Dear Theresa Brown, RN,
I finished reading your book, Healing, and was ready to pick it up and start right back over. I got to the end and thought, "this is a piece of art". Being married to an artist, I use that word very specifically.
I want to begin explaining myself so it doesn't seem like I'm just gushing or being a "fan" or whatever. But, after you commented in the epilogue on the Billie Holiday song "Don't Explain”
I knew you would already know what I mean. I'm thinking of a song by Wookiefoot called "What You Mean"
and I already know I don't have to piece it out for you. I know that you know what I mean.
What a gift. To finish a book and feel understood: as a nurse, parent, and partner. For all my hats to be worn at once. You've given me a gift. I'm humbled and grateful.
When I think about my frustrations as a nurse with modern American Healthcare: you know what I mean. When I share a story from a perspective (a patient, a colleague, or my own): you know what I mean. When I get fed up trying to paint a picture of the problem, simultaneously looking for the solutions: you know what I mean.
You have unloaded a burden from my mind, my heart, and my career. I no longer have to figure out how to help people understand the current state of healthcare in our country. You've done it! Do you know what I mean!?!
Thank you.
I'm also grateful for these seeds of action.
I don't yet know what will grow, but the seeds are there. Seeds of inspiration. Of understanding. Of a renewed sense of purpose. (Hopefully a sprinkle of patience…). And also, a blanket of comfort. A beautiful quilt of warmth and compassion. A tapestry of hopeful stories.
I'm weeding out the exhaustion of explaining myself. Putting down the weight of Healthcare Capital H. I'm throwing away the old, tired dignity gown of nurses as Victims; the shroud that shields us from explaining "we tried", "we were doing our best with the tools we had", "I don't know what more to do". A remnant of it might be sewn into the tapestry of our careers, a small piece of memory, honoring what WAS.
But I'm not using it to cover up ANY MORE.
Enough.
I'm planting. Sowing and sewing. A Garden or a Quilt. Or both, because idle hands…..
Seeds for the gardeners. Needle and thread for the crafter. Paint, sing, dance. The medium doesn't matter.
What matters is: the path forward. Who we're traveling with. What we're bringing. What we see, hear, think, notice, and feel along the way.
And the volume. The voices becoming a chorus. The saplings a forest. The turtles a bale (I had to look up the word for a group of turtles). More! Now!
Activate!
I will continue writing, telling stories, and sharing this book (AND exploring your others! I'm a bit ashamed to admit you're a new name for me. Somebody needs to update whatever algorithm didn't lead me to you sooner). I will continue to work. The path will become clearer. I'm ready to pick up my tools. Hone my skills. Seek out more light in the unknown.
You have lit the way.
This is the medicine my pandemic heart was calling for.
"Healing".
I'm thinking now of my own North Star Nurse from Canada. A Story that continues to unfold as it is written. And you'll know what I mean, because you already do.
I'm asking myself: What seeds am I planting? Why am I telling this to a literal stranger? (except YOU'RE not a stranger to ME). Why do I feel CALLED?
Because through "Healing", MY light was turned on.
To Thriving.
Not surviving.
Thriving.
And when I have energy for Thriving… by sharing and collaborating with others on "Healing", by carrying this message forward again and again, not having to explain myself again and again….
When the voice of the nurse ELEVATES.
As I can get my hands in the dirt, down on my knees, exposed to the elements. Energized. Ready to GET TO WORK.
I will give thanks, again and again. To you.
Know that your writing has enriched my life, my work, and my spirit. "Healing" has been like a salve on a chronic, burning wound in my heart. Medihoney or some other magical product.
Thank you for being "indefatigable". Tenacious. And caring. For patients, and the nurses trying to care for them.
You know what I mean, and I will be grateful always.
Love,
Jessie
Dear Theresa Brown, RN