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Cheers and welcome to the S-BAR!

Cheers and welcome to The S-BAR!


SBAR is for those who live, work, study, love, or simply wonder about the world of healthcare. Invitation to all nurses, physicians, APNs, PAs, students, researchers, techs, caregivers, patients, family members, and anyone curious about what happens behind the scenes.

Here, you’ll find stories from the bedside and beyond. I will share reflections on nursing, clinical research, memory and aging, yoga, writing, grief, gratitude, burnout, healing, and the strange, beautiful business of being human. You are invited to share your stories as well.

Pull up a chair. Read, reflect, ask questions, share your own experiences, or simply listen for a while.

There is room for all of us here.

Welcome to SBAR.

Are We Out of Rhythm?

I often wonder if the mental health epidemic in our country is actually a pathology of the brain, or if some of it is a response to the socio-economic construct society has built around us.

Were we created to sit in offices all day? Commute in cars? Sit at desks under harsh, fluorescent lighting, working to make this paper that continues to feel like it is never enough because the cost of everything keeps increasing?

Then take healthcare.

Our healthcare system is becoming increasingly less accessible and less affordable. I tried to contact my provider’s office today to request an earlier appointment, and the call doesn’t even go to the office itself anymore. It went to some centralized Hackensack-Meridian vortex to someone clearly in a different time zone…

How is it that with all of our advances in technology, connection somehow feels more disconnected then ever?

And it isn’t just healthcare.

It feels like every foundational aspect of society; healthcare, education, government, the economy, community, the environment, infrastructure, has been stretched beyond its ability to function the way it was intended to.

Like a rubber band pulled too far. Maybe it snaps. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it simply loses its elasticity, quietly shrivels, and becomes something different. Something no longer able to function the way it once did.

And yet, when we begin to feel anxious, overwhelmed, exhausted, distracted, disconnected or depressed, we think something is wrong with us? Are we, in some ways, gaslighting ourselves?

Maybe nothing is “wrong.”

Maybe our brains are responding to the mass confusion and unsustainability of what we have collectively accepted as normal society.

I am not saying mental illness isn’t real. It is. Medication, therapy and psychiatric care can be lifesaving tools…

But I do wonder if we have become too quick to label every uncomfortable human response as internal pathology without also asking what is happening around the person experiencing it.

Maybe the pathology is not always entirely internal….

Go ahead and Google the happiest countries in the world. The United States ranks 23rd in the 2026 World Happiness Report. That alone should make us curious.

Have you ever heard of the village of Bakhta? It is a remote village in the Siberian taiga featured in the documentary Happy People: A Year in the Taiga. Life there does not seem easy. There is constant work, survival, brutal weather, animals, solitude and craftsmanship.

But while I was watching it, something stood out to me.

Everything has a rhythm.

The weather has a rhythm.
The work has a rhythm.
Survival has a rhythm….

People work with their hands. They prepare and repair. They move with the flow of the conditions around them. They use their human bodies and brains in ways our bodies and brains were built to be used.

And I can’t help but think…

We are out of rhythm.

We wake to alarms. Rush into cars. Sit in traffic. Sit under artificial lighting that makes me want to wear sunglasses indoors. Stare at screens…. Work in a hospital? You work 12 hr shifts with no proper lunch break and minimal support. Can’t even find a pillow or blanket for your ill patient despite working for a multimillion dollar healthcare system. Everyone around you is stretched just as thin, morale drops, patience disappears, and communication that should feel supportive inevitably has become toxic as baseline. Come home exhausted. Scroll some more. Worry about money. Worry about healthcare. Worry about the future…..

Then we lie awake wondering why our nervous systems won’t calm down. Maybe our brains are not failing us. Maybe they are responding.

Is our anxiety a signal? Is the exhaustion a signal?

Maybe we haven’t all suddenly become pathological.

Maybe we have simply become profoundly out of rhythm.

I don’t know…

Maybe we don’t need to fix every uncomfortable feeling within us. Maybe sometimes we just need to listen to what it is telling us about the world around us….

Because somewhere between the alarms, the traffic, the screens, the fluorescent lights, the constant striving and the constant worry, we may have forgotten something very basic:

We are human beings, not machines.

Maybe healing isn’t always about becoming better at tolerating the way we live. Maybe sometimes healing begins by finding our way back to a way of living that actually feels human.

Back to connection.

Back to nature….

Back to rhythm.

❤ KB

The Only Medicine I Need

Warm air.
Warm ocean.
A heart warmer still.

South wind lifts
the green flags
and sends the green flies
back toward the dunes.

At low tide,
the sea gives back
a sandbar.

Children ride the small waves
on boogie boards.
A lifeguard whistles.
Behind me,
the water boy rings his bells.

Suntan lotion.
Salt.
Warm skin.

Silver fish flicker
beneath the surface.
Dolphins rise,
then disappear
where blue meets blue.

Gulls circle overhead,
drift down to the sand,
then test the open bags
left unguarded.

I read a few pages
before the book closes
in my lap.

The waves come in,
go out,
come in again.

Without noticing,
my breath follows.

Ujjayi.

The ocean
the only medicine
I need.

Blue sky.
Bluer water.
White clouds.
Orange sun.

Warmth on my shoulders.
Wind against my skin.

Late August
asks almost nothing of me.

Just stay.

I cannot reach
the horizon. No one can.

The closer we move toward it,
the farther it moves away.

Maybe some things
are meant to stay
just beyond us.

I cannot see
what the gulls see
from above.

I do not know
where the shoreline bends
or what waits beyond it.

So today,
I let the ocean
keep some things from me.

I let the gulls
keep their view.

And I stay here,

trusting
what I cannot see.

❤ KB

Tele Health

“Tele Vision”

If you have followed the Lindsay Clancy case as obsessively as I have, I wonder what your thoughts are regarding telehealth…..

Access to healthcare has become progressively more challenging, and telehealth has undoubtedly helped bridge that gap. It provides access to people who otherwise may receive no care at all.

But when does virtual care become inappropriate?

As defense attorney Kevin Reddington has brought up multiple times, you cannot truly assess the physical body of someone through a “television.” (He’s like the Robert De Niro of attorneys, by the way.) And beneath the theatrics, he raises a legitimate question.

Through a screen, how much of a patient can we actually observe?

Typically, we see the face, head, neck and maybe the upper chest. We can a basic mental-status examination. But what about the rest of the objective assessment?

Are the patient’s pupils dilated or pinpoint? Are they sweating? Tremulous? Picking at their cuticles? Is a leg bouncing uncontrollably beneath the desk? What is their heart rate? Blood pressure? Respiratory rate? Are there physical findings suggesting medication effects, withdrawal, intoxication, severe anxiety or another condition requiring further evaluation?

What are their damn vital signs?

These observations cannot diagnose a psychiatric condition, but they can provide pieces of the clinical picture that simply aren’t available through a screen.

So perhaps the question isn’t whether telehealth is good or bad. Perhaps it’s when should telehealth become triage?

I believe there are circumstances in which concerning symptoms should trigger an in-person evaluation or higher level of care…..particularly when treating vulnerable or higher-risk populations. Suicide risk is not distributed equally across the population, and risk factors, symptoms, history and clinical presentation should matter when determining the appropriate level of assessment.

And if “television” is the only available access point, shouldn’t we be especially intentional about using evidence-based guidelines and validated screening tools to help identify risk?

Take the PHQ-9, for example. Many of us have completed it at a doctor’s appointment. It is a standardized and validated depression screening tool.

A depression screening tool.

It is not an anxiety screening tool.

That distinction caught my attention while watching the Clancy trial because postpartum anxiety was part of her clinical presentation.

Reddington also questioned the psychiatrist about the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale (EPDS), a standardized and validated 10-question screening instrument developed specifically for use during pregnancy and the postpartum period.

HER PSYCHIATRIST NEVER heard of it and testified that she did not use the EPDS.

That doesn’t automatically mean the care was wrong. The PHQ-9 itself is a legitimate screening instrument, and no questionnaire replaces a comprehensive psychiatric evaluation….

But it raises a larger question for me:

When providers are offering psychiatric care virtually, especially to someone presenting with significant postpartum anxiety, depression or suicidal thoughts, shouldn’t the limitations of the screen make comprehensive risk assessment even more important?

I have tried virtual talk therapy myself. After a couple of sessions, I noticed my therapist becoming distracted, possibly texting, with her grandson playing guitar in the background. I did enjoy the cat walking across the screen, though.

I digress.

Another theme from this trial that I cannot stop thinking about is the discussion surrounding suicidal thoughts and whether someone was considered an emergency because they did or did not have a specific plan.

A suicide assessment is more nuanced than a single question:

“Do you have a plan?”

Having a plan certainly matters. But so does intent, access to means, previous attempts, escalating symptoms, psychiatric history, protective factors, medication changes, agitation, hopelessness, RISK FACTORS?

Telehealth can be an extraordinary access point. It can connect people with clinicians when geography, transportation, childcare, staffing shortages or countless other barriers might otherwise leave them with nothing.

But sometimes an access point needs to become a triage point.

Please don’t interpret any of this as me assigning blame to one individual. These are questions and thoughts I have had while watching this case unfold.

As both a mother and a healthcare provider, I have tremendous empathy for everyone affected by this tragedy, most especially three beautiful children who were its ultimate victims.

I will continue following along with the rest of the online “TikTok jurors.”

But beyond whatever verdict ultimately comes from this courtroom, I hope this case forces a much larger conversation:

How do we make mental healthcare more accessible without allowing convenience to replace comprehensive care?

Because access matters.

And so does knowing when a screen is no longer enough….

XOXO @kbyoganp

Equanimity

A calm acceptance
not the stillness of a doormat,
but the quiet of trust.

An openness to change,
not only the changes we expect
like the seasons.

Leaves turning,
tides pulling from shore,

but the ones that arrive
without asking.

A recognition of what is:
gain and loss,
pleasure and pain,
status and disgrace,
censure and praise.

The tides come in
The tides go out
Neither asks me
who I am.

A steady mind
aware of the feeling
without becoming its meaning.

I am learning
I do not have to become
every storm
that passes through me.

Weather is impermanent.

Beyond it,
behind it,
holding all of it….

the sky.

and the sky is I.

Equanimity.

I Have Decided to Resign From Nursing, Again…

Again? One may ask.

Yes. Again.

The first time I resigned from ER nursing was during the COVID pandemic.

However, it wasn’t because of the bipolar hellfire that was emergency nursing during COVID. It was because I had finally met all the requirements to become an FNP.

I punched out on 12/11/2020 and started my first FNP position on 1/4/2021.

To describe what the years, months, and days between then and today have been like would be difficult to put into words.

Instead, imagine an abstract painting.

Harsh colors. A few smooth lines, but mostly jagged ones. Splashes of literal blood, sweat, and lots of tears.

Not tears of joy.

And right when I felt like I was about to drown in the dark oceans of this career path, another chance would find me.

Still, when the colors of being an FNP turned gray, I pivoted back to ER nursing.

Why not pivot back to something that was what and who I had identified as for so long?

Why not get back on the ol’ bike?

Well, I did.

And I have no regrets.

Nursing invited me back as if I were returning home….. to the controlled chaos I knew so well.

After some time, though, I recognized that I just wasn’t wired for the chaos the way I once was.

I still enjoyed the hustle. The fast pace. The camaraderie – which I LOVE.

(I’m such a nurse.)

But I also knew I had to find an FNP job that fit.

So I tried many on for size: outpatient, hospitalist, veteran disability exams…

But I still couldn’t give up ER nursing.

People often describe emergency nursing, somewhat unoriginally, as being “in your blood.”

Maybe it is.

So I went per diem.

And for a while, it was perfect.

I could still show up for my team – and for myself – but on my own terms. If I had a bad shift, I had plenty of time to recover.

And honestly, I didn’t often have bad shifts.

RMC ER is a special place.

Some of the kindest people I have ever known work there. Every hospital has a culture, and I can personally say the ER culture there is gold. It is increasingly rare to find that small community ER feeling in the era of giant corporate mergers and the relentless pace of New Jersey healthcare.

So why did I resign today?

Space.

With a new hard requirement that per-diem staff work one weekend every month, I started to feel that pressure again.

Paint splashing onto that canvas again.

I need space.

Weekends become precious when you work full time. Sheesh, I can barely maintain my house and yard while finding room for hobbies, self-care, travel, the people I love… and sometimes doing absolutely nothing.

And doing absolutely nothing deserves space, too.

The requirement to give up one weekend every month was simply the wind that finally blew me off the cliff.

The brushstroke that signed the canvas.

The recognition that NOT ONLY am I no longer wired for chaos…..

I have been rewired to require more space.

Maybe resigning from nursing again doesn’t mean I’ve rejected nursing.

Maybe it means I finally understand what all those years of nursing gave me.

I don’t have to keep clocking into an ER to prove that I am a nurse.

Those years are already in me.

The instincts. The stories. The people. The blood. The sweat. The tears. The dark humor. The camaraderie. The ability to walk into controlled chaos and somehow know where I belong.

I get to take all of that with me.

Thank you, RMC

XO KB

Anotha one

“Anotha One”

I still pick up the occasional ER nursing shift to maintain my per-diem status for funzies. Well, fun is probably an overstatement these days, but I genuinely enjoy the people I work with. The emergency department sits in one of the most charming waterfront towns in New Jersey, and after working in several hospitals over the past two decades, I’ve learned that every ER develops its own culture. That culture often reflects the community it serves.

One thing, however, is universal: patients struggling with opioid dependence or seeking opioids can be found in every emergency department.

Early in my career, these encounters frustrated me. Now they mostly make me sad. What kind of life is it when your days revolve around returning to the same emergency department, hoping that this time someone will order morphine, or, as many patients have phrased it over the years, “the one that starts with a D”….

Over the years, I’ve also watched emergency medicine evolve. Providers have become much more thoughtful about opioid prescribing and far more comfortable setting boundaries. Yet consistency matters. If even ONE provider repeatedly reinforces the behavior by prescribing opioids when they are not clinically indicated, patients quickly learn who is most likely to say yes and often return asking for that person by name….

One evening, EMS transported in a young man via stretcher and immediately recognized that I was an unfamiliar face. The EMT as well as several experienced nurses quietly prepared me of what I might be walking into. He was well known to the department. He lived nearby, frequently requested specific providers, was known to name drop a specific hospital leader, and on previous visits had become loud and aggressive enough to require security.

When I introduced myself, he barely opened his eyes. Curled onto his left side, clutching an emesis bag, he described a long and complicated medical history involving persistent abdominal pain and multiple gastrointestinal and vascular evaluations. He explained that specialists had sent him from one office to another without answers. His frustration seemed genuine.

His chart revealed repeated emergency department visits over the preceding weeks. Each visit had included complete work-up with repeat labs and CT scans of the abdomen and pelvis. Again and again, the results were reassuring. No acute surgical process. No obstruction. No perforation. No explanation for the severity of his symptoms.

As I reviewed his imaging history, I couldn’t help but wonder whether anyone had ever talked with him about cumulative radiation exposure. Repeating CT scans can absolutely be necessary, but they are not without consequence. The difficult question for many ER providers isn’t simply whether to order another scan. It is whether we could safely avoid one without overlooking the rare visit when a familiar patient truly has developed a new and significant pathology… you remember the story of the boy who called wolf.

Cases like this remind me just how difficult emergency medicine can be. Deciding not to order another CT scan is often much harder than ordering one. We constantly balance the possibility of missing an evolving, life-threatening condition against the very real harms of repeated imaging, unnecessary radiation exposure, incidental findings, and low-value care.

I was proud of the physician assistant caring for this patient. From the outset, expectations were set respectfully but clearly. Opioids would not be prescribed. His vital signs were stable, labs were reassuring, and he had undergone another CT scan just three days earlier without acute findings. Based on the available clinical evidence, there was no indication to repeat the imaging and again expose this young man of more radiation that will put him at higher and higher risk of developing cancer!

The response was predictable. His volume increased with profanities, threats, and name dropping. Security was called once again not because we had failed to provide care, but because the discharge had become verbally abusive. He was again encouraged to continue following with his specialists and to establish care with pain management, where chronic pain can be evaluated and treated in a setting designed for ongoing management rather than emergency stabilization.

As I reflected on the encounter, one thought lingered: perhaps he returned because of inconsistency. On a previous visit, another provider had prescribed morphine. This visit was different. In healthcare, mixed messages can unintentionally reinforce repeated emergency department utilization, making future encounters even more difficult for everyone involved.

It’s tough. Clinician impressions of “drug-seeking behavior” may lead to bias and may actually represent undertreated pain, opioid withdrawal, or another unmet medical need. Patients DO deserve compassionate, evidence-based assessments…not assumptions..

At the same time, compassion does not mean abandoning clinical judgment. Emergency clinicians should avoid allowing assumptions about drug-seeking behavior to replace thoughtful decision-making. Every patient deserves to have their pain acknowledged and an appropriate evaluation performed.

The challenge is balancing the risk of missing significant pathology when repeated presentations are dismissed with the harms of unnecessary CT imaging and cumulative radiation exposure. Sometimes the hardest decision in emergency medicine isn’t deciding what to do. It’s deciding what not to do…

That decision isn’t always easy. The fear of missing a diagnosis – and the potential liability that follows – can keep providers awake at night. Defensive medicine, or as we call it “CYA” (cover your ass) medicine is real, and ordering “just one more CT” is often the path of least resistance…

But this night, the right decision wasn’t the easy decision.

As he walked out of the emergency department yelling, cursing, and threatening us with yet another name drop, I couldn’t help but think…

Anotha one.

scANxiety

After registering and receiving my ID bracelet, which is lazily placed obnoxiously loose, I find myself in a waiting room full of elderly people requiring wheelchairs, oxygen, and assistance from family members. I silently pray that I one day reach such an age. Other than a bizarre head and neck cancer that was surgically excised three and a half years ago, I’ve been remarkably healthy. I arrive early and anticipate a wait. I brought the novel Rick Moody suggested, despite the fact that I almost never read fiction. Still, I’m always willing to try new things. I glance around the room and find it amusing that I am both the youngest person here and the only one not looking at a phone. 

Three pages later, my name is called.That was quick.A nice gentleman in blue scrubs – about 5’8”, blue eyes, gray hair, still youngish-looking, greets me with an easy smile and leads me back. As we weave through the maze of hallways in a hospital that was once so familiar to me, I ask if I can stop at the restroom.“Sure,” he says. “It’s right here. Take your time.”“baby bladder”, I say. When I emerge, he’s holding my identification stickers.“I couldn’t help but notice,” he says, glancing at my date of birth, “you don’t look 47 one bit.”I laugh.“Thanks.”“I probably shouldn’t be saying that.” He says“No,” I say giggling. “It’s fine. You can say it all you want” We arrive at the mobile MRI trailer outside the hospital. This is where I always have my scans. I like consistency. Same machine. Same location. Same radiology group reading the images.

Below my right ear the MRI tech places a sticky “tag” with a marker to identify the site of my previous surgery to remove the cancer. I lie flat and look up at the ceiling panels above me: a light blue sky with puffy clouds and flowering trees bursting with pink and red blossoms.It looks remarkably similar to the day outside…..86 degrees. Sunny. A light breeze….Perfection. 

The MRI technologist is kind and reassuring. He explains that I’ll need an IV for contrast. A blue tourniquet is placed around my left arm. Not nearly as tight as I know it needs to be.“just a little bite”, he states…The 22 gauge needle pierces the sensitive skin of my left antecubital fossa. Sharp teeth, I thought.“Sorry,” he says as he advances a little deeper.Then I hear the familiar snap of the needle retracting.I glance toward the catheter. No blood return…“I have to take it out. I’m sorry.“It’s okay,” I say. “This happens all the time. Nobody ever gets me on the first stick.”Maybe I should stop manifesting that to the universe.“Where do they usually get you?” he asks. This isn’t usual… I think to myself. I point to my right arm.“I just had bloodwork there yesterday. She said it was a good vein. Just a little deep.”Another tourniquet. Still not tight enough.“Here we go.”Another little bite. This time the needle enters my right arm. I wait for something encouraging. Instead he immediately withdraws.“I’m bailing,” he says.Then he adds, “I need reinforcement.“Reinforcement?” My supervisor.”I anxiously laugh, “Your supervisor does IVs?” In my experience, supervisors are people who no longer get their hands dirty. A few moments later an energetic man appears.“You didn’t bring your good veins today,” he says with a huge smile.“I don’t HAVE good veins to bring.” I respond.He studies both arms. An uncapped saline flush that was resting on my blanket rolls onto the table my right arm rests on. I kindly, yet nervously ask him to please not use that on me. He picks it up, analyzing it while rotating it left and right, likely annoyed. “Ah, no cap, he says, that’s the problem”. Quickly replacing it. Then he warns me.“My tourniquet is going to be exceptionally tight.” The blue rubber tourniquet practically disappears into my upper arm. He reinforces it with a second one 5-6 inches below on my forearm and examines both my antecubital veins and the veins on the back of my hand.“Ah the ol double tourniquet”, I say. ”Here we go” He says, Stab, into the same right antecubital area. Nothing. Out it comes. “The hand looks good,” he says.I look and agree. I don’t need a power injector for this scan. The hand should work just fine. I wish they’d started there from the beginning. Finally, 4 sticks later, I can breathe. The sensation of the cool saline flush travels up my arm, into my chest, and somehow into the blood vessels of my tongue. I can taste it. That means it’s in. I look up. MRI tech on left and supervisor on right they each take an earplug and shoving them into respected ears. Finally, a cage-like enclosures is placed over my face and I am slowly transported into the tunnel. The MRI begins. The sounds are bizarre and oddly musical, like the opening sequence of a Pink Floyd song.

Beep.Beep.Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick. Rrrr. Rrrr. Rrrr. Soon my brain begins composing its own soundtrack.Ba ba ba ba ba. Bang. Bang. Bang….”Onomatopoeia!” I think to myself…I wish he hadn’t just warned me not to swallow or cough during the scan. My mouth begins to accumulate with my own saliva…Forty-five minutes later, the test is complete.The tech walks me toward the exit and gives me directions even though I worked at this hospital for more than fifteen years.“Thank you,” I say anyway. I step outside into the warm, June sunshine. The MRI is over. Now comes the hardest part, stage two of scanxiety.  The what ifs. The waiting. The checking of email. The refreshing of patient portals. The bargaining. The worry. The rabbit holes. Until the moment the future becomes the present and uncertainty has a name……

Why Are Our New Nurses Burning Out So Quickly?

Lately, I’ve met several young nurses who are already burnt out, and honestly, it makes me sad.

They invested so much to get here. Years of prerequisites. Nursing school. Studying. Tears. Semester after semester. Clinicals. Externships. Preceptorships. Residencies. Countless exams. Sacrificed weekends. Missed holidays. Anxiety. Self-doubt. Finally earning those two letters after their names! RN!

And then, after hanging in there for only a year or two, some are already wondering if they made a mistake.

They’re exhausted and questioning whether they can do this for another thirty years.

Some are leaving the bedside to explore case management positions and some wondering if they should even renew their licenses.

Why is this happening?

Why is it the culture?

Are nurses still “eating their young,” or are experienced nurses simply struggling under the weight of impossible workloads themselves?

Is it chronic understaffing? 12 hr shifts that routinely become 14? Missed meals? Moral distress? Documentation demands? Feeling unsupported? Being expected to give endlessly while having very little left to give?

I don’t pretend to have the answers, but I have almost 20 years of experience and have witnessed….

I do wonder what healthcare would look like if we truly prioritized the wellbeing of the people caring for everyone else.

Could we mentor more intentionally?
Normalize asking for help?
Protect and prioritize breaks?
Dare I say, Improve staffing?
Speak kinder and more professionally to one another?

We wish to be viewed as professional, yet we are our own worst enemies at times….

Unit vs unit… what happened to a “walk in my shoes” experience that all nurses should attend, and not just once.

I don’t know….
but I’d love to hear your thoughts…

And are we willing to admit that some parts of the system have been unsustainable for a long time? And WHY HAVE WE BEEN SILENT?

The S-BAR

Cheers! ☕🍵🍷🥂 (Coffee, tea, cocktails…whatever suits you.)

Welcome to the SBAR – a virtual huddle where we can talk through the big things, the little things, and everything in between, all from the comfort of our own homes and perhaps with a favorite beverage in hand.

Read, reflect, ask questions, share your experiences, or simply listen for a while. There is room for all of us here.

Thank you for stopping by.

This bar is open 24/7.

This is me!