Skip to main content

Hey! You! Nurse! Come over here.....

The first thing you must know, nurse, is that I am the daughter of a nurse. And not just any nurse. An R.N. And not just any R.N. An R.N. who was schooled by Catholic sisters her entire life, including nursing school, who became a nurse during WWII, and served at Marine Hospital in Detroit.

A nurse who wore whites every day.

A nurse who starched her caps every Saturday.

A nurse who pinned her pins on her uniform, and checked to make sure they were straight.

Good heavens, I even saw her in her nursing cape once.

A NURSE.

So, this is why I want to speak with you. This past weekend, you had the duty and privilege of caring for my beautiful niece. Said niece has a seizure disorder, and the doctors were not able to control it and decided to admit her. On top of the seizures, she was having night terrors as her anxiety shot up regarding the seizures.

(I'm also just gonna throw this out there. You've heard of the HIPAA laws, right? Where we are all entitled to complete privacy? I have enough HIPAA booklets to paper my living room, so I'm assuming that you - a medical professional - are familiar with this. But perhaps I should not assume.)

Anyway, you and one of your fellow nurses decided to stand outside my beautiful niece's room and discuss her case. Where everyone (including my niece) could hear. And you decided to laugh over the fact that she wasn't "really sick," it was "all in her head," and wouldn't it be nice to fake being sick to get out of work.

Just a couple of thoughts for you. A nurse is a professional. Maybe you didn't get that part in nursing school. You do not, under any circumstances, discuss a case where others can hear you. And you certainly don't make fun of a patient when the patient is within earshot.

Even if my niece's health issue was "all in her head" (and since it's a seizure disorder, isn't it likely that it is in her head??) and she was suffering from mental illness, you still are obligated to be a professional. Even mental illness is illness - again, perhaps you didn't pick that up in nursing school.

My sister talked to your supervisor. She's going to report you.

You're lucky I wasn't there.

You are REALLY lucky my mom wasn't there. She is a NURSE.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Trying to "end run" God

If you're a football fan, you know what an end run is. From Merriam-Webster:
a football play in which the ballcarrier attempts to run wide around the end of the line We try to "end run" God a lot. I do. I figure I know better. I've got this - no need to worry the Big Guy about such a trivial thing.

Of course, it never works.

Like the puppy above, when we try and evade the tough obstacle (even though we KNOW we will eventually have to do it), we end up - well, off in the bushes.

But oh! How I wished my way worked. I'd love to take a flying leap and land smoothly and gracefully. People would be in awe, as if watching Simone Biles nail a balance beam routine that no one else would even attempt. I would shyly look down and blush - just lightly - and acknowledge (But humbly! Oh so humbly!) my achievement.

But no: I am the one pulling myself out of the bushes, scratches all over my legs and twigs in my hair. I'd hear that gentle but loving voice of God saying, &quo…

Trauma Mama

Dear Husband and I both enjoy certain medical shows, such as "ER" and "Code Black." ("St. Elsewhere" was another fave!) These shows revolve around trauma: humans who'd been ambushed by life: a car accident, a fire, and abuse, as examples.

More often than not, these shows also highlight the trauma the doctors and nurses needed to deal with. Having a patient die is always offensive to a doctor: they are charged with saving lives and losing one is the ultimate failure. Nurses spend more time with patients, and can forge strong bonds with people that may be in their lives for just a few days.

But trauma doesn't always look like a bloody body being wheeled into an emergency room, or a house surrounded by fire trucks and police cars. Trauma comes in many forms.

According to one website, trauma can look like surgery. It can look like moving. Trauma can be losing a beloved spouse or more horrifying, a child. Trauma can also be chronic pain, loneliness, m…

Be Brave

A few years ago, it came to my attention that a young family member was struggling with anxiety and depression. I was able to share with her a bit of my own struggles, and let her know she wasn't alone.

A few weeks after our talk, I saw the movie, "Brave." It struck me that the young protagonist, Merida, modeled a great quality. She was indeed brave.

Being brave is not about recklessness. It is not about confidence. It's not about being foolish, or looking for glory in the eyes of others.

Bravery is about doing what is right, even when you are a quivering mess. It's about knowing that things may not turn out the way you expected, but forging ahead anyway. Being brave is standing by the hospital bed while a loved one is dying, and all you really want to do is turn back time. Bravery is standing up to a bully, when your legs are screaming for you to run. Brave is doing what needs to be done even when you're scared and tired and feeling helpless and hopeless.

I …