All this time I thought I – the nurse – was the artist, orchestrating a beautiful symphony of care and shaping programs into works of both form and function.

As I spoke with a colleague about yesterday’s post, I divulged that some nursing memories haunt me. She quickly reframed my thought: “No, they guide you.”

How true. Little did I know – I am the canvas. Others are molding me. Patients have left indelible marks, imprints, on me as a nurse. Conversations, encounters, touches that have become a part of who I am. Shaping my careers and future reactions. Framing my thinking processes. Refocusing my skills. Erasing my misperceptions. Smoothing my inadequacies. Polishing my brilliance. Small moments, insignificant alone, slowly brushed and blended among the other strokes revealing a masterpiece of past, present, and future.

The canvas remains. Unfinished. Awaiting the next maestro’s imprint.