Many people are alive, well and happy that I didn’t become a nurse like my big sister. I’d under or over medicate them and jab them to a fare-thee-well.
During ten days on the 5th floor of Building 2 of Community East, I was so weak from C. Diff that I was escorted to and from the bathroom lest I fall. Thank God for private rooms!
I put aside modesty and dignity. After all, from the Aboriginals of Australia to Zulus, our bodies are basically the same, are they not? Even male caregivers helped me hitch up the underpants that kept my behind from being exposed through my gown’s opening.
Rather old and battered, Community East is an urban hospital. (A new hospital is being built on site.) I cannot adequately express my gratitude and respect for its personnel. Their kindness and competent care transcended gender, race, national origin or age. Whatever they’re paid, it isn’t enough.
Their response to thanks for their diligent and sometimes unpleasant work was always, “That’s what we’re here for.” That seems to be the Community East’s mantra.
I’ve changed names, but these snippets:
A nurse introduced the housekeeper. “This is Francine.” “No, I said. “Her name is Mrs. Sunshine.” Her huge smile lit up my room. I told her how much better a sick person feels in a tidy room. She responded, “A clean house is next to godliness.”
Techs checked my vitals every few hours and performed other chores. One of them is the mother of two children who are learning Spanish at a daycare center. She said, “That’s where a lot of my money goes.”
I asked cute Bonnie who attended the University of Kentucky, “Are you one of those U of K basketball nuts?” “Yes, ma’am! They’re the best, or I wouldn’t root for them.” “Some day IU will come back and whip them!” Quiet, peaceful Donna, an older tech, was ever so pretty in her uniform. Cheerful Nanette delivered meals. I cracked up when a tech said, “Don’t you try to hurry, Miss Antsy-pants — I mean, Miss Antsy-Depends.”
Even blood draws in the middle of the night became amusing. R.N. Clancy’s motto was, “One stick, you’re done.” After attempts on my rolling veins and attempts by another nurse, he called in Rita from another unit who immediately succeeded. I didn’t even feel it. “Don’t tell Clancy. It’ll hurt his ego.” “Of course, I’m going to tell him!” Another nurse said, “Rita’s an absolute maven.” I called her a vampirette. She regaled me with stories about her house and sons and showed me Christmas pictures of them at the Circle. Clancy grew up where Bill taught. When he came to tell me goodbye I gave him a copy of Walden. R.N. Deena said, “I taught Rita and Clancy everything they know.” I dubbed her “Deena, my queena’ sticka’.”
A brilliant woman who has been in nursing for 28 years assisted with a painful procedure. Other R.N.s were so very young and amazed me with their knowledge. One hesitated to give her age — 24! Their expertise speaks well of their training.
I thought that Charge Nurse Mary with whom I felt an instant rapport could be an M.D. Reading my mind, she said, “I’ll never be a doctor. I’d lose the bedside care of patients.” I opened up to her about my desire for a new health care plan, and she sent wonderful Patient Rep Margery.
I asked the specialist in Internal Medicine who directed my care, “Where are you from?” “Syria.” “Oh, Doctor, I grieve for your country.” “My family are all here. I shall never go back.” I shudder to think what might have happened to his family who are Christians.
Dr. Stuhldreher, about whose ascent of M. Kilimanjaro, I wrote is retiring and came to say goodbye, as did others. From the housekeepers to the techs, R.N.s and physicians, I received the ultimate in care. I hope to invite them to a thank-you party at the Benton House. wclarke@comcast.net