The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting

your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,

for your dreams,

for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me whether things seem to be going your way.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow,

If you have been opened by life's betrayals

or have become shriveled and closed from further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,

if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips

of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be

realistic, to remember the

limitations of being human.

I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it's not pretty every

day and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours or mine, and still stand

on the edge of the lake and

shout to the silver moon, "Yes!"

It does not interest me to know where you live

or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair,

weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand in the center of the

fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what

or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you from the inside

when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like

the company you keep in the empty moments.

-Anonymous

Oncology Lessons

To the Oncology Unit on 5 East -

I didn't pick you, instead you picked me.

I didn't really care where I worked, I just wanted my 'foot in the door.'

You took me in, as a little one wanting to learn.

I had no idea all the things you would teach me.

You never treated me as just a "student" or a "tech" to do all your dirty work.

Instead, you worked with me...knowing I was your future.

You taught me the tricks of the trade.

You gave me jobs you knew I could do, but I myself had little confidence.

I remember when the IV pumps scared me and I had no idea how to talk to patients.

But it was you, who held my hand and watched me grow.

I want to grow up and be like everyone of you. You laugh and you cry. You get so stressed you want to pull your hair out. You hold patients hands when they are scared. And you ask if there is anything at all you can do for them...whether its just a backrub or an extra blanket. When patients are confused you say "I'm here to help you" and when family members are crying you give them hugs to help ease the pain.

I've watched you face the harsh realities of life ending. The hard, hard work it takes to care for those experiencing it...and the loved ones on the sidelines watching. Cancer is indeed a journey, and all of you know that your place is to be there through every step.

All of these things I could've never learned in the classroom or from a textbook. And for that, I'm all the more grateful I had you to watch. You treated me like your own. We are indeed a family. You listened to my accomplishments and failures, my worries and stress, my relationship troubles and my dreams for the future.

And when people tell me someday that 'I'm a great nurse'....it's to YOU I'll give all the credit.

-meg