Editor’s note: This commentary is by Jenna Page, of Jericho, who is a nurse the University of Vermont Medical Center, on Shepardson 4, one of the oldest buildings at the hospital. On June 1, her team will be transitioning to the new Miller Building, a state-of-the-art hospital building with 128 private patient rooms.
[I] am an oncology nurse at UVM Medical Center. For the past 10 years, I’ve seen both sides of the cancer experience – patients who survive and thrive, and the excruciatingly sad stories of those who struggle and succumb to their disease. I’ve seen patients at their most vulnerable, families at a loss, loved ones seeking answers in their grief. I consider it an honor and a privilege to be a part of these experiences.
While our work as caregivers is not defined by our physical setting, there’s no question that it plays a role. As our organization looks to the official opening of the new Miller Building at UVMMC, I want to share why I know this new space marks an important step in our efforts to transform the care we offer our patients and families.
But, first: I want to talk a little bit about why I became a nurse, and, more specifically, an oncology nurse.
When I was 1, my older sister was diagnosed with Ewings sarcoma, a cancer of the soft tissue. Back then — 1985 — cancer treatment was not as sophisticated as it is today, and doctors told my parents not to expect to see her graduate high school. Her illness was always on the periphery of our family life: effects of radiation therapy, countless doctors’ appointments, tests and more. I’m happy to say my sister is now 39 years old.
The experience sent my mother to nursing school to be an oncology nurse herself. When I was in college – originally planning to go to medical school — she asked me if I’d like to shadow her one day. I did, and one thing struck me: the consistency of the nurses at the bedside. “Where are all the doctors,” I asked? “Oh,” she said, “they come and go; they’re around.” I was struck by the bond that forms when you are that patient’s person, that family’s connection to the intimidating world of health care.
With that observation, I turned my academic life around and headed to nursing school.
In the years since, my desire for that intimacy, that connection with the patient, has fueled countless interactions with my patients. One stands out. As a nurse in Washington, D.C., I cared for a Muslim man who had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Being his primary nurse was challenging, as there were language barriers with his family, who were omnipresent, and there were cultural differences that required explanations. But this man and his family came to mean a great deal to me and I loved learning about his culture and what it meant to him. When he died, I grieved as if he were an uncle. At the same time, this experience taught me about the boundaries that we as caregivers must develop.
Over the years, these experiences have deepened my understanding of what our patients need: a space to understand – and grieve – their diagnosis; to experience their symptoms in privacy; to learn about their illness; and, sometimes, to transition to hospice care.
I also know firsthand that our current space on Shepardson 4 is inadequate. Space is cramped, and privacy sometimes feels non-existent. This makes it difficult for us, as caregivers, to have the kinds of conversations that deepen our bond with our patients and their families. It makes it difficult for us to maneuver through assessments and certain procedures. When a patient needs a shower, we often have to walk him down the hallway to what I call the “camp” shower, as only three rooms have private showers.
I don’t think patients realize how much of our day as nurses is spent just trying to make our work space more comfortable. It’s hard enough to be a nurse – and it’s hard enough to be a cancer patient. We don’t need our physical space to present further limitations.
The Miller Building offers a breathtaking departure from these issues. It will be a new experience for us as caregivers, and for our patients. Patients will have private rooms with couches for their family members to sleep on overnight. Each room has a private bathroom and shower. Each room includes technology that offers patients access to daily information about their care, empowering them to be an important voice in their care experience. Each room offers us ample room to collaborate as a team at the bedside, to engage in those important conversations with our patients about their care. Outside each room there are multiple team spaces that will enhance collaboration among doctors, nurses, therapists and case managers.
The Miller Building is so much more than a shiny new space with fresh paint: It is a place where we, as nurses, can connect deeply with our patients, providing them and their families with the very best care.
My oncology team will be moving to the Miller Building on June 1. I will be staying behind, to be a nurse manager in medicine. While there is some trepidation among my colleagues about moving, I remind them that all the time they currently spend dealing with the logistics of problematic space they will get back: to bond with their patients, to listen to and support families … to do everything that drew us to the immensely rewarding profession of nursing.
