The year I graduated from nursing school, I cut off the long hair I’d kept for years, tied it back neatly, and put on a pale pink uniform and cap. The moment I stood in the hospital hallway, I knew—my life had changed.
I had officially become a new nurse.
People around me used to ask, “You’re so gentle, and you’re afraid of blood and chaos—can you really handle this job?”
But I always knew this wasn’t just a technical profession. It was a job that treated people like people. I wasn’t just there to check temperatures, give injections, or change bandages—I was there to care. I was there to understand.
In my first week in the ward, I was met with challenge after challenge.
Some patients shouted at me with no reason, some elderly patients refused their medication or even to bathe. I would spend half an hour just talking to one of them, trying to calm them down. A young mother with postpartum depression sat in silence day after day, never speaking a word.
After work, I was often drenched in sweat, my legs numb from standing, and sometimes I didn’t even have the energy to eat.
Whenever I felt like giving up, I reminded myself of the promise I made when I first wore my nurse’s cap:
“I didn’t come here to do a job. I came here to protect the people who need me.”
I began learning to slow down—not just to do the job, but to be present. A little more eye contact, a little more patience.
That young mother? One day, she finally spoke: “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
I cried in the bathroom that night—but my heart felt so warm.
There was another time, during a night shift, when a terminal cancer patient suddenly had an intense episode of pain. I immediately called the doctor, helped administer care, and stayed by his side. Once he stabilized, he weakly held my hand and whispered, “Miss… are you an angel?”
No, I’m not an angel.
I’m just a girl in a uniform who’s willing to stand by someone through their suffering.
Everyone says this job is hard, exhausting, and underappreciated.
But I don’t see it that way.
Even though I face life, illness, and death every day—exhaustion and pressure at every turn—I know that everything I do matters.
Maybe I can’t save the whole world.
But I can make someone’s world a little less painful, a little less lonely, a little more understood.
I didn’t choose nursing because I’m strong.
I chose it because I’m willing to become strong for others—especially when they’re at their weakest.
This journey has just begun, and I’ll keep walking it.
Even if I collapse into bed every night, even if I face more hardship, I’ll always remember one thing:
“I chose this job to help people.”
This is my passion, my ideal, my calling.
And I truly believe—I chose the right path.
I hope I can help more and more people in the days to come.
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