"When is the last time someone told you that you were kick-ass beautiful?
Because you are."
This. made my day.
Because you are."
This. made my day.
17 September 2008
13 September 2008
08 September 2008
Sometimes, I think, maybe fear is okay.
So today was the first day of clinicals, Orientation. And I'm, perhaps, more terrified after the visit than I was before. I met my patient, an elderly woman suffering from dementia. She's precious, and I think she hates me.
Yeah, today was only the orientation. We toured the facility, a nursing home nearby, and got the run-down on what we can expect for the next few weeks. For now, we've been assigned one patient each, and our sole purpose is to care for that patient from 6:30AM until 4:30PM, every Monday. [Later, we'll have clinical rotations on Mondays and Fridays.] This means vital signs checks, bedbaths, and anything with which she might need assistance [including---but not limited to---toileting, dressing, mouth care, and feeding]. And I'm okay with that, right? I mean, I think I'm okay with it. But this program advances at the speed of freaking light, and in what will seem [and may actually be] days, we'll be administering wound care and giving enteral feedings and starting IV medications. And therein lies the potential for unintentional harm, but harm, nevertheless. What you may not remember from lecture, that one thing, could cost a life. And, yeah, I'm not so okay with that. Seriously, if you take nothing else from my ramblings, realize that nursing is so unbelievably underrated. I have.
Amidst the fear, though, I'm excited. For the first time, I've found something that excites me. And I want to be great. I want to be a nurse who exemplifies every meaning of the word. I want to be a nurse of whom my instructors can be proud. I want to be a nurse in whom my patients will seek comfort and security. I want to be a nurse who works through both skill and heart. I want to be a nurse who still remembers, in the most trying of times, that each assigned patient is also a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a lover, a child, a friend...
An instructor of mine presented to us this poem, reportedly written by a geriatric patient in Europe and found after her death. It brought tears to my eyes and determination to my heart. [Perhaps it's times like those when you can be sure, you're exactly where you belong.] It's something I hope to keep in mind over the next few weeks, and forever after.
_____
What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
Are you thinking, when you look at me --
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice -- "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe,
Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, you're looking at ME...
I'll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still;
As I rise at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another,
A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet;
A bride soon at twenty -- my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep;
At twenty-five now I have young of my own,
Who need me to build a secure, happy home;
A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last;
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn;
At fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread,
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known;
I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel --
'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body is crumbled, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where once I had a heart,
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again, my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again,
I think of the years, all too few -- gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last --
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
Not a crabby old woman, look closer, nurses -- see ME!
Yeah, today was only the orientation. We toured the facility, a nursing home nearby, and got the run-down on what we can expect for the next few weeks. For now, we've been assigned one patient each, and our sole purpose is to care for that patient from 6:30AM until 4:30PM, every Monday. [Later, we'll have clinical rotations on Mondays and Fridays.] This means vital signs checks, bedbaths, and anything with which she might need assistance [including---but not limited to---toileting, dressing, mouth care, and feeding]. And I'm okay with that, right? I mean, I think I'm okay with it. But this program advances at the speed of freaking light, and in what will seem [and may actually be] days, we'll be administering wound care and giving enteral feedings and starting IV medications. And therein lies the potential for unintentional harm, but harm, nevertheless. What you may not remember from lecture, that one thing, could cost a life. And, yeah, I'm not so okay with that. Seriously, if you take nothing else from my ramblings, realize that nursing is so unbelievably underrated. I have.
Amidst the fear, though, I'm excited. For the first time, I've found something that excites me. And I want to be great. I want to be a nurse who exemplifies every meaning of the word. I want to be a nurse of whom my instructors can be proud. I want to be a nurse in whom my patients will seek comfort and security. I want to be a nurse who works through both skill and heart. I want to be a nurse who still remembers, in the most trying of times, that each assigned patient is also a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a lover, a child, a friend...
An instructor of mine presented to us this poem, reportedly written by a geriatric patient in Europe and found after her death. It brought tears to my eyes and determination to my heart. [Perhaps it's times like those when you can be sure, you're exactly where you belong.] It's something I hope to keep in mind over the next few weeks, and forever after.
_____
What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
Are you thinking, when you look at me --
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice -- "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe,
Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, you're looking at ME...
I'll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still;
As I rise at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another,
A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet;
A bride soon at twenty -- my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep;
At twenty-five now I have young of my own,
Who need me to build a secure, happy home;
A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last;
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn;
At fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread,
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known;
I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel --
'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body is crumbled, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where once I had a heart,
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again, my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again,
I think of the years, all too few -- gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last --
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
Not a crabby old woman, look closer, nurses -- see ME!
06 September 2008
Who coined the word gargle, anyway?
Nursing school, thus far, is Hell. Last week sucked, but after examining next week's schedule, I was thrown into an all-out panic. Clinical rotations begin on Monday, gasp! I've got unit exams each day---scheduled around the seven-hour lectures, of course. And a rough draft for the research paper we were assigned only days ago? Due on Friday.
I was eager for this weekend. A time to catch up on sleep, chill out with a Margarita, and allow my mind a break from Pharmacology I. (So, yeah, maybe I should use my weekends to study and catch up on assignments, too. But c'mon, let's be realistic.)
Whatever. My body had other plans.
I'm nearly positive I have a throat infection. And I can say this, I can self-diagnosis because I've had approximately 12,842,687,012 cases in my twenty-four years. No, really, I have. And I refuse to make a doctor's appointment. For one thing, they'd have to "work me in" midday, so I'd be forced to miss class---and seriously, missing class is something you just don't do. If you've suffered a massive heart attack, let's say, you'd better hope it happens early enough that you're still able to make it to class by 8AM. It's hardcore, yo. Oh, and yeah, the other reason I won't see my doctor. I already know what he'll say: "You already know what I'm going to say: We need to remove your tonsils." No, thanks. There will be no slicing or dicing.
Instead, I'm doping on Benadryl (which reminds me, it's high time for another dose). I'm popping ibuprofen left-and-right to lessen the pain just enough that I can manage a few bites of mashed potatoes without their feeling something like shards of glass. And, yeah, the salt water concoctions I dreaded as a kid. (I'll never be able to forget my mom's incessant "Gargle your throat. Have you gargled your throat?") Yuck. I'd almost sooner keep the infection than risk ingesting that warm, salty water. And, even worse, tilting your head too far back mid-gargle, can cause salt-water-in-the-nose, and that shit burns. Still, I'm trying it, the gargles. Every few hours, I'm gargling. I'm all about this self-medication thing, determined to be well by Monday.
I was eager for this weekend. A time to catch up on sleep, chill out with a Margarita, and allow my mind a break from Pharmacology I. (So, yeah, maybe I should use my weekends to study and catch up on assignments, too. But c'mon, let's be realistic.)
Whatever. My body had other plans.
I'm nearly positive I have a throat infection. And I can say this, I can self-diagnosis because I've had approximately 12,842,687,012 cases in my twenty-four years. No, really, I have. And I refuse to make a doctor's appointment. For one thing, they'd have to "work me in" midday, so I'd be forced to miss class---and seriously, missing class is something you just don't do. If you've suffered a massive heart attack, let's say, you'd better hope it happens early enough that you're still able to make it to class by 8AM. It's hardcore, yo. Oh, and yeah, the other reason I won't see my doctor. I already know what he'll say: "You already know what I'm going to say: We need to remove your tonsils." No, thanks. There will be no slicing or dicing.
Instead, I'm doping on Benadryl (which reminds me, it's high time for another dose). I'm popping ibuprofen left-and-right to lessen the pain just enough that I can manage a few bites of mashed potatoes without their feeling something like shards of glass. And, yeah, the salt water concoctions I dreaded as a kid. (I'll never be able to forget my mom's incessant "Gargle your throat. Have you gargled your throat?") Yuck. I'd almost sooner keep the infection than risk ingesting that warm, salty water. And, even worse, tilting your head too far back mid-gargle, can cause salt-water-in-the-nose, and that shit burns. Still, I'm trying it, the gargles. Every few hours, I'm gargling. I'm all about this self-medication thing, determined to be well by Monday.
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