14/10/2025
They Told Me I Was ‘Just a Nurse’ — Until They Were Dying.”
They laughed when I said I wanted to be a nurse.
“Why not be a doctor?” they asked.
As if healing was only valid when it came with a title.
As if compassion had a hierarchy.
They called me “just a nurse” —
Until their world fell apart.
Until the bleeding wouldn’t stop.
Until the fever spiked at 3 a.m.
Until their mother couldn’t breathe.
Until their child flatlined.
Suddenly, “just a nurse” was the only one holding it all together.
The one catching what the labs missed.
The one noticing the subtle change before the crash.
The one standing at the bedside when no one else came.
The one they clung to when the doctor left the room.
They call us angels in scrubs —
But not when we demand fair pay.
They call us heroes —
But not when we speak out about unsafe ratios.
They call us essential —
But not when we collapse from burnout, unheard.
The truth?
We’re not “just” anything.
We are the pulse.
The presence.
The ones who sit with the dying and fight for the living.
We are the ones they remember when everything else fades.
So the next time someone says, “just a nurse,”
Smile.
Because deep down — they know better.
They just hope we don’t.
But we do.
And we’re done being silent.
