ADVENTURES IN NURSING

NURSING HOME CLINICALS

The day finally came when B and I and all of our classmates had our uniforms, our hated blue pinafores, our nursing shoes, our ugly white stockings, and some of “them” had nursing caps.  We scraped together the cash for our very own stethoscopes, the best we could afford at the time.  Some of us even had our own sphygmomanometer, which is just a fancy word for blood pressure cuff.  (I’ve often wondered who came up with this impossible-to-remember-how-to-spell, six-syllable word for the four-syllable term.  This person and their evil spawn need to be cursed, or at least cursed at!)

We were ready for our first nursing-home clinical day.  B spent a few minutes that morning upchucking her tea and toast breakfast, which would become her ritual on clinical days.  We were scared.  We were nervous.  We were student nurses!  Off we went!  Luckily, we were in the same group, so could cry on each other’s shoulders.

The routine was that we would be assigned one patient for the day.  It was our job to familiarize ourselves with our patient’s medical issues, medications, personal care routines, and what activities of daily living we would need to provide for them.  We had to know what medication was for which diagnosis, and any side effects of their meds to monitor for.  Were they independent or dependent as far as bathing, toileting, dressing, eating, et cetera?  We were their nurse for the day, and we’d better start acting like it.

I don’t remember my very first patient’s name.  I recall she was confined to a wheelchair, so my first thought was “easy-peasy.”  At least, I wouldn’t have to chase her down the hallways, trying to corral her into her room so I could do what I had to do.  She was also quite deaf, so there was a great deal of yelling back and forth going on, which really wasn’t all that effective.

I’ve always been a great believer that we should respect our elders.  This was due in large part, no doubt, to my mother trying to beat this philosophy into me for the first 18 years of my life.  It took, believe you me!  I had respect for my elders up the yin yang, and perhaps even a healthy fear.  Old people could be scary, even downright mean in some cases. 

I spent my day being just as polite as I possibly could with my little white-haired, bespectacled charge.  At one point, she was parked in the hall, observing all the hustle and bustle of a typical day in a nursing home.  I was standing beside her, attempting to have a conversation and appear as if I were engaging her in some meaningful way.  Suddenly, there was Mrs. B1, ready to grill me on the whys and wherefores of what we had been doing all day.

Feeling oh-so-indispensable, I leaned over to ask the little varmint if she was warm enough.  Before I could yell, “Holy crap!” her little wrinkled arm snaked out from under her lap robe and slapped me right across the face.  I can only surmise that she didn’t care much for my face being right in her face.  In any case, I valiantly controlled my urge to return the favor and smack her right back.  Please don’t judge me.  The urge was a reflex, for Pete’s sake.

The blow brought tears to my eyes.  That old lady packed quite a wallop.  I tried to regain my composure and not run weeping down the hall in front of Mrs. B1.  I have no idea what she was thinking in those few minutes.  We never discussed the fracas, and we both agreed that, yes, apparently, the ornery little critter was warm enough.  As I stood there gathering my wits about me again, I swore to myself that I would NEVER work in a nursing home or with mean old people once I became a nurse.

Ah, such famous last words.  It turns out, my career consisted of working in nothing but long-term-care facilities, with seniors and developmentally disabled adults.  I developed quite the talent for avoiding kicks, spittle, blows, fingernails, flying objects and many other things my charges might choose to throw at me.  I’m not saying I avoided every potential injury, but I did learn not to stick my face, with its phony plastered-on smile, in another old lady’s face and ask if she was warm enough.  I strongly advise you to do the same!