It’s crazy how life happens. A first impression based on how someone acts, dresses, or talks often does not give us a full view of that person. That initial judgment can be positive or it can be hurtful. As I continue to grow up, I find I am more open to new things and no longer focus much on first impressions.

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I am currently in my third year of nursing studies and all I think of day in and day out in nursing. It invades my dreams, dinner conversation, and even occupies my mind when I’m stuck in traffic. I love nursing and I love learning about nursing even more but a few weeks ago I had the worst day I have ever experienced while attending a clinical day; the kind of day that makes you shake your fist in the air and proclaim “Why? Why did I choose this?!” in futility towards the heavens.

The day began ominously when I received an e-mail from my employer that informed all the staff that there was an issue with our payroll and it had not been delivered, from there it was all downhill. I, eager to both impress my instructor and get a leg up on my work, arrived to the hospital setting more than an hour early to prepare myself for the client that my teacher had selected for me.

This particular client needed complex care and I was excited to give it to him! As the shift change came around at 7:30am I sought the nurse whose client I was assigned to and eagerly introduced myself and my purpose. Instead of a friendly hello or even a weary welcome I was the recipient of a genuine tirade of “I don’t want a student” and “no body asked me” and so on and so forth. I was appalled to say the least! I had heard of this situation before, the one where your teacher assigns you to a nurse and the nurse turns you down, but wow, this nurse did it with flair, with panache and especially with volume, and she did it in front of a lot of staff. To some thankful degree my instructor was nearby when she heard this refusal; I say thankfully because she wouldn’t have believed me if I had repeated to her what happened (she even admitted that to me later!). From there I was assigned to a client on this general surgery floor that was admitted with nausea and vomiting; a person who needed care, but a case that wouldn’t really teach me anything new. When it came time for a much needed break I had the good fortune of banging my face into my locker, the only solace I took was that at least this time there was no one there to see it happen. I swallowed the hurt and gave that client the best darn care she’s ever received in the hospital and took any opportunity I could find to learn something new. To finally sew up a ’wonderful’ day of learning, our clinical group left an hour late which made me late for my job as a community Personal Support Worker.

I spent the hour long drive home fighting off tears of frustration and anger, and tried to imagine that my first client of the evening wouldn’t be disappointed that I was an hour late and wouldn’t have her meal timed with Coronation Street. When I arrived at my first clients home, she wouldn’t answer the door. It turned out, as I later learned, that she fell asleep with the phone off the hook and had double locked the front door so that I couldn’t enter the home with the just the one key I had; a common occurrence apparently.

Because I was in the area for my next client of the evening I decided to head over there early. When I arrived to this elderly clients home I could tell something was immediately wrong. She was laying on the sofa with a thin blanket covering her and a moist cloth on her forehead but she was trembling from head to toe. I made an excuse to go back to my car to grab my stethoscope with I thankfully had on hand because I had worked in the hospital that morning. When I got back inside I sat her up and proceeded to do a head to toe assessment; the very thing that is drilled into my tiny nursing student brain on a daily basis. I found the client had decreased lung sounds, shortness of breath, her pulse was racing, she was pale as a sheet and her nails beds looked off colour. My client insisted that it would pass and that she was well enough to head to the bathroom. There I could see that she was having difficulty walking so I transported her there via her own walker all the assessing the seriousness of the situation at hand.

While resting in the washroom she started to complain that she had to burp but couldn’t, when I asked her how she knew, she simply stated “because my chest hurts.” That’s when I grabbed the phone. I called 911 for help and gave them a detailed description of my client’s status and that I believed she was having a heart attack, funnily enough the emergency operator asked “Are you her nurse?”; after the day I had it was pretty tough holding back my laughter. Between the arrival of Fire and Paramedics I had to return my client to the sofa from the washroom because as she insisted if she must go, then she would be picked up like a lady. I also had to organize a list of all her medications, move bulky furniture out of the way to make room for a gurney, get her increasingly panicking husband organized and calmed, and talk to two of their adult children on the telephone to explain the situation and encourage them to meet their mother and father at the hospital, all while keeping a very close eye on my client. By the time emergency services arrived to help, the client’s nail beds were fully cyanotic and she was in an increasing amount of pain. When I started to detail the situation to them, again I was asked, “Are you a nurse?” I replied with, “Not yet, in a year, just here as a PSW”. To my surprise a paramedic turned and said “Well you sure know what you’re doing; good job”. That made my day. It made my career choice. At that very moment, it made my year! I watched as the emergency workers took over and I stayed until they all left the home. Although I appreciate the seriousness of the situation I was, and am so proud of myself. I stayed calm, I acted appropriately, and I used all my knowledge that I have been filing into my head day after day for the past three years to help save a life. After I had spent the better part of a day lamenting my career choice and all the money I had invested in school, I got the validation and confidence boost that I needed to know that I had made the right decision in life.

When I was about 7, my best friend and I would have sleepovers.  I remember laying in her bed and making plans.  We would become nurses, one of us would marry a doctor, the other a dentist and we would be missionaries, traveling to whatever country was in need of our service.  Later, at about age 11 or 12, I read a book, “My Heart Has Seventeen Rooms” by Carol Bartholomew.  She was an American, living in India with her family and volunteered in a seventeen room hospital.  More inspiration.  The years passed.   I did not become a nurse.  I felt I wasn’t smart enough, I didn’t have the knowledge, the ability, the self confidence.  I studied dental assisting instead.  But it wasn’t enough and when my daughters were in elementary school I went to nursing school.  It was hard work, juggling a family and my education.  But I persevered and graduated with highest honors. My mother, also a nurse, pinned me.  Now I am proud to be a school nurse.  Every day, I go to my elementary school and am greeted by a chorus of students.  I practice what I consider to be holistic nursing, caring for the whole child, listening to their stories and trying to treat them with respect.  They reward me daily with their smiles, hugs, hopes and dreams.   My hope is that I am making a difference in their lives.

At the ripe old age of five years old, I new my calling was to be an Artist and a Nurse. I completed my nursing education right out of high school and when my children were adolescents I went back to collage for my degree in studio arts and behavioral medicine. At last I am satisfying both passions at Baptist Medical Center in Jacksonville, Fl. were I do art interventions at the bedside with patients and do art workshops for  the health care team.

As an Artist and Nurse, each profession requires creativity. Encouraging creative expression follows the teachings of Nightingale and the Caring Theory of Jean Watson.  Research shows us that creativity has a positive effect on our immune system and can improve our health. Sharing this with others from both professional capacities is my heart’s desire.

My name is William and I am a large “bearish” fellow with a big heart. From an early age I was always considered the “protector” and when I graduated high school I followed the natural progression of that title by first becoming a Bouncer and then a Body Gaurd before finaly settling into Law Enforcement. I ultimately found my nitch in Gang Investigation and stayed in that role for 13 years until the negative environment in which I was forced to work began to take its toll. The final straw came when I testified in a capital murder trial for a heinous hate crime committed by white supremists. During the legnthy trials the victims family under went tremendous pain while having to relive the event and deep in my heart I simply wanted to “hold” them…to put my arms around them and tell them my heart hurt for their loss. Months later, at the end of the trials, I was finally allowed to speak with the victims family and shared in their pain and grief. That day, while driving home from the last trial, I knew in my heart that I needed to take a different path. I took a job the next week at the local Emergency Room and within 24 hours of starting I knew my calling was to be a Nurse. For 8 years now I have worked as an RN with honor and pride. To ease the pain and suffering of another is the most noble act we can perform…

When I was in the fifth grade, my Dad came down with epilepsy. Grand Mal….although I guess it has another name now. The seizures terrified me, and, it was before the time that Dilantin was discovered. Nothing could be done. My Mother put something in his mouth until it was over, and, we – all five of us – prayed our hearts out that Daddy wouldn’t die. I guess the experiences had a lot to do with my decision to become a nurse.

At eighteen years of age, I entered nursing school. The three years of experience with the ceitically ill are vignettes of memory now that I am 77 years old, and, don’t practice now. I haven’t worked for four years. Yet, the memory lingers on.

I recall my years in the CCU, the ‘codes’ and the saves and the losses. It was somewhat of a comfort to think that I could comfort families in the little chapel next to the CCU unit at South Shore Hospital in Weymouth, MA. Some days sent me home in tears, too. Oh the tears and the laughter……What would one do in the midst of horror if one did not have a friend to laugh with sometimes after our shift ended.

The most beautiful experience I had was to be in the delivery room when a new baby was born. All of a sudden there was another person in the room….a frail, or perhaps a lusty cry and a little red face ringed with fuzzy hair. A miracle. It brought tears to me eyes!
The times, they were different then. We weren’t quite as busy as now. We did not have the technology. We used glass thermometers with mercury and someone had to wash them all and put them in a little pan of alcohol for the next shift to use. We had glass syringes and needles that all had to be ‘autoclaved’ after being carefully wrapped. I take my ‘cap’ off and tip it to today’ nurse. You are capable, smart, and, graciously kind, despite your heavy burdens of more and more work.. God Bless you All!

Mary Sheehy Plymouth MA USA 50 years a nurse.

When did I not want to be a nurse? Can’t remember. As the middle child with an older sister and a younger brother, I pretty much did as I wanted as long as it was “within” bounds. They called me to get rid of bugs and to patch up hurts. When high school graduation rolled around I contemplated going to Jackson Memorial Hospital School of Nursing. My father, in all his wisdom, did not want his little girl going to an environment with much older men. (ahem). I enrolled at Florida State University and never regretted that decision. It opened opportunities that I would not have had without a degree. Through my education I was able to put my husband through law school (we celebrate our 46th anniversary in 2009), raise three beautiful daughters, was called constantly from friends wanting advice from “Nurse Noel.” On several occasions I was thrown into life threatening situations as was able to respond. Although I no longer practice nursing, it was a wonderful jump start on life.

On my way to work this particular day, I was thinking about a two-week vacation that would start after two more shifts. Excited and feeling on top of the world, vacation time was almost here. I sauntered into the hospital relaxed and anxious to get started, thinking, one more day and I am off on a European vacation.

It looked like another busy day at St. Luke’s Hospital. After receiving my assignment, I walked down the corridor to take a peek at my patients before listening to report. When I turned around I noticed a woman walking towards the elevator crying. I thought to myself, she is a nurse I had worked with a few years ago. I hurriedly tried to catch up to her. The elevator doors shut. My day continued with thoughts of vacation and that nurse.

Standing at the nurse’s station after lunch, I heard uncontrollable crying. Looking down the corridor I saw a lone visitor standing outside a patient’s room crying. Again, it was the co-worker I had seen earlier. Immediately I walked down the corridor. As I approached, she turned and our eyes met. She extended her arms and we hugged. Crying and trembling, I held her in my arms; she told me her mom was dying. I could see the despair and apprehension in her eyes. I quickly took a deep breath and tried to gain my composure because at that very moment I was ready for a melt down. I lost my mom several years before; it all came back in a flash. We hugged for, what seemed to be several minutes. Taking a few deep breaths and centering (being present) myself, I asked her what could I do to help. I offered to call a family member, clergy, social service or a friend, but she declined. She asked me, “can we speak privately after I introduce you to my mother?” It was clear to me she had a story to tell. We walked into the room holding hands. She was still trembling as she introduced me to her mom who was unresponsive. We stood quietly at the bedside for several minutes. She was staring down at her while I was gently rubbing her mom’s head. After several minutes, we walked to the conference room. She shared with me that they had unresolved issues. She needed to tell a story, not to me, but to her mom. She became consumed in her emotions again. My heart was aching for her. I needed to try and direct healing energy for her to use, as she needed. We sat for several minutes without any dialogue. The sobbing stopped. Still trembling, she feared they would never be able to resolve their issues. Again, I asked her if I could call a family member, clergy or a social worker. “No,” was her response. She asked me, “Can we talk?” She talked while I listened. Clearly she was heart broken and overwhelmed. As we walked back to her mom’s room, I told her that I was a Therapeutic Touch Practitioner and I could teach her a wonderful technique called, The Hand Heart Connections (HHC). Her eyes widened and she looked in amazement and said, “You can do that.”

She was receptive to learn the technique. I knew she and her mom would benefit greatly. It would be a win win situation. I taught her the Hand Heart Connection. Leaving her sitting at her mom’s bedside holding her hand, I knew she would have the strength to share her story of anguish, love, and re-conciliation.

When my shift ended, the thoughts of vacation ran through my head. I swiftly left the nurses station and walked down the short corridor to see Mrs. P and her daughter. I entered the room with a feeling of satisfaction being able to have assisted another family through a difficult time. They both looked so peaceful and in touch. She spoke softly with loving thoughts of her mom.

The next day at 6 a.m. my home phone rang and I was offered voluntary time off. YES! Excited that I could start my vacation 8 hours early, my thoughts then reverted to the previous day. How are Mrs. P and her daughter? I was confident the information she received and support from the nursing staff, and her family would help them through their journey. I was now in vacation mode.

When I returned from vacation I was told that Mrs. P had expired.

As I was standing in the atrium during intermission at a local benefit concert, I heard someone shouting my name. Looking around, my husband Dale said, “Ida that lady is calling you.” Our eyes met, she was crying, smiling, and waving; all eyes are on us. She almost knocked me down with the biggest bear hug. Saying “THANK YOU” and introducing me to her husband. “She’s the nurse who taught me that technique!” She grabbed my hand and started demonstrating The Hand-Heart Connection. We hugged and cried together; emotions were high. We shared an experience so deep and personal, no words needed to be spoken. She walked away with her husband. Dale placed his hand on my shoulder. Then hand and hand we walked back to our seats. Words can never express the feelings that were flowing through my mind and body.

When public interest was first generated by the notion of living while dying, I was intrigued. The idea of death as a continuum of life as proposed by leaders of the Hospice Movement, had a philosophical interest which sparked a yearning in me to be of service in a meaningful way.
As a bank teller, I began an acquaintance which would influence me profoundly for the rest of my life. As this Hospice Registered Nurse would conduct business, she helped me begin to understand the concept of Hospice. She also conveyed what it meant to have such a privilege; to help both patient and families to have a meaningful dying experience. She exemplified and role modeled my beginning belief system of what a nurse should be, inspiring me to become a Registered Nurse. What is more important and meaningful to me is that she encouraged me to become a Hospice Nurse.
All this 19 years ago. Today as a Hospice nurse, am continually humbled at the privilege of assisting at such a profound time that we as human beings will all one day experience. Karen, RN,BSN/ Jacksonville, Florida, USA

I’m Nancy in Jacksonville, FL. I was a divorced mom of 2 and worked in the Health Dept. part time and as a medical transcriber the rest of the time. All the nurses I worked with were so enthusiastic about the profession; and I wanted to be an insider in the mysterious hospital. When the first ASN program in Colorado was launched in 1964, I interviewed and was accepted. Later I went on the get a BSN and a masters in Psychiatric Nursing. I have worked in the field of psych and wellness all of my career and some jobs I would have paid the hospital to let me do!

My grandmother was a nurse, my great aunt was a nurse in a Base Hospital in France in WW I and one of my daughters is a nurse–it runs in the family. I want to pay tribute to Alice Berry who encouraged me and inspired me by her love of being a nurse.