Blending the Heart With The Work of the Hand and The Mind.

When practicing medicine,we may use our minds to seek out knowledge and hands to physically mend a broken body; but when one incorporates their own heart in their work, they can mend all; the body, the soul and the spirit!! 

Dr. Nati Ben-Shalom, a neurosurgeon (and friend) must use his hands in the most delicate manners in order to save the lives of his patients. But equally as important, is how he chooses to invests his heart in his work as much as his hands!!! Sometimes when one uses their heart to treat others, their own heart can receive a touch of faith and inspiration as well. Here is how a 3 year old reciprocated the heartfelt touch of her surgeon with a lesson of her own about living life.

Written in Hebrew by: Nati Ben-Shalom MD

Translated to English by: Devorah Goldberg BS, RN

A sweet little being, only three and a half years old. 

A few months ago she was diagnosed with a dreaded disease,which had claimed her little body to countless tests, treatments, needles, nightmares, pain, tears and crying. Most significantly her illness had claimed innocence.

I was lucky enough to meet her as I prepared her for surgery. It was a long and complex operation. Her procedure required an abdominal incision by the surgeons, as well as an even deeper incision all the way up to her spine, a technique that required the specific skills of the neuro surgery team; and that is where I came in to her picture.

Her procedure was performed under general anesthesia; which also encompassed a vast variety of risks; such as infection, bleeding, paralysis and even death.

Prior to the surgery I was impressed by this wonderful, little girl’s charming and touching demeanor. A being so young, but who spoke like veteran who had encountered and overcome numerous life experiences in her few years of existence. Her soothing voice lent out buoyant and optimistic sensation that seemed to disintegrate all those jittering nerves that filled the air around her, by those caring and praying for her to be fine and overcome this challenging procedure.

 I will admit; I was scared. But it was her brave, confident and optimistic aura that gave me the confidence to succeed in my task in her procedure. Her strength and optimism carried a boundless strength that cannot be measured or verbally described, but it just impressed upon all those who encountered her presence.

One morning after the surgery I had to go in to sew one her drains back, once again, under general anesthesia.

In the waiting room we made a promise to each other. She promised to give me a hug when she woke up and I promised to allow her to paint my nails with nail polish; any color of her choosing.

I gathered my equipment for the procedure, and I drew up the conventional anesthetic called Propofol in its white liquid form.

As I approached this innocent and pure being with the Propofol, she cried out: “I don’t want this milk that will take my soul?”

I had a sudden lump in my throat as it hit me.

I suddenly realized that the beautiful pink world of this little girl, that had until recently consisted of going to the park, playing with friends in the afternoons, and nibbling on treats and watching fairytales on television, had been overtaken by the black world of fear, sickness, needles and by the terrible dread of death.

In a sane world, the concept of death should not comprise the emotions that paint the picture of a child’s world. A child should be granted a beautiful, bright world that screams life, color, happiness and optimism. Death, should not even be part of the conceptual world of a little child.

It hit me then that this delicate little being, so dense with the experience of life yet so young and empty still of what life had to give; was simply afraid for her life. She was crying in fear of her end. 

Fortunately, victory was on her side and life overcame that threat of death that loomed over her during her procedure.

The operation was a success, and did not leave even a side effect.

This little soul will soon be reunited with a bright pink world that is owed any child. She will return to living a normal life. Hopefully this awful experience will be something of the past, a small, dark repairable blotch on the beautiful, bright world out there waiting to for her to live in. 

Patients often recognize and send small tokens of appreciation for the care they received by their doctors and other medical staff. They often write a letters of appreciation to those who aided in granting them their life back.  I write this letter in appreciation of this special little soul, the heroine of my story; the sweet innocent soul who has taught me what it means to have courage, how to be compassionate and more importantly I thank her for the important lesson she taught me about  living life.

It is all about the colors you choose with which to paint the picture of life; and life is long if you know how to live it.” 

She painted my life with a few sparks of color, and as promised, my nails too.

Besides, the nail polish, blue with glitter, came out perfect!

The Cycle Of Life; In One Hour Of An ER Shift

One takes his first breaths just as another takes their last.

One family is all smiles, joy and delight; celebrating a new life born. Another's spirits are broken from the sudden loss of a life.

I imagined work in an ER as a place floating with the endorphins and adrenalin, running around trying to keep hearts beating in the barely living and to bring the hearts of the unborn into the living world.  I didn't imagine it all happening on my first day off orientation, in the first hour, as a ripe novice ER nurse.

I was working the 11 am to 11 pm shift that day. After a quick workout and a jumbo coffee, as most people are counting the minutes till their lunch break, my heart twitters nervously for my first day off orientation in the ER.  The cord snipped, and I am free bird in the wildlife of the forever, chaotic ER. With no expert ER nurse to hold my hand, I take hold of the reigns, ready to face the constant turbulence of my workplace.

I barely find a spot to hide my coffee, when a stretcher pulls in with an exhausted  mom, a tired and worried dad, and a slightly shocked aunt. In comes a newly birthed baby who had taken his very first breaths inside the musty, back seat of a New York City yellow, taxi cab. The newborn, 8 lb 4 oz., still covered in afterbirth announces his presence into the world and in the ER with his piercing shrills. The cord is barely disconnected as I assume care for a double patient load; mother and baby. Luckily it was only a few months prior that I had been delivering babies under candlelight in Africa, so cleaning off the mom and baby in an ER that has lights and electricity is just a menial task to overcome at this moment.

I am just getting the new mom and baby set to go up to the mother and baby unit, when in rides an EMS group pumping a patient's heart. "Pulseless Activity", sent to team 2, my team, assigned to the little nurse with curly hair and glasses.

My team immediately jumps into action, we put in lines, push meds, take turns performing chest compressions, and we hang some fluids. I am still fumbling to find all the supplies; I find them all with some help from my peers.

The patient is a Jane Doe, so one nurse plays detective with her purse, finds a name and calls her family.

Amidst the chaos in the room, I notice her pale  feet with their perfectly pedicured toes, and elegantly manicured nails. Remnants of her make up are still on, painting the being laying out in front of us, as we attempt to pump life inside of her,  with an image of the life that once resided in its now almost lifeless form. The room is crowded, and each person with a task. The attending leads the code, yelling out orders, and we keep going at it; more compressions, more meds... still no pulse. At some point, a resident uses an ultrasound. Free fluid on the left side, and a chest tube is set up and is ready to be placed. The skin is quickly cleaned and the scalpel slits a small vertical line into her skin. The body, turns into hose of blood, spraying liters out of her body. We call the blood bank, and we get some blood, we squeeze the O negative blood into her veins. It is like we are fighting the tipping scale to level the volume of blood lost with the volume we are pushing in.

Her family comes, tears dripping into the already slippery puddles of red. We tell her to talk to her mother, to tell her she loves her. We suspect/know it's the end, but for her, in the mind of a daughter to a mother, there is hope as long as we are working on her. We hug her and tell her we are doing all we can. We squeeze some more blood, as the compressions are paused again, and the pulse is still not palpable. The cardiothoracic team, comes in, they open up her chest; the room gets sprinkled with a bit more shades of red. They think it is a ruptured aorta, they think we did all we can, and we hope that we did. The attending calls it; time of death, 1225. We cover her, and we give her family some time to process their loss.

The room’s equipment is splattered with blood. The liters of lost blood created islands of maroon, bloody puddles across the floor. Garbage, wrappers and tubes scattered all over the room. In the center of the room, a newly lifeless, pale body is lying in a peaceful permanent sleep, oblivious to the loss she is to the loved ones at her side.

The day continues, I still have 10.5 hours left of my first shift as a lone soldier, fighting the wars of the ill in a bustling New York City emergency room. Two more patients come in; one is septic, my Adrenalin increases, my heart rate rises,  I gulp some caffeine, I put in lines, collect some lab work and continue my day.

And so it was; within in the first hour as a newly born ER nurse, I watched one life come into the world and another depart. The two diametrically opposed aspects of my career; to bring life into a new being born and to care for a life leaving the world of the living.

All in a day's work.

#ProjectERNurseD

From Subways to Cycling; A Nurse Crosses Bridges To Work

Outside big cities, commuter options are limited, simple and mostly odor free. Unless you are walking distance from your area of work, commuters will drive to work. They may take different highways, listen to different music stations, and experience varying intensities of road rage and traffic issues; but they are similar in that they are all shielded from odors, train delays and non ventilated, rat infested train stations.

Living in NYC, and commuting daily across the bridge that connects Brooklyn to Manhattan, to the land of traffic and overpriced parking garages; I along with many others take the train to work. For some of us, such as myself, it takes 3 trains plus a walk to reach my workplace. Over the past few years, I grew accustomed to the stenches, the heat in the summer, the cold in the winter, the train arguments, and delays. It all became part of the New York City living experience and I just accepted it with my NYC pride.

Commute time for many New Yorkers, are hours counted in their regular work day.  For me, my train rides extended my sleep cycle. My 5am wake up, jump into clothing, then quick dash for my lunch bag, and a flustered run to catch the 5:27 train, are all a mere interruption of my nighttime sleep cycle. Once I have my seat, often in the same train car, next to the same people, I rest by bag, don my hood and drift right back into my train sleep. My own version of the sleep cycle. I relied on those precious bits of train REM, that was distinctive by virtue of real life dreams consisting of the various train stops and the closing car door messages. Occasionally my sleep is interrupted by an unwelcome jostle or by loud preaching with verses of a bible I do not follow. In my deepest train REM, I have never missed my stop where I change my train across the platform. Even on my connecting train I often see the same people, and often they too are snoozing and dreaming in the same NYC train dreams as I. When the odors of the train station are slightly more bearable, and the weather does not turn on a faucet of sweat on my skin, I even manage a quick power nap in a standing position until the local train jostles me out of my stupor and props my eyes open for the new day.

On the way back from work, my body, winded by 12 hours laboring as bedside nurse, it itches for a seat to rest my overworked legs.  I occasionally take a light nap, read a book/ or textbook, and even attempt at blog writing about an interesting event from my work day.  Occasionally I am granted some train entertainment; whether singing, dancing, poetry, and the many other talents so gracefully shared by the diverse populations who frequent the New York City subways cars in their attempts to eat food, share wisdom, or as means of shelter from extremes in weather.

While chilling on a train seat has become my host for my commuter naps, exercise has always been an important part of my schedule, whether on workdays or days off. I truly see it as treatment for my mind body and spirit. Now that my work life has migrated into the night world, I was seeking a means of enjoying a few extra hours of vitamin D, since many daytime hours will be spent hiding behind blackout shades and attempting catch rest in a short daytime coma. I figured that I can either spend my commute time napping on the 4 train and attempting to achieve some daytime REM to fulfill my body's sleep requirements,or I can cath sun and a workout in one go; and so I chose to live life and seek out some sun each day as I bike ride to work. Now instead of rushing to the train to make my spin class, my bike skips the train and spins me to work. This saves me commuting time, and get me to work whilst exercising and enjoying New York City views; a triple win. Gone are the train naps and subway entertainment, and on are strong calves and a vitamin D enriched #NurseD.

I have only been biking a number of times and I only slightly miss my train experiences, which i will be saving for days that the weather is not so bike-ride accommodating. I can now add #cyclist nurse to my forever lengthening hashtag; #AuntyRunnerCyclistNurse with curly hair and big glasses, Holler, if you see that green clad description on a blue bike and neon helmet, racing the yellow cabs across the bridge on her way to work, bracing her self with physical strength to save some lives!

The Night Shift Health Initiative Ramble

While most of society rolls in bed with a dreamy snore, it's 3am, and #NurseD has her legs up in the Emergency Department break room munching on some cherries and feeling oddly, very awake. 3 years into nursing, and I'm working the night shift. Back from a fabulous India backpacking trip and straight into my first night shift ever; it's like I've migrated into a local andpermanent state of jet lag. 

My biggest concern about working nights is not about feeling tired and lack of social life- well a bit about the social aspect- but really, it is about how to stay healthy. When do I eat and when do I work out?

From my second month working as a nurse, my workouts have been as consistent as my showing up to work. My workouts give me a sense of energy that stumps even my highest levels of exhaustion. In 3 years I've missed less than five days of work outs on days of work, because it is something I have taken seriously, and I like how it sets the tone of my day. 

Now as I embark into the new world of the night shift life I must incorporate those workouts into this new life too. 

While I am still figuring out the whole gym schedule and working out thing. I've decided to manage my health around my new time zone by tackling one aspect at a time in hope to eventually configurate a new healthy nocturnal #NurseD. 

The first thing I work on tackling is my nutrition. Therefore, for my first week of night shift, instead of napping ( i know, priorities...), I food prepped. I figured if I have healthy, wholesome and nutritious food ready and available, I will make healthy food choices. My plan was to incorporate a protein, a vegetable and a healthy carb into my biggest meal; the pre shift dinner that continues into the shift- (slow eater problems). 

How night shift dinner is prepped:

I fill half of each dinner prep with a leafy vegetable; spinach, lettuce, arugula, Kale. Sometimes another colorful vegetable such as pepper, cucumber tomato is added for some extra taste, crunch, and color. A pretty salad is always more appetizing to eat. 

For protein; choices of roasted chicken, salmon, or boiled eggs. I usually try to use proteins that taste good cold so that I can eat it during shift when there is a moment of breathing time. 

My healthy carb option is usually something that adds a healthy and natural color to my plate, but that is also filling. This week's options included; roasted beets, roasted sweet potato, roasted butternut squash, roasted eggplant, and some cooked quinoa with sautéed red onion. 

The order at which I plate my options also helps create a larger portion of the veggies and proteins, with less space in the bowl for the carbs. With a moderate sized Pyrex bowl as my choice of tupperware, I place my lettuce and raw veggies first, then the protein, and with whatever space is left I put the healthy carbs and sometimes sprinkle some nuts or seeds as a bonus crunch.  

For mid shift snacks, I find finger fruit it vegetables to be the best. When my apple is cut before the shift it is more likely to get eaten than when I bring it whole. Cherries, grapes, baby carrots and cut up mango slices are great too. 

For an early breakfast that satiates but does not over fill the tired, but hungry stomach before that post night shift sleep, I pack a kind bar or some loose nuts or dried fruit. I can also have some homemade granola with nuts and flax seeds as another breakfast option. 

... On that note, clock is ticking as I finish writing this post, and it's almost time to pull out that chocolate almond, salted Kind bar and call it a day... Or night, or breakfast, or dinner... Whichever it, the sun is beginning to rise, the NYC pidgeons are about to begin their chirping, and sleep is sounding like a sweet gift to my tired, 5ft, green clad, curly headed body. 

Check✅

First night shift, almost survived in one piece. 

A Tribute to Helen & Her Legacy To The Living

Always dressed to the nines. Fringes in the fall, because that's what was popular at fashion week. Patterned tights to match the sweater. Accessorized with the perfect touch of jewels that completed her look. A look so perfect and majestic, and eyes so vibrant and astute to all its surroundings.  An air of life emanated from the petite being whose matriarchal persona made all those around her feel warm, wanted, special and loved.

No, I did not  just describe the queen of a country.

We first met and connected at a family event where her regal aura made her stand out. We danced, and her energy shocked me. She was  someone who aged youthfully. The lines on her face painted a picture of someone who had lived life but did not allow the struggles of life break her; rather, they contoured and sculpted a deeply refined complexion to her presence.

When we began to meet regularly at synagogue, she would wink at me from her spot in the front even when I strolled in late. She had the ability to make all feel special by the mare sincerity of her mannerisms. She never failed to compliment me, she consistently encouraged me to pursue my dreams, to work hard, be successful and make time for myself. I began to see her as the grandmother I didn't have, I even called her Bubby.

On a day off off of work, I came to visit her. While she verbalized deep appreciation for our spending time together, she lectured me for spending time with old people and told me to go out with young people and live life. She always told me to live life, because that was what she did. Despite her fear of death, Helen portrayed the icon of life. Her entire life, her presence and even the her name embodied "Life". I believe her youthfulness and strength stemmed from an ingrain purposeful agenda to truly live and love the life given to her.


The night before she passed Bubby Helen called me as I was walking home from work. It was late but she called to see how my new job was doing, asked me if I was making time for myself and reminded me to be safe as I told her of my planned travel adventures. I asked her if I would see her at Synagogue (where we had become close and often met.) and she said she will come if it does not rain, but promised me that if she did come she would make sure to wear my favorite ring (one I always complimented her on).

Perhaps Bubby Helen saw the rains that would befall on her life, that would wash her physical presence from my life and the lives of all her friends who deeply treasured and valued her. But the impression and the memories of our friendship and the friendship she had with others were not made of sugar flakes that dissolve in the waters of rain. With Helen physically gone, I feel as though I have lost a special friendship, but the unique bond she had woven with me and with others will have a lasting impression. Something that transcends the physical, does not get swept away when a heart stops beating and the breath of life is sucked away. Her impressions, her demeanor, her friendships and her ability to live life will continue impress upon others by way of the individuals with which Helen had formed those bonds.

As I continue to go on living, and attempt to help others live, Helen's last message lingers in my brain.A small note was found among Helen's possessions when she died; a shopping list that included corn syrup with a specific note to get one without fructose, and a short list of peoples names (including my own name). Centered on her list Helen left a message that is more potent than any medication I may administer. She wrote, to be happy, one must;

1-Let go of what is gone
2-Be grateful for what remains
3-Look forward to what comes next!

Helen, you are missed; by myself and so many others, but you are not gone. You will always be remembered as I continue to live, enjoy, value and appreciate all that life has to offer. You always encouraged me to live my life, pursue my dreams and to never compromise for the right thing. So Helen, as you watch from above, I will heed your advice; I will let go of what is gone, be grateful for what remains and look forward to what comes next!

Who Am I? I Am Your Nurse...

I welcome a new life into the world,

And with dignity and respect, I farewell the life departing.

I fight the battles of the stubborn, non beating hearts,

And I calm the waves of the intricately turmoiled brain.

I clean your wounds so your skin can heal,

and wipe your tears as I attempt to comfort your broken heart.

I breath for you;

When your lungs are too stubborn to inhale that beautiful breath of life.

I suck the blood from your body into myriads of tubes,

So that I can help solve the mystery of your painful symptoms.

I transfuse blood into the frail body,

as I quench the thirst of a fragile, but still beating heart.

I poke and prod with needles so I can ease your pain with medications;

And I sooth and comfort you when an undesired diagnosis is confirmed.

I skip my lunch to feed you yours;

I rub your back as my own back aches.

I lift you in your bed to make you comfortable;

My body dreaming of my own bed, neglected and empty tonight.

I search for a chair so your family can sit at your side.

As I position your feet up, I yearn to rest my own throbbing legs.

You are annoyed that I haven’t gotten you your water yet.

But I am next door compressing the heart of another human battling for life.

You are angry because of the long wait.

I am angry because of the lifeless body I was unable to save.

I leave after 12 hours,haunted by tasks or documentation I may have forgotten.

I come for my next 12 hours, anxious that I will be able to provide all the care your body needs.

I live with hope that each day my actions will extend a life.

I dread the straight lines, the codes, and all the lives that slip out of my reach.

I get spat on, yelled at, vomited on and pooped on.

Yet, tenderly clean your gaping wound, as I wash you with respect and treat you with dignity.

I speak with you and try to make you laugh with some mindless banter;

Hoping to distract you from the dread that overwhelms your frail mind, and battered heart.

I hanker for an extra moment to spend time with you;

To get to know the person hiding under the oversized hospital gown, so I can better tend to your needs.

Each day my purpose is to give and maintain the life of others;

My own life beats with desire to keep yours in this world.

My days are a hazy kaleidoscope of endless but life changing tasks;

My night are consumed by regrets for the lives that slipped me by, and the dangling lives I will need to catch and patch up tomorrow.

Everyday I fight the battle of life and evade that angel of death.

I live each day to pump life into the hearts of the living and farewell the lives ending.

Who are you?

You are a brave being fighting the battles that threatens that wonderful gift of life.

Who am I?

I am your nurse; your advocate, your cleaner, your stress ball, your needle poker, your pain med giver, heart beater, your chest compressor, your comforter, your turner, your voice, your feeder, your shoulder to cry on, and i'm your person for whatever else you need.

I am all yours; I help you fight the battle of the living and I dignify the journey of the dying.

Happy Nurses Week to all of you, who are like "I"!