group of women, but this year my thoughts of a career change weighed me down. I have looked at the pictures I took that day countless times looking for an answer, but the answer is not in the smiling faces or in remembering the women who have died, many of whom I loved, but deep within me. And my soul searching is still ongoing and my decision continues to weigh me down. For someone raised to believe loyalty is everything, the thought of leaving a job that I have loved for twenty years is agonizing. But loyalty goes both ways and ultimately I am responsible for my own happiness. Life is too precious to waste time doing something that doesn't bring me joy. That is a lesson that my patients have taught me.
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