I called my first RRT last week.
An RRT, or Rapid Response Team, is the set of people paged to your patient's room when they start to crash but haven't yet coded (for the few readers who may not know, I'm a nurse). This particular night, they were paged to the room of a man who had been completely fine during my assessment less than two hours ago who was now gasping for air, the crackling of fluid in his lungs audible from across the room, sweating, shaking, terrified, because flash pulmonary edema, I imagine, feels a lot like drowning.
He and I, we were in that room drowning together.
I could rattle you off the textbook answer of what needed to be done, and the textbook came to life as we first intervened and then transferred him safely to the ICU (albeit with an incident, now humorous, that involved me sprinting down the hall from the elevator, throwing off my stethoscope as I ran to keep it from repeatedly smacking me in the face, and yelling for a bag to manually ventilate the patient, all while my pants fought valiantly to stay up).
But the textbook can't tell you -- and even tells you it can't tell you -- what it feels like the first time you realize that the person in front of you who is actively dying, who will die unless you do something, is just that: a person.
You know it intellectually of course. You spouted it in your interviews and pontificated on it in your nursing school "reflection" essays. It's not a diagnosis. It's not a room number. It's not even really a patient. It's a person.
But knowing that and actually experiencing that are two very, very different things.
And that is where the drowning comes in.
The drowning of every newly-moved-away-from-home young adult realizing they don't know what to do in a fender bender or how to get a credit card, and where on earth do you find peanut butter in the grocery store? (It's frequently with the chocolate syrup, by the way.)
The drowning of every fresh young professional who has to dress like an adult and act like an adult and carry the responsibilities of an adult, but who still feels deeply unqualified, terrified that someday, somebody is going to look at them and see the truth: that inside, they still feel like a child playing dress-up.
The drowning of every new grad nurse who knows what to do but is momentarily crippled by the overwhelming humanity and reality of life and death hanging in the palm of their hands.
The drowning of every new mom, newly married, newly moved, newly anything and do you get it yet that you are not at all alone?
Will there always be those few admirable peers who we kind of want to be like -- who are unfazed by the newness, who handle their first patient crash with grace and aplomb and not a single tear, who actually look like adults in their suits and ties, who have a dozen friends within a month of moving to a new place, and who laugh everything off with a joke? Of course, but if you are not that person, it doesn't mean there is something wrong with you.
Will there always be those few admirable peers who we kind of want to be like -- who are unfazed by the newness, who handle their first patient crash with grace and aplomb and not a single tear, who actually look like adults in their suits and ties, who have a dozen friends within a month of moving to a new place, and who laugh everything off with a joke? Of course, but if you are not that person, it doesn't mean there is something wrong with you.
It doesn't mean you're not admirable, too.
Maybe you have to be a little more brave, because you're a little more afraid.
Maybe you have to be a little more resilient, because you feel a little more deeply.
Maybe you have to fight a little harder because you're not as strong yet, and maybe that fight is carrying you closer to who you'll be -- and closer to Christ at the same time.
"For in the day of trouble, He will keep me safe in His dwelling; He will hide me in the shelter of His tabernacle and set me high upon a rock" (Psalm 27:14).
"Brandish spear and javelin against those who pursue me. Say to my soul, 'I am your salvation'" (Psalm 35:3).
"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from Him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God; He is my mighty rock, my refuge. Trust in Him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge" (Psalm 62:5-8).
That's only a cursory flip through a few pages of the Psalms, but it's woven all through Scripture: When trouble is close, Jesus is closer.
When the world fights and claws at you, fight and claw back and tell it, "But my God has overcome the world."
"If I go to the east, He is not there," laments Job; "if I go to the west, I do not find Him. When He is at work in the north, I do not see Him; when He turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of Him.
"But He knows the way that I take; when He has tested me, I will come forth as gold" (Job 23:8-10).
I cannot find Him, Job says, as so many might at this moment in time; but He finds me.
It might feel like drowning, brave heart, but you will not go down. Your God dives in the river with you and ensures it does not sweep over you. Your God walks through fire with you so that you come out whole and unharmed.
One day, what is new now will be as comfortable as tying your shoes. Something else new will come along to stir up your life.
But whatever is new in your life, every morning, so is the Lord's mercy; and great is His faithfulness.
