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ROSES & THORNS OF NURSING
(An Open Letter to My Granddaughter)
By FLORITA BRADFORD, RN
Dear Granddaughter,
So, you have enrolled in the College of Nursing. Maybe your first lesson in
English 101 was to write why you chose to go into nursing. Some of you guys
would have been enticed by the glamour of Western pastures, settings which you
see only in movies; the opportunity to be paid in euro or dollar, multiplied by
a certain rate would yield far better returns, much appreciated back home; the
lure of Florence Nightingale image; the status symbol of the uniform. Honey, in
your case, was it following after the footsteps of Granny?
How strong are you to embark into the unknown?
From the time that you fasten your seatbelt in the plane, you would feel the
gnawing pain of being all by yourself in a strange land. The security blanket,
that your parents enveloped you with, has been snatched. Do you expect welcoming
arms, a carpet rolled at your feet, a limousine to take you to a sophisticated
apartment, a macho boyfriend, perhaps? What illusions!
Lucky you that you need not endure what your counterparts are going through.
Some pace the streets in their designer outfits and high heels, caked make-ups,
sweating the Texas heat, then filling up bunches of applications, only to be
told that it’s freeze-hiring time. Being “on line” here may not mean website but
food stamps and unemployment benefits.
With your powerful ammunitions – H-1 visa and State Board License — you march to
the battlefield of adventure. Welcome to the popular exodus to USA!
I’ll send you a photo album. Therein, you would glean my point. It chronicled
poignant love stories, too many to mention here –affection for humanity, the
beauty of Samaritan sympathy, the giving of one-self in serving, the joy of
having help to overturn misery of even death.
I found myself at a Pediatrics ward in a county hospital, not by choice but
because it had been there where there was a vacancy. I loved kids but it would
break my heart seeing them suffering. Probably if it were an affluent, private
one the ambience in the pictures would have provided different kind of stories.
But since the phase of my life had run its course in that milieu, the lessons I
learned were far more precious.
Most of our patients were minorities, as you would see in that album. There were
three toddlers, two of whom were like cute dolls and an impish boy. They gave us
pain in the neck but they were like family to us as they called us all “mommy.”
They had stayed since birth when their respective parents abandoned them like
checking in at a hotel. The boy eventually passed at thirteen and the girls were
transferred to other hospitals.
There’s a smiling and cooing baby who’s not aware that HIV had been passed on to
her upon birth.
A mere three-pound infant, refusing to give up, tubes were in her orifices.
A nine-year-old girl was craving for hamburger. She got her last wish when one
day I passed by a fast food place. Later, I questioned my guardian angel saying,
“Do they have burgers in heaven?”
A baby had a gunshot wound in the abdomen, how she got it, I never know.
An adolescent boy came by bus directly from school every evening. He was having
chest tube, an overnight therapy, then back to school with his backpack in the
morning.
A boy, whose foot was cuffed to the bedpost, had a cop at his bedside day and
night. Praise to our Chief Pediatrician, who requested the authorities to remove
the cuff. The picture would have looked like a veterinary case.
Another boy who could have looked like veterinary case -- since he had been
treated worse than an animal --was four years old. He had missed the lights of
day because he had been confined in his room for years and years, until he
learned how to escape, then was found and brought to us.
I’ll never forget the face of a young, single mother, her frail and flaccid
infant in her arms. I encountered the hardest part of my job when the
pediatrician told me to interpret to that Hispanic woman that her infant won’t
be able to make it.
Other tears that I had seen were from babies, screaming for their Moms from
whose arms they were taken away by Children’s Protective Service officers.
Still others were victims of abuse from parents, or boyfriends of mothers. They
had bruises, lacerations or bleeding crevices. No, there were no pictures of
their trauma-- fortunately hidden by their angelic innocence through smiles and
cherry gestures.
There were marasmus cases due to malnutrition. Malnutrition? Here, in this most
powerful country in the world?
Some pictures showed the longing eyes of children as they stared at the
Christmas carolers. Their legs had been hanging in traction for weeks or months.
Other photos depicted the tantrums of babies on NPO order, who would kill if
they could, just to get a sip of water, juice or milk.
In the last pages of my album after the pictures of my retirement party were
some insertions. They were greeting cards of Christmas, Mother’s Day, birthday
and Valentine, signed haphazardly by little fingers. There were small tokens and
dried flowers. Wherever they may be now, I wish I could tell them, “Little ones,
thanks for the memories.”
So much for those lessons not found in textbooks. I need to remind you of the
practical side. Number one rule of the game is presence of mind at all times.
Nurses must be infallible like the Pope, no errors allowed. Accountants can make
adjusting entries; lawyers can offer mitigating circumstances; programmers can
present addendums or deletions, but not you. Before you carry out a doctor’s
order, verify for perfection, to prevent your own liability. Train your memory
ala-technology, forgetting is no excuse. Hang on to the five R’s until you’re
stricken with Alzheimer. Same goes with the narcotics key.
You need the dexterity in the military academy. Don’t be surprised to forego or
defer coffee or lunch breaks as admissions may come simultaneously, as well as
code alarms. Lastly, but not least, a simple task, hand washing technique.
So you have a weak epigastric region. The smell of emesis and body fluids cause
you to retch. The patient throws up on the floor. You got to jump to clean it,
as safety is first priority in line of duty.
Personal-inter-relationship may cause stress. You will deal with a variety of
people and can get entangled in a diversified culture. They are doctors,
supervisors, head nurses, therapists, RNs, LPNs, CNAs, housekeepers, visitors,
families and patients themselves. In manner of speaking or gestures, whatever
may be or not be acceptable where you came from, won’t be the same with theirs
and vice versa. Therefore, be careful. Let the Golden Rule, authored by the Lord
Himself, be your guide in ethics.
Holidays and weekends may well be miserable when social functions and dating
have to be put on hold. Your counterparts flaunt their good looks while you get
used to scrub uniforms and running shoes, clipper finger nails and hair neatly
trimmed up.
The fast pace of modern trends may slash human resources. Fluctuating economy
needs cost cutting. One thing that will be here to stay is nursing. Science and
technology can never replace compassion. Because, CARING is what NURSES do best.
Good luck and love,
Lola
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