To the daughter who said after her mother died, “You kept her alive all those years! She never would have survived without you,” yes, I did, and thank you for realizing it.
To the countless patients who have said, “Now I understand!” or “That makes what I need to do so much easier!” or “This chart you made is so helpful,” thank you.
To the family that texted from time to time for years with “Mom’s doing this now; what should we do?” messages that never failed to end with “Thank you for your time/we’re so sorry to bother you at night/on a weekend/on the holiday,” thank you. Together we kept her home and out of the hospital for the last year and a half of her life despite multiple chronic and progressive problems and a doctor who never came to the phone and whose after-hours calls went to strangers who didn’t know her. I’m glad to accept those texts and to stand by while you carry out my instructions, even though they are nonbillable interruptions of my personal time, because I can do what the stranger in the doctor’s practice cannot, because it makes an important difference, and because you as a family are grateful and non-abusive collaborators.
To the bystander who asked as the ambulance pulled away, “How’d you know what to do? He looked fine to me!” thank you for recognizing that my seemingly unlikely knack for knowing that something wasn’t “normal” just saved a life.
To the myriad of patients who have thanked me just for showing up and being there, thank you for underscoring the loss suffered when “attending physicians” stopped attending and for recognizing what a steady presence with a sharp eye, educated mind, and keen and skilled intuition is worth.
And as we embark on another “Nurses Week,” thank you for understanding my imperfect efforts to be gracious when you describe my colleagues and me as “caring,” “compassionate,” and “hard-working.” A child often is caring and compassionate, and a window washer is hard-working; indeed, most human beings are caring and compassionate in their own ways and most work hard in the endeavors they have chosen or that have fallen to them. Nurses are human beings; ergo those traits pertain to us. But there's more, and it's the "more" that defines us and matters most.
We know that patients and those important to them rarely understand what’s going through our minds as we seem just to chat about the weather or a television program. And we know that the extra warm blanket or the steadying touch or the reassuring smile when life seems most uncertain and scary, these are tangible things people can understand as comforting and so they comment about compassion. So when you recognize our “caring” we hope that’s code for a silent nod to years of rigorous education, finely honed skill, experience and understanding beyond the pale of most people’s imagination, and a great deal of responsibility borne daily for decades that is the glue that holds together all of healthcare.
Thank you for paying attention. And to anyone who has a sense of nurses’ compassion entailing something different from that of a faithful old dog and of their hard work being substantively different from what goes on in an ant colony, a shout out to politicians, regulators, and CEOs about safe nurse staffing, safe workplace environments, reasonable workloads, and compensation commensurate with expertise would be most appreciated.
Another tote bag or tulip won’t make much difference. Recognizing, respecting, and rewarding what nurses actually know and do will, for nurses, patients, and anyone who cares about either. . . . And
Thank You.
