#THE RENDERING THE LIGHTING ON V1'S WINGS AND LANTERN THE SPOTLIGHT THAT CREATES THE WARM LIGHT VS DARK WATER

[typicalcommondandelion]

Haiii guys the animation is finished. Do you ever think about these two. Because I sure do

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nurses in crisis

So, it’s Nurses Week. You know what that means. Time for a heartfelt email from leadership about how we’re the “backbone of healthcare” and maybe—just maybe—a leftover bagel in the breakroom if you get there early enough. If you’re lucky, there’s a gift. A pen, perhaps. Nothing says “we value you” like a plastic writing utensil that leaks in your pocket.

At my hospital, the “appreciation” is funded by—you guessed it—us. The R&R committee throws some fundraisers throughout the year, and the money raised pays for Nurses Week. Yep. Raised by nurses. For nurses. Basically, we’re paying to be thanked for the job we’re barely surviving. It’s like buying yourself a birthday cake and hoping someone shows up to eat it with you. Spoiler: they don’t.

Oh, and did I mention they recently took away our extra shift bonuses? Bonuses that were in place for over five years to incentivize picking up shifts during—what’s that thing called again? Oh right, a nationwide nursing shortage crisis.

Here’s what would actually help with retention and staffing:

Pay us more. Not in pizza. In actual money.

Implement and enforce safe staffing ratios. No exceptions. No “but the budget.” No “float from three units over.” Just safe.

Make our workplace safe—physically, emotionally, and mentally.

Enforce consequences for patients who verbally and physically assault us.

Give us sick time again. PTO and sick time are not the same, and calling them that doesn’t make it true.

Stop charging hospital employees for parking. (Not a thing at my place, thankfully, but I see you, hospitals that do.)

And here’s the kicker: ignoring safe staffing ratios doesn’t just burn out nurses—it kills patients. That’s not dramatic, it’s documented. Study after study shows that when nurses are stretched too thin, patient mortality rises. Not “might rise.” Does rise. Lives are lost because hospitals treat nurse-to-patient ratios like a suggestion instead of a life-saving standard.

But of course, none of this happens. Because fixing those things would cost money. And on paper, it’s “cheaper” to underpay us, overwork us, and hand us a slice of lukewarm pizza once a year while HR sends out a Canva graphic that says, “Thanks, Heroes.”

Fun fact: under-staffing actually leads to bonuses for some in management. Yes. When units run lean, money gets saved. And guess who benefits? Not the people running the unit on fumes. Certainly not the nurse who’s been triple-assigned, hasn’t peed in ten hours, and had to eat a sleeve of saltines over a trash can while crying about their charting backlog.

And as if we don’t already have enough on our plate, every couple of weeks there’s a new policy or protocol shoved down our throats. No warning. No discussion. Just a shiny new checkbox or metric that someone in a far-off office decided would “improve outcomes” without ever actually touching a patient. You barely finish learning one new documentation requirement before three more show up in your inbox—each one supposedly designed to “streamline care,” but really just another anchor tied to your already-sinking morale.

To make it worse, I live in a state that relies heavily on Medicaid and Medicare reimbursement, has a chronically unhealthy population, and a revolving door of patients with poorly managed chronic illness, addiction, and no social support. That means there are never enough beds, never enough staff, and always too much trauma. Bed delays. Unsafe care. Nurses stretched so thin we’re basically gauze at this point.

We are burnt out.

Not just “tired.” Not “a little crispy.” We are full-on charred marshmallow—blackened on the outside, hollow on the inside, and still somehow expected to hold it all together on a graham cracker of hope and a chocolate square of sarcasm.

I’ve been a nurse for 15 years. Which, in current nurse-years, is practically prehistoric. And nurses who are less than one year in? Already fried. It’s like throwing baby deer into traffic and asking them why they aren’t running faster.

And here’s the thing—it’s easy to sit on this side of the hospital wall and name the problems. It’s even easier to list the fixes. But upstairs? The offices? The boardrooms? They’re too busy drafting another “Nurses Are Superheroes” flyer to notice we’re over here trying to stop the whole system from collapsing.

Recently, our PTO has been denied. Not because we’re not entitled to it—but because they claim we’re “too short.” No kidding. We’ve been too short for years. You don't get to penalize the people who stayed while the revolving door turned into a wind tunnel.

And let’s talk about pay. Loyalty gets you nowhere. Grad nurses are making more than experienced ones now, because “we have to stay competitive to attract talent.” Cool. So you’ll pay a nurse more to learn how to hang a piggyback, but not the one who knows how to keep your critically ill ICU patients alive through sheer knowledge and caffeine?

Honestly, nursing school feels like a scam some days. My checkoffs included making beds with hospital corners. Like I was applying for a job at the Hilton. No one gives a damn about their bed corners when they’re vomiting blood or actively dying. Get real.

So, this Nurses Week, take the gift bag. Eat the cupcake. Read the email. But don’t confuse any of that with actual appreciation.

Real appreciation looks like:

Safe ratios.

Fair pay.

Mental health support.

Actual sick time.

Time off when we ask for it.

And yes, listening when we say, “We’re drowning.”

If you want to thank a nurse, don’t say it. Show it. Take something off their plate. Drop off dinner. Babysit their kids. Venmo them $20 for coffee and snacks. Listen—really listen—to the things they carry. Because what we carry doesn’t end when we clock out. We carry every failed code, every screaming family member, every patient we couldn’t save. It lives in our bones.

You think Game of Thrones was traumatic? Try doing CPR on someone for 40 minutes while their family watches. Then go wipe down your stethoscope and clock in for the next one.

So this week, if you know a nurse who’s barely holding it together—don’t thank them. Don’t post a meme. Don’t give them a balloon.

Just be kind. Patience, empathy, decency—it goes a long way. Because the truth is, without us, the hospital doesn’t just struggle—it stops.

And if nothing changes? If the system doesn’t start valuing us in tangible, meaningful ways? There may come a time where there’s simply no one left to care.

But you know, thanks for the pizza, I guess.

Source: nurses in crisis