When I was growing up, there were only a few jobs for a girl look forward to: Teaching ($25,000 year), Nursing ($28,000), Wife/mother ($?), or Hooker (rumor has it, $60,000+). I was not much of a student and the thought of teaching 30 little me’s in the same classroom was enough to send me screaming out into the streets, as I did to most of my elementary school teachers.
Wife and mother, came later...I didn’t get married until I was in my 30’s. I had too much to do. I have never been what you might call “normal”, which you have figured out on your own by now if you have actually read any of these columns. So, all that was left was either Nurse or Hooker. It is obvious which one I wanted to pick, however, I walk like an inebriated giraffe in those high heeled thingies...so I had to settle for nurse.
Women, you may think nursing is a glamorous job...pristine work place, dignity, nurturing care, saving lives, handsome doctors. Men, you just like the old white nursing uniforms....
When I was in nursing school, we had to do a practicum, which is basically free slave labor for those who have already passed nursing exams and are now working. It is on the job training. My first day, I entered a room with the bed a few paces directly in front of the door. I was given a little stiff, pliable, rubber ring with a long hose on one side. Entitled, a condom catheter, it was to be attached to a certain gentleman who had bilateral fractures in his hips (both sides). This device is exactly what it sounds like. He was unable to walk to the restroom, so he was to use the cath. It was my job to apply it to his private area. He stood on crutches by the side of the bed. He was very short, very shy, and very nervous. “This is my first time,” he quavered. “Mine too”, I thought frantically. I looked down at his dangly bits. I didn’t have much to work with...
I will spare you most of the details, as this is a family newspaper, but let’s suffice to say before I was finished; the floor looked like a busy day at the barber shop, and he looked like he had ringworm. I made the attempt to complete my work at least 10 times, with the catheter snapping off at the last minute, ricocheting off of the walls and ceiling repeatedly, with tiny pings. It was like trying to thread a needle with a piece of cooked spaghetti.
The final indignity for both of us was when my instructor entered the door behind this gentleman to find me on my knees in front of him, red faced with embarrassment and almost in tears. “OH! Excuse me!” she cried, backing quickly out of the room and closing the door. I will never forget the shocked look on her face. Later, she expressed relief when she found out what I was actually attempting to do.
Yesterday, I was working with children. One of the jobs that I have is to monitor catheterization outputs with these children. After recording the fluid level, the child is supposed to flush the toilet. If you have children, you know this doesn’t always happen. I didn’t bother to flush it since I was going to empty the catheter bag anyway. As I went to empty the bag, my arm brushed my pager, flinging it into the toilet/water mixture. I stared helplessly at the toilet, hoping that the toilet fairy would take pity on me...No such luck.
Knowing what you have to do and doing it, are two different things, and let me state for the record that there are no elbow-length gloves where I work. We’ll just leave it at that.
Fortunately, nursing is a calling. If it wasn’t, there would be no nurses. The hours are long, and you are on your feet for most of them. Nurses are paid in varicose veins. The pay in our state is among the lowest in the nation, and some patients, no matter how hard we try....unfortunately die. We are held accountable for any mistakes made, even if they are not ours, because it is our job to keep each and every patient safe while in our care. Burn-out rate is high, but so is joy.
In this society where few people have concern for others, and “reality shows” are considered entertainment, I see an older generation in which love is the most important thing. Day in and day out, these couples, some married for over 70 years, have shared the burdens of living and aging together. Through war and peace, poverty and wealth, they radiate a serenity I see in no other generation...and I learn.
I have the great privilege to nurse those in the last hours of their life, surrounded by their families. I have hope for future generations and see what love truly is...and I am in awe.