Skip to content

What makes you crazy actually keeps you sane

March 1, 2007

I know that sounds like a bad fortune cookie but I don’t mean it to, really. I am vunerable. I am tired. I am sick. I am overwhelmed by the lovely and brave face of the 97 year old woman I was priviledged to meet and take care of for the first two weeks of my clinical experince. Kay was my first patient. The first person on the road to what I might just be when I grown up. I felt like a nurse even though I did only the simple things like make the washrag nice and warm so it felt pleasing when she washed her face. Washing the gentle folds of her body, a body that has served 97 years and counting. She is sturdy and confident. Her hearing is perfect. She is from “west virginie..” and was a post mistress for 42 years. Her parents were corn and hog farmers and she grew up in a time where people helped you more than they do now. I had do so many annoying things with Kay so I could complete my 13 page physical assessment. I pulled up her nightgown, poked her belly, shined a light in her eyes, took her blood pressure, checked all her pulses up and down each side of her body, listened to her lungs and her heart. Her gentle but illy beating heart. With every new torture I had to inflict I kindly asked if it would be alright and she would smile and say, “Yes, Mame, thats just fine, honey, you do what you need to do to finish your schoolin.” I felt so lucky to have such a lovely and warm lady to walk me through what it really means to be a nurse. I have to say, even after I washed her everywhere, what I am most looking forward to, selfishly, is that I will make people feel good. Warm water and a gentle touch. A kind word and praise for hard work. Listening when someone is scared and maybe lonely. I feel so lucky that I will be allowed to share that with people and miraculously, they will actually pay me for it. Medicine and nursing particularly seems, the more I learn about it, something that people are just entitled to as humans and not something that has a price tag attached for its task. (Don’t be silly, I am grateful it pays well…I am not a fool. Well, sometimes. Who am I kidding?)

Is it foolish that I am crying just a little bit thinking of how tender and kind I must be to care for people who are so vulnerable?

Christ I am such a pussy.  I fear I may need Prozac to do this job well.

No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: