September 24, 2013 | Team Conjuring, Unexpected Friendships, and the Strange Magic of Finding Your People

I have a theory that the most dangerous thing about becoming friends with a group of wonderfully ridiculous people is that they eventually make ordinary days impossible to forget. You begin with perfectly respectable intentions. You want to gain professional experience, improve your nursing skills, learn from different hospital departments, and become a more competent Registered Nurse. Everything sounds sensible, organised, and appropriately ambitious. Then, somewhere between the duty schedules, hospital corridors, shared complaints, and conversations that have absolutely nothing to do with nursing, you discover a collection of people who can make you laugh at the most inconvenient moments. Suddenly, your carefully planned professional experience has acquired an entirely different curriculum. Congratulations! You came to learn nursing, but apparently you have also enrolled in an unexpected course on friendship, patience, and dealing with personalities as unpredictable as the weather.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I would like to introduce my favourite group of people: Team Conjuring.

Yes, Team Conjuring. I realise that the name sounds suspiciously like an organisation devoted to supernatural activities rather than a group of nurses undergoing hospital training. Perhaps somebody unfamiliar with us might imagine that we spend our free time summoning mysterious spirits or investigating unexplained noises in abandoned buildings. Fortunately, our activities are considerably more ordinary, although I cannot guarantee that our conversations always make sense to innocent bystanders. We are simply a group of friends who somehow found one another during our three months of hospital experience, and somewhere along the way, we became much more than people who happened to share a duty schedule.

Today is our recognition day, and I am beginning to understand why happy occasions sometimes arrive accompanied by an unreasonable amount of sadness. For weeks, we have been anticipating this date, discussing the approaching celebration and looking forward to recognising the experiences we have gained. It should be an entirely cheerful occasion. We have completed three months of learning, adjusting to different hospital departments, meeting healthcare professionals, and facing the demands of nursing practice. We have every reason to be proud of reaching this milestone. Yet as I think about the people who have become part of my everyday life, I find myself wishing that the calendar might reconsider its decision to move forward quite so enthusiastically.

Three months. That is all it took.

I remember arriving at the hospital in June, still adjusting to the idea of returning to regular clinical practice after spending approximately a year and a half away from the profession. I was excited, naturally, but there was also a certain nervousness about entering an unfamiliar environment. I had already earned my nursing licence, yet I knew there were many things I needed to review and understand. The hospital had different departments to explore, new procedures to become familiar with, and an entire collection of people whose names and personalities I had not yet learned. My attention was directed towards becoming more confident in my nursing responsibilities, and I had no particular expectation that the experience would also introduce friendships I would eventually become reluctant to leave.

During our orientation, I met nurses from different parts of the Philippines. We had different backgrounds, experiences, and ways of expressing ourselves, yet we shared the same desire to develop professionally. At first, most of our conversations were naturally connected to the hospital. We talked about assignments, schedules, clinical areas, and the unfamiliar responsibilities waiting ahead. There were introductions, polite exchanges, and the slightly awkward business of becoming acquainted with people whose company would soon become part of our daily routine. I suppose none of us could have known exactly how our relationships would develop, although I suspect the possibility of friendship was already present in those earliest conversations.

As the weeks passed, something changed. The formal introductions gradually disappeared, replaced by familiar voices, spontaneous conversations, and jokes that became funnier precisely because we had begun to understand one another’s personalities. We no longer needed an elaborate reason to talk. A simple comment could become a lengthy conversation, and an ordinary gathering could turn into an afternoon of unexpected entertainment. Somewhere between our hospital responsibilities and the hours spent outside duty, we became comfortable enough to reveal the less polished versions of ourselves. I think that is when friendship begins to feel genuine: when people no longer seem concerned with making a perfect first impression and become willing to show their ordinary, occasionally ridiculous personalities instead.

What I appreciate about Team Conjuring is that our friendship developed alongside our professional experiences. We were all learning, adjusting, and discovering what it meant to practise nursing beyond the familiar structure of university. Some days were exciting, particularly when we encountered clinical situations that helped us understand concepts we had previously studied only in textbooks. Other days were physically tiring, and I suspect there were occasions when all of us would have preferred another hour of sleep. Yet having familiar people around made the experience more enjoyable. Even when our assignments took us to different areas, there was comfort in knowing that we belonged to the same batch and shared an understanding of the demands of our training.

I have learned a great deal about nursing during these three months. The Emergency Room reminded me of the importance of observation, assessment, and prioritisation. Intensive care introduced me to the responsibilities involved in closely monitoring critically ill patients. The Operating Room taught me about surgical procedures, professional communication, patient dignity, and the extraordinary strength required to remain standing beneath a heavy lead apron. Each rotation contributed something different to my clinical understanding, and I am grateful for the opportunities I received. But when I look back on this period, I realise that not all the lessons came from patients, procedures, or experienced members of the hospital staff. Some came from the people who were learning alongside me.

Friendship, I am discovering, has an educational value that nobody bothered to include in our nursing curriculum. There are no formal examinations on learning to understand another person’s personality, no return demonstrations on compromising when opinions differ, and certainly no written assessment on how to remain patient when somebody insists upon being particularly stubborn. Yet these are skills we practise constantly when we become close to other people. We learn when to speak, when to listen, when to offer encouragement, and when to recognise that somebody may need a little space. We discover that humour can make difficult days easier, but we also learn that not every situation requires a joke. Sometimes friendship involves understanding the difference.

I think Team Conjuring has helped me develop in ways I did not expect. I have become more aware of how differently people think, react, and approach ordinary situations. We may enjoy one another’s company, but that does not mean we share identical opinions or personalities. There are moments when one person is more enthusiastic, another is more cautious, and somebody else appears to have appointed themselves the unofficial commentator on everybody’s decisions. Somehow, we manage to get along. Perhaps not because we agree about everything, but because the differences themselves have become part of what makes our group interesting.

I still laugh when I remember our movie-house adventure after the batch meeting in August. Five of us wanted to watch a horror film, while one friend made it very clear that she had absolutely no interest in being frightened for entertainment. By the ordinary rules of democracy, the majority should probably have prevailed. Unfortunately, our group apparently operates according to a more complicated constitution. We eventually abandoned the horror-film plan and watched Seven Psychopaths instead, which I continue to consider one of the most wonderfully ironic compromises imaginable. Six friends, seven psychopaths, and one successful objection to watching horror. If that does not demonstrate the peculiar beauty of friendship, I am not sure what does.

What I remember most about that afternoon is not even the movie itself. It is the comfortable atmosphere of being together, the little disagreement that became part of the entertainment, and the pleasure of spending time with people whose company required no elaborate preparation. The movie house had sofas, pillows, air-conditioning, and food available to order, which naturally made it an excellent establishment in my professional opinion. But the best part was the group. We had gone there simply to enjoy ourselves after our meeting, and the outing became another small memory that now seems particularly meaningful as our recognition day arrives.

I suppose that is the trouble with becoming attached to ordinary moments. We rarely recognise their importance while they are happening. A conversation feels like any other conversation, an afternoon outing seems like a perfectly normal activity, and a shared joke becomes one more amusing incident among many. We assume there will be more opportunities to experience the same things because the people involved have become familiar parts of our lives. Then an occasion like recognition day approaches, and suddenly those ordinary experiences begin looking rather precious.

There is something almost unfair about how quickly familiarity develops compared with how reluctantly we accept change. It takes time to become comfortable around new people, to understand their personalities, and to develop the kind of friendship in which laughter comes naturally. But once we have reached that stage, the possibility of going separate ways seems to appear with very little warning. One moment, we are learning everybody’s names; the next, we are discussing how much we will miss one another. I would like to lodge a complaint about this arrangement, although I suspect the calendar is unlikely to entertain it.

Still, I do not want to spend recognition day feeling miserable about something that should be celebrated. We have reached an important milestone, and each of us deserves to appreciate the effort involved. Three months may seem brief when viewed from a distance, but within that period we have encountered new responsibilities, gained clinical experience, and developed greater familiarity with the profession we chose. Some of us may pursue different opportunities after this, and others may continue developing their careers in directions we cannot yet imagine. Whatever happens, I hope we carry something useful from the time we have spent together.

For me, that includes a greater appreciation of the people who accompany us during important stages of our lives. We often concentrate on the destination, imagining that the value of an experience lies in the achievement waiting at the end. We want to complete our training, obtain recognition, develop our careers, and move towards the next opportunity. Those ambitions are worthwhile, but I am beginning to realise that the people we meet along the way can become just as memorable as the milestones themselves. A professional experience may help us develop practical skills, while the friendships formed during that same period may influence how we understand ourselves and others.

I do not think becoming a better person happens through some dramatic transformation in which all our shortcomings suddenly disappear. If that were possible, I would be delighted to know where I could register for the programme. Personally, I am still learning to manage my impatience, reconsider my assumptions, and recognise when my opinions are more enthusiastic than reasonable. I can be stubborn, and I occasionally discover that my preferred way of doing something is not necessarily the only sensible approach. Being part of a group reminds me that other people have perspectives worth considering, even when those perspectives differ from mine.

Perhaps that is one of Team Conjuring’s greatest gifts to me. These people have helped me see aspects of myself that I might otherwise have overlooked. Through our conversations, laughter, disagreements, and shared experiences, I have learned a little more about patience, understanding, and the importance of appreciating people for who they are. I have learned that friendships become more meaningful when we allow one another to be different, and that caring about people does not require us to agree with every opinion they express. Sometimes the most valuable influence a friend can have is simply encouraging us to become more considerate without making the process feel like a lecture.

I am grateful, too, for the laughter. Nursing can be a demanding profession, and during these past months I have encountered situations that reminded me how much responsibility comes with the white uniform. There have been tiring shifts, unfamiliar procedures, and moments when I felt uncertain about my knowledge. Having friends who understand those experiences makes a difference. Sometimes a conversation after duty can make an exhausting day feel less overwhelming. Sometimes somebody says something ridiculous, and the seriousness of the morning gives way to laughter. It does not erase the responsibilities we have faced, but it gives us the opportunity to enjoy being ordinary young people outside the hospital.

There is something comforting about that balance. We can take our professional development seriously without taking ourselves seriously every minute of the day. We can be responsible nurses during duty and still become wonderfully silly when spending time together. We can discuss clinical experiences with appropriate professionalism and then proceed to argue about movies, food, or whatever subject happens to capture our attention. I think having room for both seriousness and humour has made these three months particularly enjoyable.

As recognition day arrives, I cannot help wondering where all of us will be a few years from now. Perhaps some will develop careers in hospitals far from the places where we first met. Others may pursue specialised nursing, further education, or opportunities beyond the Philippines. Some may eventually settle into entirely different chapters of life, with families, responsibilities, and ambitions that seem distant from our present circumstances. I do not know which possibilities will become reality, but I hope that wherever we go, we will remember this little group with affection.

I would like to believe that friendship does not necessarily disappear simply because people no longer see one another every day. Distance may change the frequency of conversations, and responsibilities may make spontaneous gatherings more difficult, but the experiences we shared will remain part of our individual histories. Perhaps there will be reunions when we can finally meet again, exchange stories about our careers, and laugh at the things we once considered terribly important. Perhaps somebody will bring up the movie-house incident, and our one anti-horror representative will discover that her decision has become an enduring part of our group history.

I can already imagine the laughter.

But I also know that good intentions do not automatically preserve friendships. Staying connected requires effort, understanding, and a willingness to accept that people’s lives change. We may not always be available at the same time, and our conversations may become less frequent as professional responsibilities increase. I hope we will be considerate of those changes rather than interpreting every period of silence as a loss of affection. Sometimes people remain important to us even when they are no longer part of our everyday routines.

Perhaps that is something I will understand better as I grow older. For now, I am still learning how to appreciate the present without becoming overly concerned about what will happen next. Only a few weeks ago, I was writing about the tendency to worry about the future instead of enjoying the opportunities available today. Recognition day has brought that lesson back to me. I could spend the occasion wondering whether we will remain close, how our careers will develop, or when we might all meet again. But perhaps it would be wiser to appreciate the people who are here now and the memories we have already created.

After all, today deserves to be enjoyed.

We have completed three months of training, and that is something worth celebrating. We have learned from hospital staff, experienced different clinical departments, and become more familiar with the responsibilities of nursing. We have also discovered friendships that made the experience more enjoyable than any of us might have expected when we first arrived. I am proud of what we have accomplished, and I am especially grateful that this chapter introduced me to people whose personalities have become part of my happiest memories from these past months.

I hope Team Conjuring understands how much I appreciate them. They may not realise that their ordinary companionship has influenced me, or that the little moments we shared have become memories I want to preserve. Perhaps they would laugh if I delivered an emotional speech about friendship, and I suspect somebody would immediately interrupt with a joke before I had finished. That would be entirely appropriate. I would not expect anything less from a group whose name suggests supernatural activity and whose movie preferences have already demonstrated questionable collective judgement.

But beneath the humour, I mean every word.

Thank you for the conversations, the laughter, the companionship, and the patience. Thank you for making these three months more enjoyable and for reminding me that professional growth does not happen exclusively through textbooks and clinical experience. I have learned from the people around me, and I am grateful that our paths crossed during this particular stage of our lives. You have helped me become a better friend by allowing me to understand friendship beyond my own preferences, and a better person by reminding me that different personalities can teach us something valuable about ourselves.

When I think about the name Team Conjuring, I cannot help smiling at its accidental appropriateness. We have not performed any extraordinary magic, discovered hidden powers, or accomplished anything that would require an investigation by paranormal experts. Our achievements have been considerably more ordinary. We turned unfamiliar faces into friends, made exhausting hospital days more bearable, and somehow transformed three months of professional training into a collection of memories that I am already reluctant to leave behind.

Perhaps that is magical enough.

I began this experience thinking about the kind of nurse I wanted to become. I hoped to gain clinical knowledge, develop my confidence, and discover which nursing specialties might interest me in the future. Those goals remain important, and I am grateful for the opportunities this training has provided. But I did not anticipate how much the people around me would contribute to my understanding of friendship and personal growth. I came here hoping to become a more competent nurse, and somewhere along the way, I also became part of a group that helped me understand the value of companionship.

Three months ago, we were strangers with professional ambitions and unfamiliar duty schedules. Today, we are celebrating recognition day, and I am already wondering how I will manage without the everyday presence of people who have become so familiar. It seems rather ridiculous that such a short period could leave me feeling this sentimental, but perhaps the importance of an experience has very little to do with how long it lasts.

I suppose this is the part where I should say goodbye, although I am not particularly enthusiastic about the idea. Goodbye sounds far too permanent for people I still hope to see again. I would much rather imagine that we are simply moving towards different assignments in the much larger rotation called life, where the schedules are unpredictable, the lessons are occasionally difficult, and nobody seems capable of explaining exactly when the next break will arrive.

Perhaps one day, the assignment notebook will bring our names together again.

Until then, I hope we continue learning, pursuing our ambitions, and becoming people we can be proud of. I hope the coming years are generous with opportunities and that we remember to make room for friendship even when professional responsibilities become demanding. Most of all, I hope we never lose the ability to laugh at ourselves, particularly when life becomes unnecessarily complicated.

As for Team Conjuring, I have one final observation. If friendship were truly a supernatural phenomenon, I suspect our group would make an excellent case study. Six friends could not even agree on a horror movie, yet somehow we managed to become wonderfully attached to one another. Perhaps the real mystery is not how we came up with our name, but how a group of people from different places became so comfortable together in such a short time.

And if anybody ever asks what Team Conjuring managed to summon during those three months, I think I finally have an answer. It was not a ghost, a mysterious presence, or anything requiring an exorcism. It was something considerably less frightening and far more difficult to replace: a friendship that made ordinary hospital days worth looking forward to.

Happy Recognition Day, Team Conjuring! Thank you for making these three months unforgettable. I am going to miss you all.

September 24, 2013 — for the people who arrived as fellow trainees and became the friends I never expected to find.

— Just Anj, RN, forever a proud member of Team Conjuring.