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- Article tag: Cultura Medica
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As part of our "We don't talk about work, we talk about the heart" initiative, several nurses and healthcare professionals have written to us this week sharing moments they rarely speak of out loud.
Some messages are warm.
Others are simply honest.
Today we share one that reflects something very common, but rarely talked about: the real exhaustion of a night shift.
(Name withheld for privacy)
I've been working at a public hospital in Mexico for six years. I'm used to long shifts, or at least I thought I was.
I arrived at 7:00 pm. That night, one of my colleagues was absent. There were fewer of us for the same old thing.
More patients.
More calls.
More steps down the same corridor.
The hospital has a different rhythm at night. The lights seem colder. The silence is heavier. Even the monitors sound different.
By 10:30 pm I already felt my body stiff.
At 1:00 am my legs were hurting.
At 3:00 am, the tiredness was no longer just physical.
I went to get coffee around three o'clock. I left it on the nurses' table and came back quickly because a patient needed help.
Then I went into the medicine room to prepare for what was next.
And then something small happened.
I stood there for a few seconds, unable to remember what I had come to look for.
It wasn't anything serious. I didn't forget a procedure. I didn't make a mistake. It was just a brief lapse.
I looked at the tray. I looked at the list. I looked at my hands.
And I thought, “Focus.”
Within seconds I reacted and continued working as usual. Everything turned out fine.
But that moment left me uneasy.
Because I understood that I wasn't just tired.
I was exhausted.
There's a point in the night shift where the body keeps going, but the mind starts to slow down.
One becomes more sensitive. Quieter. More introspective.
Questions begin to arise that don't normally come up during the day:
"How much longer can I do this?"
"Is it normal to feel this drained?"
“Does anyone out there understand what it’s like to work while everyone else sleeps?”
I don't say it at home.
I don't say it in the hospital.
But at three in the morning, those thoughts exist.
Around 5:40 am, when a little light was starting to come in through a window in the hallway, I went to check on an elderly patient.
I was awake.
When I finished arranging it, he said to me:
—Thank you for not leaving me alone tonight.
Nothing else.
It wasn't an emotional speech. It wasn't a dramatic scene.
But at that moment I felt the shift lose a little weight.
Yes, I was exhausted.
Yes, I wanted to be in my bed.
Yes, my legs felt tense and my back stiff.
But someone didn't feel alone.
And I suppose that counts for something.
I'm not going to say that that phrase changed everything.
The next day I slept only a few hours and the tiredness was still there.
But I understood something simple:
Sometimes we don't follow inspiration.
We continue for small moments that make the shift not just exhausting.
If you work nights in a hospital, you probably understand this without needing explanations.
This week we're sharing real stories from healthcare workers in Mexico: heartwarming moments, difficult moments, and thoughts that are almost never spoken aloud.
If you want to share your experience —a moment that sustained you or one you needed to vent— you can participate in our special activity.
Some stories will be selected (anonymously) to appear on our blog and social media.
We know that long shifts cannot be solved with words.
But we want to leave one detail for those who are experiencing these days:
Code: FB50
Discount: 50 MXN with no minimum purchase
Valid until: February 22, 11:59 PM (Mexico time)
You can use it directly in our online store.
Thank you for being there even when the clock moves slower than normal.