In disaster zones, emergency departments, shelters, and crisis units, nurses rarely have time for long conversations or perfect interventions.What we do have are moments, often only seconds long, that carry more impact than we realize. During the holiday season, when stress is high and emotions run deep, these small acts of care matter more than ever. This post highlights the quiet, meaningful actions nurses perform every day, actions that are rarely documented, but deeply felt.

Nurses are trained to assess, intervene, stabilize, and support, but rarely to receive.We’re the ones who stay late, skip lunch, cover extra shifts, absorb everyone else’s emotions, and hold entire units together during crisis after crisis. Yet when we need help, we hesitate. Why? Because nursing has built a culture, often unintentionally, where self-sacrifice is expected, praised, and rewarded.

In disaster settings, emergency departments, shelters, and crisis units, chaos becomes the baseline. Nurses operate in environments filled with alarms, rapid decisions, emotional intensity, and constant uncertainty. But the body can only run on adrenaline for so long.Grounding techniques are essential, not just for patients, but for nurses who need micro-moments of calm during overwhelming situations. These techniques don’t require therapy appointments, extended breaks, or quiet rooms.

I’m excited to share the latest edition of the World Association for Disaster and Emergency Medicine (WADEM) podcast, PDM Podcast #23-Acute Facility Management of Blast Injuries in LMICs-in which I had the privilege of featuring Charlotte Roy, MD, MPH. In this episode we dive deep into her timely article, Acute Facility Management of Blast Injuries In Low- and Middle-Income Countries: A Systematic Review and Meta-Analysis, which systematically reviews 75 studies from 22 countries to outline how blast injuries are managed in resource-constrained settings.

One of the quietest burdens in nursing, especially during the holiday season, is the weight of not knowing. Unlike many professions, nurses rarely get closure.Patients arrive in crisis, in chaos, in fear… and then they leave.Sometimes they’re transferred, sometimes they’re discharged, sometimes they’re rushed to the OR or ICU, and the story ends for us right there. But not for our hearts.

The Trauma Geek is please to announce that the next session of Topics in Trauma Nursing is December 17th via ZOOM. The topic involves a very unusual case study that left many of us "experienced" clinicians hitting the Google search bar for answers. Join Steve at 8pm EST on 12/17 for an interesting time! Register with the QR code in the photo or with this link, #adventureswithnursejamla

For many patients, the holiday season is not joyful, it’s triggering.Memories of loss, violence, displacement, war, or family estrangement surface sharply during this time. As nurses, we are often the first to witness this emotional shift, especially in emergency settings, shelters, and crisis units. Understanding how trauma shows up, and how to respond with cultural humility, is essential. 1. Trauma Doesn’t Follow a Calendar…

Today, on Human Rights Day, I’m reflecting on two powerful essays I recently engaged with, both deeply moving and deeply necessary in these times. In “Menstruar en guerra”, the author draws attention to the often overlooked crisis of menstrual health for women living in conflict zones, a stark reminder that basic dignity and bodily autonomy remain out of reach for millions. 

While many people are decorating their homes, planning gatherings, and counting down to a season of celebration, nurses are doing something else entirely: holding the emotional weight of thousands of families. The holiday season can amplify grief, intensify loneliness, and magnify trauma. Nurses become the steady presence in rooms filled with fear, uncertainty, and heartbreaking “firsts” - the first holiday after a loss, the first diagnosis, the first crisis that changes everything.

In disaster settings, where seconds matter and resources are strained, having the right tools can mean the difference between life and death. One device I advocate strongly for across emergency, austere, and mass-casualty environments is the LifeFlow 410, a rapid, controlled infusion system designed to deliver fluid resuscitation fast, safely, and with precision. Whether you're stabilizing a pediatric trauma patient, managing hemorrhagic shock, or supporting dehydrated disaster survivors, the LifeFlow 410 offers a level of efficiency and control that traditional manual methods simply cannot match.

Disaster season doesn’t end when the news cycle moves on. Nurses feel the aftershocks long after the shelters close, the cameras leave, and the world returns to “normal.”For many frontline responders, this time of year brings disaster fatigue, a deep, layered exhaustion that builds from repeated exposure to trauma, unpredictability, and human suffering. This post speaks directly to nurses who are tired, stretched thin, or quietly carrying more than they admit.

Deployments look glamorous on social media, challenge coins, selfies in uniform, photos from the tarmac, but behind the scenes, disaster nursing is gritty, unpredictable, deeply human work. Whether you're responding to hurricanes, caring for evacuees in shelters, or supporting overwhelmed hospitals during public health emergencies, the reality is this: You are stepping into someone else’s worst day. This post offers grounded, practical insight from real-world disaster response, what nurses…

When people hear “175 days of deployment in one year,” they usually ask the same questions:“How did you do it?”“Weren’t you exhausted?”“Why would anyone keep going back into disaster zones?” The truth is simple: the deployments shaped me as much as I shaped the response. They taught me leadership in places where systems were failing, resilience in moments where hope was thin, and humanity in its rawest form.

Climate change is not a future threat-it is a present emergency, especially in countries already struggling with conflict, displacement, and fragile health systems. As a disaster nurse and global health researcher, I’ve seen how climate-driven disasters magnify suffering in ways most people never see. What’s happening in Iraq, Gaza, and other conflict-affected regions reveals a critical truth:climate disasters don’t occur in isolation-they stack on top of war, poverty, displacement, and weakened systems, creating complex, compounding emergencies.

Children do not experience war the way adults do. They don’t understand geopolitical conflicts or military strategies-they only understand fear, loss, disruption, and survival. As a disaster nurse, educator, and someone who studies global health impacts, I’ve seen firsthand how profoundly conflict reshapes a child’s body and brain. Pediatric trauma in conflict zones isn’t just about injuries.It’s about developmental interruption, constant threat, and layers of grief no child should ever have to carry.

Winter is challenging for everyone, but it carries unique and dangerous risks for older adults. As a disaster and emergency nurse, I’ve seen how quickly a simple winter hazard can become a life-altering event for someone over 65. A small slip-on ice. A home that’s a few degrees too cold. A week without social contact. These are not minor issues-they are major safety concerns that often go unnoticed until it’s too late.

The holidays are marketed as a season of joy, family, warmth, and celebration. But many people experience December as something entirely different: heavy, lonely, overwhelming, or painful. As someone who has worked in emergency care, disaster response, and trauma-informed practice, I’ve seen this pattern year after year. Some people dread this time of year-and they’re not wrong for feeling that way.

Every winter, emergency departments fill with people who feel “off.” Headache. Fatigue. Nausea. Maybe they think they’re coming down with a cold or flu. But as a disaster nurse, I’ve seen too many cases where the culprit wasn’t a virus at all-it was carbon monoxide. Carbon monoxide poisoning spikes every winter, especially during power outages and cold snaps. The scariest part?

Many food banks operate out of community centers, faith-based organizations, or temporary spaces without reliable cold-storage. That means items like milk, eggs, cheese, or fresh meat can’t be accepted. Even some fresh produce spoils before it can be sorted and distributed. To ensure donations are usable, it’s important to focus on shelf-stable foods and essentials that can be stored safely and distributed quickly.

Winter doesn’t wait for you to be ready. One day it’s chilly; the next day, you’re standing in your kitchen realizing your power’s out, your phone is at 12%, and your kid just asked why the house is humming like a refrigerator that gave up. As a disaster nurse who has deployed through blizzards, blackouts, and “this wasn’t supposed to be that bad” storms, here’s the truth: winter emergencies are predictable, yet most families…

As a humanitarian responder working in complex, high-risk environments, having an evacuation plan isn’t just a “nice to have” — it’s part of your duty of care, your risk management and your personal safety net. Both MAGNUS International Search & Rescue and Global Rescue emphasize the importance of evacuation readiness: MAGNUS offers 24/7 crisis-management and evacuation services for NGOs and travelers.

Thirty days of writing about disasters sounds heavy, and it is, but it’s also hopeful. Because within every tragedy I’ve witnessed lies a thread of humanity that refuses to break. Resilience isn’t the absence of loss; it’s the courage to rebuild while still grieving. It’s the teacher returning to a damaged school, the nurse setting up a clinic in a tent, the child laughing amid rubble.

I’ve watched AI tools predict wildfire spread and drones deliver medical kits to isolated areas — proof that innovation can be as humanitarian as it is high-tech. But technology alone isn’t enough; it must serve equity, ethics, and empathy. AI-powered triage systems, remote sensing, and data analytics can transform disaster medicine, but they must complement, not replace, human judgment. The nurse’s heart and the coder’s mind are stronger together.

One of the hardest lessons in nursing-especially in disaster settings, emergency care, and humanitarian response-is accepting that you cannot always fix the situation. You can stabilize vitals.You can offer safety.You can provide comfort, resources, and support. But you cannot control outcomes, repair losses, or erase trauma. And yet, patients remember nurses not for what we “fixed,” but for how we showed up when everything felt impossible.

The young people I meet give me hope. They organize climate strikes, design sustainable tech, and challenge the rest of us to act faster. Many have never known a world without disasters on the news, yet they still believe in a better one. Youth aren’t just the future; they’re the present force for adaptation and accountability. Our role is to listen, mentor, and amplify their efforts.