Hour Ten of a Twelve

Mrs. D. asked me to sit with her for a minute. It was hour ten of a twelve.

I said, "Of course, sweetheart." And I sat. And she started telling me about her husband, who'd passed in the spring, and how he used to whistle when he shaved.

And I don't remember the rest.

I was nodding. I was holding her hand. But I was so tired I was somewhere else entirely, just counting down to 7 a.m. When she finished, she squeezed my hand and said, "You're a good listener, honey."

I wasn't. I hadn't heard a word.

I drove home and cried in my car in the driveway, still in my scrubs, because that's not why I got into this.

I'm 52. I've been doing care work for 24 years, the last nine on nights. I started as an aide when my kids were little, went back to school at 35, and I've loved this work for most of every one of those years. My own mother was in a care facility at the end, and I remember the ones who really looked at her. Not the ones who did the tasks. The ones who were present.

I always wanted to be one of those.

Fog all the way down.

But somewhere in my late forties, the nights started costing more than I had.

The first half of a shift, I'm me. Laughing with the residents. Remembering who likes the blinds open and who wants the radio on. Then around 2 or 3 a.m., something drains out.

I'd catch myself doing everything right and feeling nothing. Answering a call light like a robot. Giving a short answer when someone just wanted company. Standing at the station staring at the screen, rereading the same line, fog all the way down.

And the people we care for can tell. They always can.

The night with Mrs. D. wasn't the only one. It was just the one that broke me open. Because I realized I'd been doing that for months. Being there but not there. Giving my patients the leftovers of me.

My daughter, who's 26, said to me over brunch one Saturday, "Mom, you look like you're disappearing." I laughed it off. Then I went to the restroom and looked in the mirror, and she was right.

I Tried Everything

So I did what every nurse and aide I know does. I tried to tough it out, and I tried everything.

Coffee from the breakroom pot that's been sitting since 11 p.m. By 3 a.m. it tasted like a tire and gave me heartburn, and I still faded. The energy drinks the younger girls drink. One can and I felt shaky and wired, then flat an hour later, and then lay awake all morning when I needed to sleep. Sugar from the vending machine. Peppermints. Splashing cold water. Walking the hall fast. Sitting down for two minutes, which is dangerous because then you don't want to get up.

The breakroom pot, sitting since 11 p.m.

$3.45

A COFFEE

• ✕Portable
• ✕No drink needed
• ✓0 g sugar
• ✓Caffeine per serving
• ✕Under $1 a serving
• ✓Flavored

$2.64

A CAN

• ✓Portable
• ✕No drink needed
• ✕0 g sugar
• ✓Caffeine per serving
• ✕Under $1 a serving
• ✓Flavored

Bottom line?

If that's you, I want to say this loud: it is not because you've stopped caring. You care so much it hurts. You're just asking your body to be at its best at an hour it was never designed for, and most of what's around us at 3 a.m. is sugar and stale coffee.

I found something that helped me through a coworker.

What Gloria Knew

Gloria is 55 and works the same unit. She has this calm way about her, even at 4 a.m. One night in the med room I saw her pull a tiny flat case out of her scrub pocket, peel off a little strip, and put it on her tongue.

I thought it was a breath strip, honestly. She laughed and said, "It's my 3 a.m. Gimme a sec and I'll explain."

Here's what she told me, in plain words.

With coffee or a can, you're drinking a lot of liquid, you're never sure exactly how much caffeine is in it, and it's often loaded with sugar. Plus, try carrying a hot cup through a shift. You can't. It sits in the breakroom getting cold while you're down the hall.

The strip is one small, measured amount. 50 milligrams of caffeine, about half a small coffee. And 50 milligrams of L-theanine, which is the compound naturally found in green tea, the one people say helps take the jittery edge off. No sugar. No drink. It melts on your tongue in about a minute. It fits in your scrub pocket next to your pen and your tape.

So instead of downing a giant cup at the start of shift and crashing at 3, you can take a little bit right when the fog usually rolls in.

Gloria, 55, in the med room.

The brand was 5TRIP. Cool Mint. She gave me a couple to try.

Now I'll be honest, because I can't stand ads that oversell.

It's not magic. It doesn't replace sleep, and I'm not telling anybody to skip their sleep or work longer. I still sleep days with the blackout curtains and a fan. And it obviously doesn't do my job for me.

The FirstNight

About 2:30, my first night.

My first night, I took one at about 2:30. Minty. No buzz, no shaky hands. What I noticed was that around 3:30, when I'd usually be in the fog, I could still follow a conversation. Small thing. Felt huge.

Mr. P. and a rooster named "Judge."

By the second week, I'd stopped buying the cans.

Now, a few months later, I use one around that 2 or 3 a.m. stretch most nights. I still drink a cup of coffee at the start of shift because I like it. I still have rough nights. But more often than not, I feel like I'm actually in the room again. That's my experience, and everyone's different, so check with your own doctor if you have questions about caffeine.

PEEL. PLACE. MELT.

1. PEELOpen one strip

2. PLACEOn your tongue

3. MELTGone in seconds

• Instant energy that dissolves in seconds
• 50mg caffeine + 50mg L-theanine
• Cool Mint, instant fresh breath
• 0g sugar, no water, no mixing
• Fits in your scrub pocket next to your pen and your tape

What Other Customers Are Saying

Over 10,000+ Americans have taken their first strip. [confirm]

Swipe →

That's theWhole Reason

A few weeks ago, Mr. P. started telling me about the farm he grew up on. Pigs, a mean rooster, a creek he wasn't allowed in. I heard every word. I asked him the rooster's name. It was "Judge." We both laughed.

That's the job. That's the whole reason.

We pass them around like we used to pass peppermints.

Half the night shift on my unit keeps one of those little cases in their pocket now. Nobody's pushing it. We just pass them around like we used to pass peppermints.

Next to my pen and my tape.

If you want to try it, they're giving out a free 4-pack. You only pay $3.99 shipping. That's four of your hardest nights to see how it feels for you.

I'll put the link below.

I'm not saying it'll change everything. I'm saying I almost let hour ten take away the reason I became a nurse.

I owed Mrs. D. a better listener than I was that night. I try to be that listener now, every shift.

Theresa K., 52