Bokelskere.no

Plutselig blir jeg så ufattelig trøtt. Det er ikke bare tempoet på jobben eller det overveldende høye antall saker jeg har som sliter meg ut. Det er det at jeg lurer på om noe av det jeg gjør, faktisk betyr noe.

Freedom is the fragile neck of a daffodil, after the longest of winters. It's the sound of your voice, without anyone drowning you out. It's having the grace to say yes, and more important, the right to say no. At the heart of freedom, hope beats: a pulse of possibility.

If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.

The piano keys are black and white but they sound like
a million colors in your mind.

• Maria Cristina Mena.

Babies are such blank slates. They don't come into this world with the assumptions their parents have made, or the promises their church will give, or the ability to sort people into groups they like and don't like. They don't come into this world with anything, really, except a need for comfort. And they will take it from anyone, without judging the giver.

In the middle of a crisis, time is viscous. You swim through it so slowly you cannot tell if you're living or reliving each awful moment. You can see your hands doing the work, ministering, as if they do not belong to you. You hear voices climbing a ladder of panic, and it all becomes one deafening, discordant note.

When you are a nurse, you know better than most anyone else that life goes on. There are good days and there are bad days. There are patients who stay with you, and those you can't wait to forget. But there is always another mother in labor, or delivering, who drives you forward. There is always a new crop of tiny humans who haven't even written the first sentence in the story of their lives. The process of birth is such an assembly line, in fact, that it always surprises me when I am forced to stop and look twice - like when a baby I helped deliver seemingly yesterday is suddenly my patient, about to have her own child.