IfIKnew

If I Knew Then What I Know Now

Gerri Harvey

This fall, I will begin my 15th year of school nursing. When you work in a school the real New Year begins in September, not January. There is a clean slate waiting, a chance to do things a little differently, and hopefully a little better. Since I began school nursing those years ago, I have thought about my annual New Year's Resolutions each summer, ready to put them into practice in the fall. How different these resolutions are now, compared to 18, 10 or even 5 years ago.

If I knew then, what I know now:

I would worry less about being the only health professional in the school and take more delight in being the resident expert.

I would spend less time trying to get my staff to understand my role and more time trying to understand how my role supports theirs.

I would play relaxing music in my office every day so that students would grow up associating such music with feeling comforted and cared for.

I would welcome the Frequent Flyers whose visits are wordless requests to help them manage a discomfort in their lives and spend less time trying to figure out how to stop teachers from sending them to me.

I would remind myself every day that those things that are most important must never be at the mercy of those that are the least important.

I would remind myself that children's feelings, self-esteem and sense of being accepted are more important than a few missed nits.

I would put more positive health posters and affirmations on my office walls and display fewer scary cancer and brain injury posters.

I would be more willing to put Band-Aids on little boo boos, and less concerned about the teachers dealing with these small hurts, because my hands are the hands of a nurse, and there really IS a difference in my touch.

I would utilize the power of self-fulfilling prophesy and miss fewer opportunities to let children know that they have all they need within themselves to be healthy, happy and successful.

I would smile more and complain less.

I would make sure I looked, really looked, at every child who came into my office.

I would not have taken as long as I did to discover and teach the health benefits of simple self care interventions: meditation, music and the relaxation response.

I would be less dragged down by those staff who are full of negativity and pessimism about children, families, administration, education and each other and more buoyed by those who are optimistic and positive year after year because they see and focus on the goodness, the successes, and the opportunities to be change agents among those very same others.

I would begin each day with a simple thought: perfection is not the goal, and the person who is the busiest or most stressed is not necessarily the most effective.

I would understand this: there will never be enough time to do it all, but that is OK. The important thing is to spend my time well, keep my focus on how I, as a nurse, can make a difference, one child at a time. Because that is what adds up over the years, and perhaps in the end, the only thing that really matters.



	If I Knew Then What I Know Now Gerri Harvey This fall, I will begin my 15th year of school nursing. When you work in a school the real New Year begins in September, not January. There is a clean slate waiting, a chance to do things a little differently, and hopefully a little better. Since I began school nursing those years ago, I have thought about my annual New Year's Resolutions each summer, ready to put them into practice in the fall. How different these resolutions are now, compared to 18, 10 or even 5 years ago. If I knew then, what I know now: I would worry less about being the only health professional in the school and take more delight in being the resident expert. I would spend less time trying to get my staff to understand my role and more time trying to understand how my role supports theirs. I would play relaxing music in my office every day so that students would grow up associating such music with feeling comforted and cared for. I would welcome the Frequent Flyers whose visits are wordless requests to help them manage a discomfort in their lives and spend less time trying to figure out how to stop teachers from sending them to me. I would remind myself every day that those things that are most important must never be at the mercy of those that are the least important. I would remind myself that children's feelings, self-esteem and sense of being accepted are more important than a few missed nits. I would put more positive health posters and affirmations on my office walls and display fewer scary cancer and brain injury posters. I would be more willing to put Band-Aids on little boo boos, and less concerned about the teachers dealing with these small hurts, because my hands are the hands of a nurse, and there really IS a difference in my touch. I would utilize the power of self-fulfilling prophesy and miss fewer opportunities to let children know that they have all they need within themselves to be healthy, happy and successful. I would smile more and complain less. I would make sure I looked, really looked, at every child who came into my office. I would not have taken as long as I did to discover and teach the health benefits of simple self care interventions: meditation, music and the relaxation response. I would be less dragged down by those staff who are full of negativity and pessimism about children, families, administration, education and each other and more buoyed by those who are optimistic and positive year after year because they see and focus on the goodness, the successes, and the opportunities to be change agents among those very same others. I would begin each day with a simple thought: perfection is not the goal, and the person who is the busiest or most stressed is not necessarily the most effective. I would understand this: there will never be enough time to do it all, but that is OK. The important thing is to spend my time well, keep my focus on how I, as a nurse, can make a difference, one child at a time. Because that is what adds up over the years, and perhaps in the end, the only thing that really matters.