Has Nursing Work Changed Your Perspective on 'Life'?

Okay, this question really resonates with many of us in this profession.

To put it in one sentence: Yes, nursing has fundamentally and completely changed my perspective on "life."

This change wasn't something that came from reading a few books or watching a few movies. It was engraved in my bones through day after day of night shifts, resuscitation after resuscitation, and conversation after conversation.

Before becoming a nurse, I thought the word "life" was vast, abstract—about dreams, achievements, poetry, and distant horizons. But now, my view has become very concrete, even a bit "down-to-earth."

## 1. Life is No Longer Abstract, But Concrete "Vital Signs"

For ordinary people, being alive is simply being alive. But for us, life is a series of tangible "evidence" that can be seen, heard, and touched:

It's the regularly jumping green line on the monitor and the "beep-beep-beep" sound.
It's the pulse oximeter clipped on a fingertip, showing bright red numbers above 95%.
It's the clear, strong heartbeat heard through the stethoscope, and the uniform "in-out" sound of breathing in both lungs.
It's feeling their warm skin and the hand that can still grasp yours tightly.

When these signs disappear one after another, and we fight with all our might to bring them back, you truly understand how many physiological functions must collaborate with millisecond precision behind the word "alive." Life, it turns out, is such a fragile system of balance.

## 2. A Completely New Understanding of the "Baseline" of Being Alive

We often complain about being tired from work or annoyed by life. But since becoming a nurse, I've learned to be grateful for many "taken-for-granted" little things.

Being able to eat by myself, rather than relying on a tube threaded from my nose to my stomach.
Being able to use the toilet independently, rather than lying in bed waiting for someone else to handle my waste.
Being able to breathe freely, rather than depending on a hissing ventilator.
Being able to sleep soundly through the night, rather than lying awake all night due to pain or difficulty breathing.

These daily routines, seemingly insignificant to ordinary people, are, in the hospital ward, the goals many patients strive for, or even distant luxuries. You realize that simply having an "ordinary, healthy body" is already an immense blessing.

## 3. Re-understanding "Quality of Life" and "Dignity"

I used to think that as long as a person was alive, we should do everything possible to prolong life. But now, I place greater emphasis on "quality of life."

I've seen too many patients in the ICU, their heartbeat and breathing maintained by machines and medications. Tubes cover their bodies; they cannot communicate, perhaps even lacking consciousness. Family members cry during daily visits, pleading, "Please save him," but we know deep down that this kind of "living" might be immense suffering and torment for the patient themselves.

At such times, you begin to ponder: What is the true meaning of life? Is it merely the persistence of a heartbeat?

We come to understand that sometimes, leaving with dignity, peacefully, and without pain is also a form of respect for life. Our job isn't just to pull people back from the brink of death; it also includes, as life approaches its end, alleviating their suffering as much as possible and preserving their final dignity. This is called "palliative care" or "hospice care," a choice made from a deep understanding of life.

## 4. Awe at Life's "Resilience," and Acceptance of Life's "End"

This work is full of dramatic moments.

One day you think a patient won't make it, might not last the night, and the next day during rounds, they're sitting up greeting you, all their indicators improving. That tenacity and resilience of life inspires genuine awe.

But equally, you encounter a vibrant young person whose life is abruptly cut short by a sudden accident or illness. That fragility and unpredictability of life leaves you feeling powerless and sighing.

After seeing enough, you become less absolute. You understand that death is not a medical failure, but the final station life's journey inevitably reaches. What we can do is strive to make this train ride smoother and longer, making the scenery along the way better. But when it finally arrives at its destination, we must also learn to accept it and offer our final blessings.

In summary, nursing has transformed my view of life from that of an idealist to that of a realist. I no longer chase elusive, grand meanings. Instead, I cherish every steady breath more, care more about every warm handshake, and feel more gratitude for every morning I can move freely.

It has taught me that life's most precious treasures are precisely those most ordinary, most easily overlooked daily moments.