Sunday, April 27, 2008

Week 1. August 1988. "Why do you want to be a nurse?"

During the first week of Nursing 100, Old Military Nurse Instructor encourages her nursing students to share their reason for wanting to become a nurse. Of course, most of the 35 women and 1 man in the room are there because they want to help people. For some it is a calling. I was there because I needed a job that pays more than I was currently making (barely above minimum wage) and it was obvious that the local bread-and-butter, factory labor, would one day become a thing of the past. "Nothing altruistic about that" says Instructor. She added that she thought it was acceptable to wish to be a nurse; even if your motives were less-than-altruism. Perhaps she knew that one day my desire to be a member of this profession would evolve into something more than a paycheck.

Saturday, April 26, 2008

Day one. 1988.


I remember the first day of clinical. It was in 1988. Squeakly clean white dress with white Nursemate shoes. Just what the Student Nurse Handbook said to wear. Hair off the collar. Nails neatly trimmed and free of polish. Just the way Mrs. Old Military Nurse Instructor said to trim them.

At the end of the hall in the very last room lies Poor Contracted Soul. I speak, knowing that the responses from her mouth will be totally unintelligible. She feebly reaches and groans in my direction. Temperature first. But she is mouth breathing. The tongue is caked thick with sticky mucous. Put the probe in the armpit. OK, that's done. Checking the blood pressure can be a little bit tricky, too, when elbows won't straighten.

Behind the carefully prepared student nurse exterior, uncertainty invades. I carry the pink plastic basin to the bathroom sink. But first, I wash my hands in the stream of tepid water. Rubbing the miniature hospital size soap between my palms, doubt begins to creep into my head. "Is this what being a nurse is really about?" I fill the basin with the water, dropping in the little bottle of Keri lotion to allow it to warm. Nice warm lotion for Poor Contracted Soul after her bedbath.

Old Military Nurse-Instructor arrives just as I am contemplating how I will manage the twisted arms and legs by myself. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize she was this bad" she says, "or I never would have assigned her to you on your first day."

That is good news. Instructor helps me with the bath. Maybe I can do this nurse thing.

It's Not About You (and other legal mumbo jumbo)

Hmm. It appears that most nursing or medical blogs have some sort of disclaimer. Apparently there is a need for such a thing, so here is mine:

1. Tis not about you. Any similarities to real people are purely coincidental.
2. No medical advice given here. Call your personal healthcare provider for health advice.