Born to be mild?

SHE SLIPPED INTO THE ROOM, made her way to my Dad’s bedside and stealthily took his vitals. He stirred a bit and an eyelid strained open a bit to observe this early morning invader, recognizing her beyond the haze of his sedation and a smile weakly blossomed on his face.

Sorry to bother you, George – I mean Buck – but I gotta get this information for the charts. What can I do for you? she asked, gently touching his forehead and peering into that sliver of an eye looking back at her. Okay, let’s move you a bit and let you get a look outside, okay. It’s cold but it’s a pretty day outside coming your way?

A shift of a few centimeters gave the man a glimmer of a salmon-colored sunrise erupting beyond his window. His visitor reached for his hand; she smiled and winked at me as she left the room. Other cases to evaluate; other patients to see. And I suspect each received the same respect and level of care, and the depth of comfort that my Dad had received.

About a week later, he was gone. Just like that on a late Sunday night. It was a few days before Thanksgiving, and I was grateful my Dad finally was at peace.

But I recall most clearly those final few weeks when he drifted between this world and the next marking time in his room with my Mama, sibs and close family and friends. It didn’t occur to me then as it does now. Curing disease often doesn’t happen in this dimension, but it always does in the next. The human body comes only with a limited warranty. That is why the Manufacturer installs us with souls, I believe.
I remember, too, that young, gum-popping professional from more than two decades ago and her colleagues. They delivered a rather uncommon balm not found in any medicine cabinet.

Nursing.

What a profession! As diverse as the patients they serve. In our many hospital systems, they are there celebrating when we leave screaming from the womb, and they stand solemnly nearby as we head for the tomb. So often, too, they are called into the fray of helping patients’ families make a decision.

A chief nursing officer friend of mine says that nursing is more than a job and career: It is a calling and a ministry of many kinds.

Don’t get me wrong: there are the occasional Nurse Ratcheds who are better suited for other paths as in any profession. Met a few along the way in the several years I have worked in various systems. But that happens in any field, does it not?

What I admire is the mixed bag you get with your everyday, committed nurse: An unstoppable desire to want to change things when necessary; a candid quest to benefit the people they serve. As the situation dictates, they can be as tough as any drill sergeant or as tender as Mother Tersesa.

And nurses seem to have a spontaneous, bawdy, wicked sense of humor at appropriate times. It comes with the turf – the same way it does with combat soldiers, cops and old-school journalists. It’s an important vital sign for these fields.

Indeed, a calling. When the best of medicine no longer works, the nurse appears at the bedside or in the exam room, or maybe even making a phone call at the best or worst of times.

And when they are called they respond: What can I do for you?