Did Someone Ring For the Nurse?

For some time, I have had friends wonder why my family strives so diligently to stay healthy. The most solid answer to that is they just don't want to have to depend on me being their nurse. I have compassion and empathy for most emotional needs. The sickroom turns me into a card-carrying certified maniac. I can't explain it and my family has long since tired of forgiving me. They choose rather to not be sick!

Dave learned early in our marriage that the common cold is something you take to your cave and nurse on your own without benefit of communication or mercy from me. I'll hand you everything you need: water, thermometer, Ibuprophen or Tylenol, extra blankets, tissues and bag for used tissues, cough drops, reading material. However, the minute you leave your room and enter my space you are on the receiving end of the most jaundiced expression the human face is capable of creating. Should you utter a moan or groan because of chills or aches, I will tell you why your symptoms are not worthy of emitting sounds as though you are sick.

I am very good with infants and toddlers who are sick and a passable comfort to children up to the age of 15 or 16. I'll comfort the infant or toddler with unending patience and enduring stamina until they are sleeping peacefully in my lap. I'll sing songs, tell stories, read books, and hold them while their stomach rebels at its last consumed contents. (Once those contents have been expelled, someone else has to clean up or I'll add my last 7 meals to the mess!) Dave and I were a good pair that way. It is a good thing we were; Helen was easily car sick and Marc baptised every new coat I ever owned as well as my brand new moccasins with vomit.

The older child receives fluffed pillows, straightened blankets, things to keep them busy, soft music and can count on me to read to them or tell them stories, serve sparkling beverage and chicken soup! But, even before the age of 15 the older child starts to notice that a wire is coming loose, a brain is beginning to fray, the picnic is missing a sandwich or two. The attentive nurse is beginning to not quite measure up to the situation.

I picked Helen up from school one day after a call from the nurse she had gotten sick in class and had a temperature. When we got home, I was telling her I had already made a bed on the sofa so she could watch TV and rest. She started crying. She was not weeping tears of joy over my care and concern, she was howling like a banshee. I had slammed her fingers in the car door and walked away adding insult to injury by locking the car. Without looking back, I scolded her for crying like a baby just because she had the flue! It's odd but to this day she doesn't believe I was truly concerned about her being ill. I did the same thing to my sister, Pat, only she shut her own hand in the door -- I merely locked the car.

Marc suffered stress at the age of 16 when all of life seemed to be piling on him and there was no light at the end of his tunnel. It was a traumatic time for the whole family. We went through family counseling, worked hard at making sure each of us knew they were loved, and tried so hard to let Marc know much of what he was experiencing was self inflicted but real nonetheless. The day after his release from the hospital I wanted to assure him I had full confidence in him and that I knew he would come out of his pain and survive. I asked him if he would like to go to Stillwater with me to pick up a Christmas gift for Dave. He agreed. He has always wondered why.

I gave him the keys to the car and smiled at his happy face. He was pleased to drive. I only know one way to any destination I need to reach. I will go "that way" no matter how many other ways might be shorter or easier. I only knew one way to Stillwater back then, Highway 36 east and into Stillwater's river front from the top of the bluffs. Marc drove and I gave directions. When he made the final left that started us down one of the steepest hills in the area, his eyes became the size of dinner plates (make that turkey platters). He began making little moaning sounds in his throat. At the bottom of the hill, we found a parking spot and he began screeching at me. If he had worn long hair at that time it would have been standing on end. He maintains he still carries a nervous tic from that ride and the only reason he didn't wind up back in the hospital was because he was afraid he would be released to my care again.

Helen broke her leg. She was acting as Nanny for a family on vacation. While taking their son for a walk, she did what any of us do countless times. She turned her ankle. She broke her leg, her heel, cracked small bones in her foot and ankle. The hospital in Alexandria stabilized her and in a couple days  put a cast on her entire leg from toes to hip. In addition to several odd bends in the cast (to make sure the foot would not touch the ground to bear any weight), they made the cast unbelievably thick to assure the bones would not move. The cast was so heavy, Helen required a walker rather than crutches and a wheelchair.

When she was allowed to be moved, the family brought her home to us on a mattress in the back of a station wagon. There were so many pillows around her to stabilize her she barely was visible when we went out to the car. I had prepared for her homecoming by making room for the wheelchair we rented, as well as removing obstacles to hinder impaired movement from every area I could see. We lived in a single-wide mobile home and clutter was a way of life.

Once Dave and Marc had tenderly lifted her from the car, we discovered she was too weak to use the walker to get to the house. The wheelchair we rented was too narrow for the culvert-sized cast on her leg. Dave and Marc carried her into the house and settled her. The very next day we took the wheel chair back and rented an extra wide chair. For several days, Marc and Dave were near by to help her maneuver about the house, go to the bathroom, and be comfortable. In short they provided sure, comforting nursing care for her. Eventually, they had to return to work/school and Helen and I would be on our own.

Helen was upset. She begged them not to leave her with me. Dave kept assuring her she would be fine and I would take good care of her. He gave her a bell. She asked what he thought that would help. He said, in the morning when you wake and have to go to the bathroom, ring the bell and Mom will come get you. She won't. Yes, she will. No, she won't. was a mantra that took place several times during the day. Marc, was pretty silent as I remember it.

The next morning I bid Marc and Dave farewell and assured them we would be all right. I began neatening up so there would be as much room as possible to accommodate the handicapped. Was that a bell? The ice cream truck is early. I'll bet Helen would be really surprised if I got her one of the really special ice cream treats she likes! I ran outside. No truck. This was repeated two more times before I remembered a bell equaled Helen's need to relieve herself.

I burst through her door apologizing and near tears. I eased her leg out of bed and helped her stand. She still had not mastered the walker and swinging that enormous cast so Dave and Marc had been supporting her while she moved. Oh, merciful Heavens! I wasn't tall enough. There she stood nearly ready to wet her pants and we could not move her even one step. I wrapped my arms around her waist and she put her arm over the top of my head and we managed to get to the bathroom in time. I had just become a human cane!

We got her dressed (sort of) and down the hall to the wheelchair. I brought her a tray with a basin, some soap, washcloth and towel, a glass of water, toothpaste and toothbrush. I told her to wash her face and arms, then dip her toothbrush in the water in the glass. I said to spit in the basin of soiled water and rinse with the glass of clean water. All the while I was under the scrutiny of snapping dark eyes clearly communicating her anger from not being heard when she needed me.

The bathing process seemed to be going well and giving some comfort. Irritation was slowly ebbing and I could breathe again. That lasted about 15 minutes. She took a swig of water to rinse her mouth, and to my amazement turned into a city square fountain. Instead of gently spitting into the basin, a stream of water sprang forth overshooting the basin and tray. She was spitting into her own lap. It was a moment that held in time. I can still see it. I laughed. I couldn't stop. I had to sit down on the floor. My sides hurt and I couldn't catch my breath. The fact that those dark eyes were glaring at me and Helen was not laughing made me laugh even harder. I was squealing.

The phone rang. There was only one side of the conversation to hear. Helen's side. It was something like this.

"No. No. No. No, Dad, she didn't! No. No. She thought it was the ice cream truck. No. No. No! But the next time the ice cream truck goes by she'll run out and make that dude go to the bathroom whether he has to or not! What's she doing now? She's rolling around on the floor laughing!"

In addition, I yelled at Helen to stop screaming when I couldn't shut the car door as there must be something wrong with the door and I didn't know where to go to get it fixed. I was slamming her cast in the door. I drove down the freeway entrance and heard a noise. When I wondered what that could have been, a quiet voice dripping with sarcasm said, "My crutches!"

When Dave broke his foot while on a business trip, a neighbor hired a limousine to pick him up at the airport and bring him home. When I pushed his wheel chair (another extra size one), I ran into every wall, hedge and gate that existed. Somehow no matter how hard I aimed for the empty space I always found the wall! I very carefully created a wheelchair-side table with books, beverage, snacks, TV control, phone, before leaving for work. I made sure he was comfortable. Then I moved the table out  of his reach and adjusted the window blind for best lighting then left for work. I never said I was a good nurse!

Marc had to have knee surgery from a football injury. He begged the hospital staff to arrange for home visits. Instead they sent him home to be happy about having me to help him. I came down with pinkeye and shared it with him. He insists I did it just to make sure he wasn't better taken care of than Helen and Dave. There is no respect for the efforts expended on these people!

In 2008 Helen was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Her prognosis is excellent at this writing and she is 2.5 years past her last chemo treatment and there is no sign of cancer. As she was recovering from surgery and her first chemotherapy appointment was drawing close, she stared at me shaking her head every few moments. Finally her husband, Kevin asked what was wrong. I turned to discover the dark eyes I remembered from the broken leg days. "I cannot believe once again I am at the mercy of 'her' for most of my trips to the infusion center when I am not well enough to protect myself," she said. We all laughed although I'll admit both Helen and I felt the truth behind the statement.

God has made me a loving person, empathetic to others' pain, caring and warm toward family. He has given me talent to draw, to write, to care for children. Why He thought nursing skills were low on the list of things I should have I don't knnow. If I were not trying it would not sadden me so but I honestly and sincerely put my best effort into nursing. Dave once said if that was my best effort to please not ever slack off. That God has provided for the protection of those I have nursed is clear. They are all alive and well and able to laugh. He has been good to us to give us the sense of humor to laugh. He has been good and gracious to us in that by and large we have been a healthy family. I humbly salute anyone who is gifted with the ability to nurse the sick and injured. You are special people and I pray God blesses you richly for your service.