When oncology nurses tell people what they do, they often hear, “Oh, that must be so depressing!” Or, “I could never do something so depressing!”

® asked readers to share their answers, and not surprisingly, they were as inspiring as the nurses themselves. Respondents have an easy time ignoring the “depressing” comment because they genuinely find their work to be the very opposite— inspiring and deeply rewarding. Embedded in many a nurse’s response is faith that the job’s highs and lows will balance out and that both scenarios offer the chance to serve patients.

“I always thought that I would never want to be a ‘cancer’ nurse because ‘everyone’ dies. Well, no matter what area of nursing you are in, everyone does eventually die,” writes Beverly Trayer, RN, OCN, of Vidant Edgecomb Hospital, Tarboro, North Carolina, on Facebook. “I celebrate with them when they graduate from their chemotherapy regimens, and I am empathetic when they have a [recurrence]. It is a privilege to be a part of their lives during one of the most difficult times.”

Some nurses say they point out that advances in cancer care mean most of their patients aren’t terminal. Others, however, don’t bother justifying their career choice.

“For years, I offered a brief detailed response of the strides we’re making in the field. Now I just say, “It’s what I was born to do. It’s where I belong,” writes Michele Daddario, BSN, OCN, RN, on Facebook. Daddario works at Holy Name Medical Center Teaneck, New Jersey, and Chilton Medical Center, Pompton Plains, New Jersey.

Donna Clark, RN, BSN, OCN, clinic nurse at Mitchell Cancer Institute in Fairhope, Alabama, reports via Facebook that she’s come up with an answer that ends that line of questioning. “When queried if I find oncology nursing depressing, I reply back a quick ‘No.’ My path to a 32-year career as an oncology nurse started as a youngster when God deep-rooted it into my soul. Oncology nursing chose me.”

Some nurses say they have fine-tuned their responses over the years.

“At first I found it hard to know how to respond—how to explain something that I did not yet understand myself,” says Kate Wakelin, BS, RN, a nurse from Australia who has a graduate degree in psycho-oncology. “I struggled with guilt that my patients were so ill, and yet here I was, lucky enough to draw the ‘healthy’ straw. Over time, I’ve realized that guilt does not help my patients, and just disables me from being able to work effectively. I’ve learned instead to become deeply grateful for what I have, and for the constant reminders that my patients provide to live every day to the [fullest] (as corny as that sounds)!”

Nurses cite the very challenge of helping patients face cancer as the factor that makes their job especially rewarding: They know their patients are fighting for their lives, and they feel honored to be alongside them precisely when the stakes are so high.

“Yes, sometimes there are tears—sometimes happy tears and sometimes sad tears...but the reality that I could make a difference during some of the most crucial moments in a patient’s life is humbling and an absolute honor,” oncology nurse navigator Kim Coy, RN, OCN, Columbus Regional Health, Columbus, Indiana, comments on Facebook.

Some nurses say they find it helpful to consider the motive behind that awkward question. When people think about cancer, they may be recalling the painful emotions they felt dealing with a friend or family member’s cancer, suggested Wakelin. “It’s hard for them to imagine how it might be for someone to actually work in this field and how that could be different from their own personal experience.”

That is not to say the job can’t take an emotional toll. Oncology nurses are at higher risk for depression.

“Yes, it is depressing,” Marlon Garzo Saria, PhD, RN, AOCNS, FAAN, said in an email interview with Oncology Nursing News®. Saria is an oncology clinical nurse specialist and nurse scientist for the Inpatient Oncology and Caritas concierge suites at Providence Saint John’s Health Center, Santa Monica, California. “But when you see the bigger picture, you see resilience...and strength...and hope...and family...and friends...and love...and acceptance...and peace.”

Perhaps what sets oncology nurses apart from their questioners is a deep belief that shepherding a patient to a peaceful death isn’t a failure. Death doesn’t render their contribution worthless.

Krystal Johnson, RN, of Jefferson Hospital, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, posts on Instagram, “Even in end of life, being able to help someone who is suffering become comfortable and pass peacefully is far from depressing!”

Jenny Roberts, CNA, who is working toward a bachelor of science in nursing with a focus on oncology at Lane Community College, Eugene, Oregon, expresses similar sentiments on Instagram. “Those exiting this world deserve just as much love, support, and caring hands as those entering and remaining in it,” she said.

1. Wu S, Singh-Carlson S, Odell A, Reynolds G, Su Y. Compassion fatigue, burnout, and compassion satisfaction among oncology nurses in the United States and Canada. ONF. 2016;43(4):E161-E169. doi: 10.1188/16.ONF.E161-E169.

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Some nurses share how they handle such remarks.

Tired of Hearing People Say an Oncology Nurse's Job Is Depressing?

Nurses from the Santa Monica UCLA Oncology Unit who helped a patient say a special goodbye to his daughter.

"Tell me what you want the next couple of weeks to look like.”

That’s the deceptively simple request that Patricia Jakel, MN, RN, AOCN, uses to unlock the deepest yearnings of terminal patients. Jakel, an oncology nurse, works at the Solid Tumor Program at the University of California, Los Angeles, Medical Center in Santa Monica.

Juan,* a 37-year-old construction worker, had been in and out of Jakel’s unit for months, receiving treatment for testicular cancer that included tandem stem cell transplants followed by chemotherapy.

Then, just a week before Christmas, he was readmitted with lung metastases. As he held Jakel’s hand, he asked if she knew how much time he had left.

“I know it’s not months,” she remembers telling him. That’s when she asked what he’d like to do in his final weeks. Patients sometimes want help writing a letter or creating a video for their loved ones. They may want to go outside, taste a favorite food, or witness a family milestone such as a birthday.

But not Juan. His wish list had just 1 item, and it was for his 6-year-old daughter, Sofia*: “I want to take her to 

Neither Juan nor Sofia had ever experienced snow up close.

Wiping away her tears, she left his bedside to relay the request to Jason Kulangara, MBA, MSN, RN, the Solid Oncology Unit director. His immediate response: “We’ll make it happen.” They started lining up tickets and arranging for a 90-minute ambulance ride to Honda Center, the ice rink hosting the Disney show in Anaheim, California.

Word quickly spread around the unit, and staffers began contacting Jakel about donating funds for the trip. Jakel’s mind raced to add other nice touches to the plan: She would find a costume store that was open late and get Sofia a princess costume, as well.

When Jakel returned to work the next morning, however, all those plans came crashing down. Juan’s condition had plummeted overnight. He’d gone from needing oxygen to being on 100% high-flow oxygen.

wasn’t going to happen. He was heartbroken,” Kulangara says. “He kept pushing it. I don’t think he understood: There was no ambulance company that would take him. The doctors thought he would never make it. He would probably die at 

Then Jakel voiced a seemingly preposterous alternative: “I said, ‘Could we get snow here?’” she recalls. “And we all chuckled.”

Yet, no sooner had those words been uttered than the joke instantly blossomed into Plan B.

Kulangara found a local ice company with a snowmaking machine that could chip 10 tons of ice into instant “snow.” The hospital’s chief exec&shy;utive officer agreed to foot the $650 bill. The folks in security helped figure out truck access to an outdoor patio.

Juan was told of the plan and asked if he’d like some of Sofia’s young cousins to attend, too, so she’d have playmates in the snow. He said no, he wanted it to be just for Sofia and their family.

All the while, the staff knew the clock was ticking. Juan had been admitted to the hospital on a Sunday and went precipitously downhill that Tuesday, and the event was scheduled for Thursday, just 4 days before Christmas.

The magical day began with a friend of Jakel’s daughter showing up dressed as Elsa, the heroine of the movie 

. The normally talkative Sofia, who had been staying at the hospital round-the-clock with her mother, was tongue-tied with awe.

Next, Juan—dressed in a Santa Claus suit and with his oxygen tank and respiratory therapist at his side&mdash;was wheeled into a small courtyard to show his daughter the day’s second surprise: On a sunny day in Southern California, with the temperature a balmy 61°F, a giant mound of snow stood before her.

Staffers played in the snow with her, and those who grew up in colder climates taught the others how to make snowballs. Nurses who were off that day showed up at the hospital anyway, as did some who’d worked the previous night shift.

The next day, Friday, Sofia and her aunt attended 

, with tickets provided by the hospital staff. That Monday—Christmas&mdash;as Sofia was home, awaiting the arrival of Santa, Juan died.

The whirlwind effort to fulfill a patient’s last wish was a restorative source of pride for the nursing staff, Kulangara says, noting that he has witnessed similar situations: “They jump on these opportunities to celebrate someone or to give them a positive experience.”

Although such efforts are geared toward the patient, the emotional benefits ripple out to touch the staff, too, Jakel says. “Last month we had 9 patients die and 20 sent home to hospice, and obviously that can affect the nurses,” she says. “That’s not sustainable for a lot of young nurses.” Impromptu events like Juan’s Snow Day help them recharge their batteries.

“We focus a lot on the medical side, but focus on the holistic side, the spiritual side, is important, too,” Kulangara says. “There’s a lot of sadness on this unit, but these little victories add meaning to what these people do.”

Nurses rally to grant their terminal patient his wish for his daughter to see snow.

Kathleen O'Brien

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Tired of Hearing People Say an Oncology Nurse's Job Is Depressing?

Bringing Snow to Santa Monica - Nurses Help Grant a Patient's Last Wish