National Nurses Week is upon us. This year the annual celebration of the nursing profession is, for the first time, accompanied by the World Health Organization’s designation of 2020 as the Year of the Nurse. The coronavirus pandemic has ushered in an alternate reality, and a perplexing twist of fate. How can we celebrate, when so many of us can barely survive?
The last two months have been especially difficult for my profession. As a psychotherapist and nurse, with over 30 years of experience, I’ve listened to the struggles of my former students and colleagues. Feeling helpless and reeling from my own moral distress, I felt compelled to share actual stories of how the work of nurses has touched the lives of so many people. Nothing struck me more than the despair they recalled during the final moments of their patients’ lives. It occurred to me that their presence is a gift to their patients and their patients’ families. And although they may not see it now, it is a gift that will allow them to grieve and heal long into the future.
A nurse was there when . . .
You brought your father to the emergency room,
Struggling for breath and fighting COVID-19.
He was scared, and you were scared too.
But he fought with all his might,
Spending hours and days in the ICU, on a ventilator.
A nurse cared for him, talked to him and
Talked to you and the rest of the family.
They were a lifeline between your dad
And the alien world of COVID-19.
He healed and recovered.
And the nurses clapped and celebrated
His recovery and discharge from the hospital.
Later that night, from your open window
You applauded the nurses,
The warriors who fought with your father
On the frontlines and in the trenches.
A nurse was there when . . .
You had your first baby.
His first gasps for air came slowly,
You held your breath,
An eternity passed.
At last . . . at last, he wailed and turned pink.
A nurse calmed you, supported you, and
Answered your every question,
And even the ones you were too afraid to ask.
Feeding was easy, but trying to get him to sleep was not.
A nurse was comforting when you confessed, embarrassed,
That you checked him in the middle of the night,
flashlight in hand, pressing your face between the slats of his crib,
watching the rise and fall of his little chest.
You thought you’d never get the hang of it or survive,
Especially without a lot of sleep,
But you did.
A nurse was there when . . .
You came to the clinic after finding a lump in your breast.
Your mother had breast cancer and you feared the worst.
A nurse listened patiently as you described over and over
How you found the lump while showering,
How you hoped it would disappear.
On the day of the biopsy, a nurse stayed with you and
Explained how the procedure was done, and
How long it would take for the results to come back.
When you returned a week later, which felt like forever,
a nurse sat with you again.
Your foot tapping, fingers clenched on the arms of the chair.
When the biopsy came back negative,
You both shrieked with joy: No cancer!
A nurse was there when . . .
Your 93-year-old grandmother refused to take her medication.
Pointing to her kitchen window sill, you saw the three bottles, unopened.
You counted the pills.
She hadn’t taken any of them.
She said the pills were too expensive.
Three dollars each.
And too hard to swallow.
They were.
The nurse began her medication tutorial.
Within minutes your grandmother knew why the pills were needed,
They would help her dizziness, and
With a spoonful of applesauce or some fizzy water,
She’d have a few tricks to help the medicine go down.
A nurse was there when . . .
Your mother hung on to life,
Enduring the many medications and procedures
Needed to fight the deadly Coronavirus.
You couldn’t imagine her pain.
A nurse told you, I’m here for you,
And that you should call to check in.
She actually gave you her cell number and said
If she couldn’t answer her phone, to call again,
And again,
And again,
Because you needed to know.
And when it was time,
When your mother’s body couldn’t fight anymore,
A nurse brought your heart and spirit to your mother’s side.
You were unable to kiss her good-bye,
But a nurse held a phone to your mother’s ear.
You said what you needed to say, but it wasn’t enough.
You wanted more time, and she gave it to you.
She understood.
Nurses always understand.
And when your mother took her last breath,
You were there, and the nurse was there —
The human connection who brought you through
This important moment,
The blessing of saying final words of love and caring.
Nurses know they are privileged to be present.
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