What I encounter as a Brown Nurse

I have recently begun to appreciate myself and acknowledge my accomplishments as an immigrant here in the United States. In my nursing career, there have been numerous heartwarming moments that reaffirmed my decision to become a nurse and serve in this country. I have been fortunate to work alongside excellent colleagues and leaders, with my first nurse manager at Mercy Hospital in Ardmore, Oklahoma, being a particularly inspiring mentor. While I wish all my managers were like her, I understand that real life is a mix of positivity and negativity.

Throughout my nursing journey, I've encountered both supportive colleagues who saw me for my skills and character rather than my color or accent, and challenging moments that made me resilient and strengthened my perspectives.

Reflecting on my time in nursing school, I attended one of the finest institutions but wished for more cultural diversity in my class. As one of the few international students, I often felt isolated, not only due to my skin color but also factors like socio-economic status, culture, religion, language, and nationality. The disparity in experiences, such as missing holidays from my own culture while classmates celebrated Christmas, contributed to my feelings of being an outsider.

Despite limited positive experiences during my college years, finding solace in a few friendships, participating in Nepali-speaking student gatherings, and taking on roles like being a mentor and president of the Nepalese Student Organization, I couldn't shake the feeling of being left out from the broader student community. Graduating and getting married brought a sense of completeness, but the reality of being a minority became more apparent when I entered the workforce as a nurse.

In my nursing career, instances of targeted racism, both from patients and colleagues, have been disheartening. Patient comments questioning my nationality based on my appearance or insensitive remarks about my language proficiency have been hurtful. Colleagues making racially insensitive jokes in the workplace added to the challenges. I faced comments implying I could be deported and endured a lack of support from fellow nurses.

These examples highlight the need for change in addressing healthcare provider abuse and racism towards colored nurses. Our ideas are sometimes overlooked, and we constantly find ourselves proving our worth to patients and leaders. The struggle persists, and I hope future generations won't have to endure the same challenges and prejudices. Is it too much to ask for a society where acceptance is not contingent on the color of our skin?

Why it has to be imperfect in this perfect relationship?

From the bottom of my heart, a lingering question persists – why? We triumphed over the war of infertility, a journey often described as a roller coaster, but for me, it was more like a series of rough rides with no moments of exhilaration. I find myself asking, why us? This questioning began long before the idea of marriage or having children entered my mind. Witnessing my parents navigate challenges in raising us three siblings, I initially resisted the traditional path of marriage and motherhood.

However, life and love had different plans. Falling deeply in love, my perspective shifted. I embraced the idea of marriage and envisioned having children before turning 30. Following the plan, we married when I was 24, and by 26, we seriously considered starting a family. Three years into marriage, the reality was not as simple as we hoped. Concerns led us to seek advice from fertility physicians, where my first question echoed - why the struggle to conceive?

Countless blood tests, ultrasounds, and MRIs ensued, and I continually wondered why I, as the wife, was the sole recipient of these invasive procedures. Though explanations existed, I remained unsatisfied. After two rounds of Clomid and IUI yielded no success, we faced the daunting prospect of IVF. Entering this war against infertility, I questioned why I had to endure the daily barrage of hormone shots, medications, mood swings, and anxiety. The first round of IVF ended in disappointment as genetic testing revealed no positive results. The second round brought a glimmer of hope with one normal embryo.

Upon becoming pregnant, disbelief mingled with joy, but the elation was short-lived. A follow-up ultrasound shattered our happiness as the news of a miscarriage unfolded. Why did I have to be part of the 4% statistic? The reason behind the miscarriage remains unknown, and it was a challenging time for everyone involved. Despite the internal turmoil, strength emerged, allowing me to navigate the pain and resist discussing the ordeal with others.

The loss, although difficult, felt like a mere trailer for what was to come. Another round of IVF followed, marked by changes in medications and heightened discomfort. Everything revolved around the shots, pills, and the anticipation of potential success. This time, the outcome was more promising – four genetically normal embryos, providing us with renewed chances of achieving a successful pregnancy. The journey may be arduous, but the hope persists, along with the unspoken question – why? 

Death of our unseen child

There's a saying that when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Yet, in the context of our child's life, it feels like life never handed us lemons, making it difficult to find any silver lining. Despite the challenges, we hold onto hope and faith, believing that a miracle may happen one day.

On April 30th, 2020, our little Asmi came into the world, but she faced an uphill battle. Born at just 18 weeks, she didn't have a heartbeat. The preceding 18 weeks were a rollercoaster of emotions – anxiety, excitement, and dreams. A bleeding episode around the 8th week introduced worry, but the pregnancy seemed to progress well until the 16th week.

On April 11th, another heavy bleeding episode struck, prompting fear for Asmi's well-being. A call to the physician's office advised waiting until Monday, but the persistence of cramps and bleeding led us to the ER. Placenta previa was diagnosed, introducing another term for us to research. Blogs provided valuable insights as we navigated this challenging time.

The bleeding began to subside, offering a brief respite. A follow-up ultrasound confirmed placenta previa, providing relief that it posed no risk to the baby. However, on April 22nd, another episode of bleeding occurred, prompting a call to the physician's office. In the workplace the next day, a large clot and subsequent bleeding led to tears and a call to Ananta. The guilt of not giving 100% at work weighed heavily on me during this challenging time.

The bleeding persisted for a week, with a visit to the ER on April 26th revealing a clot in the cervix, though doctors were not overly concerned. Despite this, on April 27th, feeling unwell with cramps and a low-grade fever, anxiety set in. The next day, I felt better, but around 1 pm, a sensation of leaking and soaking my pad occurred. Ananta called the doctor's office, leading to a clinic visit. The revelation of amniotic fluid brought heartbreak, and I was wheeled upstairs for an ultrasound. Asmi was struggling, and the heartbreaking decision loomed – her survival without amniotic fluid was uncertain.

During this turmoil, heavy bleeding occurred, prompting Ananta to call for help. The situation escalated, leading to an ambulance ride to the hospital. Upon arrival, it became clear that we had lost Asmi. The delivery was fraught with risk due to severe blood loss, and an emergency surgery was necessary. Stabilized after surgery and blood transfusions, we faced the painful decision of what to do with Asmi.

Unable to see her or her body, her soul remains in our hearts. Asmi is at peace, free from pain and expectations. Though she left too soon, she will always be cherished and loved by Mom and Dad.

Hope that was only a dream

 It was an ordinary Friday night, and after dinner, Ananta suggested watching a movie in the basement. We all agreed, choosing "Isi and Ossi" for our Valentine's Day movie night. The enjoyment of the movie was secondary to the pleasure of being together. Ananta, with his penchant for extended movie nights, proposed another film – "Contagion." As usual, he took his medications and shots with precision, claiming he might have given more shots than some nurses, a claim I did not dispute.

I typically doze off during the second movie, regardless of its quality. Around 1:30 am, I suddenly felt like I had urinated and woke up Ananta. A second gush made it clear it wasn't urine – I was bleeding. Turning on the lights, we discovered a puddle of fresh red blood and clots. My immediate fear was that I had miscarried again. Tearfully, I tried to clean up in the bathroom, Ananta kneeling beside me. However, he began feeling dizzy. Realizing he needed care, I shifted my focus from the unborn child to my present husband, and my tears stopped.

We managed to clean up as best as we could, discarding blood-stained clothes and bedsheets. Going upstairs to sleep, I couldn't save myself from reading blogs, one suggesting saving the tissue. Ananta got Ziplock bags, but he couldn't bear to watch me go back to the trash bag. I gathered the tissue, placing it in a Ziplock bag inside a medication bottle.

Reflecting on human nature, I noted our tendency to fear the future, though, in actual crises, we often find resilience. After an hour, we somehow fell asleep. We woke around 5:00 am, the day of my dad's surgery back home. I contemplated the value of money when it couldn't buy time with loved ones. I called the doctor's office after 7:00 am, left a voice message, and got a call back to schedule an ultrasound at 9:30.

Early at the doctor's office, we discussed our lack of hope after the previous night's ordeal. During the ultrasound, before the nurse spoke, Ananta, excited and shocked, saw the heartbeat. They couldn't identify the source of the bleeding. The baby was fine – a great heartbeat, a healthy cervix, and a sound sac. It felt like a miracle, reshaping our plans on the drive back home. I was sad for not having that cup of coffee from Starbucks and missing out on a jumbo coke with caffeine. It was hard to believe that the previous night had not been a terrible dream.