What is Caring?

I hear a lot of talk about caring in  my weekly work. I entered in to nursing initially because it is a profession of caring and service and I love that I have the ability to positively impact others in my daily work. 

But what does it mean to care? 

Thinking about this, I think caring comes from two different perspectives: that of the "carer" and that of the person being cared for. I can care for you with every ounce of my being and heart with all the best intentions in the world, but if my style of caring does not meet your needs, my efforts may be perceived as futile. It reminds me of the book The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman. Chapman discusses how you may love someone with all your heart, but if you do not show them love in a way that speaks to them, their cup will feel empty. For example, if giving gifts is how I love to show affection to others, but my spouse's love language is quality time, all the gifts in the world will not make him feel loved unless it is the gift of my presence. 

I am not implying that a nurse must love every patient who walks through the door, but think the two concepts parallel. For one patient, they feel cared for if you are in their room every fifteen minutes to chat. For another, they feel cared for because you managed their pain level. A third patient feels cared for because you gave him a gatorade, sandwich, warm blanket, and the quiet to sleep for a few hours. 

Caring is relative. It is finding where your strengths as a caregiver can meet the needs of the one you are caring for and finding the finesse to deliver that care with sincere intention. There is a reason nursing refers to caring as an art. 

A few weeks ago a single mom came in with severe back pain. She was uncomfortable and it hurt to twist and move. This was only exacerbated by the fact that she had a six month old baby who would not stop crying. Holding the baby hurt her and baby could sense her tense, uncomfortable state which only made her cry harder. Baby's tears turned in to mom's tears and the baby could be heard throughout the department. With no support system she had no one to help her with the child. 

I have never been a baby person. I helped raise my two youngest brothers and was around kids my whole life, but never had baby fever or was the one who had to hold someone's newborn. I am due to have a sweet baby boy of my own in less than two months and couldn't imagine being in this woman's shoes. The night was slow and I popped in to round and ask her how our staff was making her feel cared for as a person. Tears welled in her eyes and I thought to myself How could I make her feel cared for as a person? She was obviously uncomfortable and needed pain meds, but what she really needed was to focus on herself, which she couldn't do with an inconsolable child. 

May as well get some practice I thought to myself, and offered to hold baby and walk around the department to give her some peace. The relief and appreciation in this woman's eyes touched my heart as baby stopped crying. She was a beautiful, sweet baby girl and we strolled the ER hallways for some time until I could nestle her into her carrier in a peaceful sleep. 

For this woman, caring was someone telling her it was okay to take a break and ask for help. Caring for her was rocking her baby to sleep, a task too painful for her at the time. While it felt a little weird to hold a stranger's baby for an hour, it was a beautiful experience for me to step out of my comfort zone and recognize the importance of not just asking about care, but finding a special way and time to extend that care to another. 

Caring is a growing art. It is individualized, unique, and something that grows with each person throughout their profession. At the end of the day when I know someone I met left feeling well cared for (and you can't please them all), that makes for a good day.