When I went with my gut
Content note:
This story includes descriptions of a medical emergency, clinical judgment under pressure, and responsibility for patient safety.
Three months into my new ER job, I was seriously questioning my career. After nearly three decades in nursing — and losing my nurse clinician position due to funding cuts — I felt like I’d gone backwards. I was exhausted, disheartened, and honestly, ready to quit.
Then one day, a young woman came in complaining of severe foot pain. There was no redness, swelling, or injury. She was six months pregnant and had miscarried the year before. As I examined her, something in my gut told me something was very wrong.
It was that quiet inner voice — the one you learn to listen to after years at the bedside.
I checked on her often. On one of my rounds, I simply walked past her bed, and she screamed in pain — from the draft of my movement. That moment sent chills down my spine. I’d seen this before. Ten years earlier, I’d had a similar patient. Necrotizing fasciitis.
My heart sank. I knew she needed immediate care, but no one believed me. I was the “new nurse” on the team. No one knew my background or my experience. I could feel their doubt, but my instincts wouldn’t let it go.
I moved her to the acute area anyway. Within minutes, she started crashing. Her blood pressure dropped. She vomited. She was drenched in sweat. I inserted two large-bore IVs, ready to hang antibiotics even without an order.
I wasn’t about to lose her.
When my manager saw what was happening, she rushed over. The doctor finally came, and we got her transferred to a higher-level trauma center within twenty minutes. I watched her leave, terrified she wouldn’t make it.
That night, I went home and cried. I didn’t know if she or her baby had survived. That’s one of the hardest parts of emergency nursing — we rarely get to know how the story ends.
But this one did.
Nine months later, I was working triage when a woman walked up holding a baby girl. She smiled at me and said, “I was hoping you’d be here. I wanted to thank you for saving Holly and me.”
She was walking. She was alive. She still had her leg. Her baby was healthy.
I burst into tears right there at the triage desk.
That day didn’t just save a patient — it saved my career. It reminded me why I was still here.
Every Christmas, she still sends me a photo of Holly. She’s growing fast, healthy, and full of life — a living reminder that trusting your instincts can change everything.
Sometimes, the universe gives you exactly the sign you need to keep going.
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Reading or sharing stories like this can sometimes stir up difficult feelings.
If you need support, help is available.Canada (finding emotional & mental health support):
Call 211 or visit https://211.ca/
(Connects you with local mental health, counselling, and support services.)Canada (crisis or emotional distress):
Call or text 988 (24/7)
(You don’t have to be suicidal to reach out — support is available for moments of overwhelm or distress.)Outside Canada:
Find local support at https://findahelpline.com/If you’re in immediate danger, please contact your local emergency services.
You’re not alone in what you’re feeling.
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The emotional impact of high-stakes care often extends well beyond the shift, particularly when care providers are left without closure or affirmation after difficult decisions.
Speaking up in moments of uncertainty can place care providers at personal, emotional, and professional risk, even when doing so protects patient safety.
Being believed, supported, or taken seriously in critical moments can shape not only patient outcomes, but a care provider’s sense of purpose and ability to remain in the profession without burning out.
Care providers carry deep, experience-based knowledge that is not always visible to others — especially when they are new to a team or role.