As nursing (and Stephen Fry) have taught me, there are those who are and those who do
The first thing that struck me about nursing came from an old woman during an aged care home placement in my first year of uni. She still had her faculties and was only in the home because she was unmarried, hated her family and had no one to look after her in her advanced age.
I liked her immediately.
I made sure to chat to her whenever I could on that placement and by the end of the week we were having smoko and lunch together. After our meetings, she became a bit sentimental. She said she never offered advice because she hated receiving it but she wanted to give me a little: never deny yourself. And I haven’t. Just look at my perpetual $5,000 debt.
2020 has been deemed the International Year of the Nurse and Midwife by the World Health Organisation (WHO). With a global pandemic and 200 years since the birth of Florence Nightingale, this year seems appropriate to be a tribute to my colleagues. Nightingale, for those outside the medical world, is, among many other incredible things, the founder of modern nursing. I’ve been a registered nurse for five years now – one year on a wonderful ward at Tweed Heads hospital before shifting to ICU, where I’ve been for the past four years.
My friend at the aged care home taught me one thing during that time. Another comes from an observation made by Stephen Fry.
While talking about Oscar Wilde, he said “we are not nouns, we are verbs. I am not a thing, an actor, a writer. I write, I act – and I never know what I’m going to do next. I think you can imprison yourself if you think of yourself as a noun”. This is something that I can’t help but see with nurses where I work. Almost all nurses I’ve worked with fall into the categories of being nurses (noun) or people who simply nurse (verb). Of course, I’m sure this happens in just about any occupation.
Nurses (noun) are the ambitious lot. There is nothing else they were going to be. They understand the job completely, whether they have been nursing for one year or 40. They seem to have a deep affinity with it that they did not realise they carried until their first nursing placement. From that point all knowledge in the field of nursing has pulsated through them. There are no more textbooks to read, thank God. A noun nurse’s patient’s room is immaculate. The hospital corners are to die for. All the lines with medications cascading towards the desired vein are lined up impeccably, labelled and dated. The patient’s belongings are counted and neatly packed away and they themselves lie in bed as the centrepiece of this perfect picture.
The ones that nurse (verb) appear a bit more audacious. Like someone who decides to get fit a little later on in life, the development of those who do nursing is a little slower. That sense they were going to be something has never passed through them – but they’re determined, to some degree. Some are determined to prove themselves in the field they have blundered into. Some are determined not to let their mum down.
These nurses are verbs because they come to work to actively do just that. Their understanding develops more and more as they see patients with the same condition and as they observe longer-serving nurses caring for these patients. They take only the best bits into their practice. In between etching out their trade you’ll find them chatting to the patient or the patient’s loved ones and inadvertently practising holistic care without noticing, because they were not listening to that lecture at uni. Why would they? What does “holistic” even mean?
How do you tell which nurse is looking after you? Look them in the eye. The nurse will always have their gaze set ever so slightly off you, looking for something that is about to happen. Someone who only happens to nurse will be looking at you, hoping that that something will not happen, at least on their shift.
Two of the finest nurses I’ve worked with come from either side of this observation. My mother, who is a phenomenon in midwifery and nurse management, and Marguerite, who appears the best all-rounder I have seen in my short time in the gig. Between them there is nothing they don’t know or haven’t done in nursing. One thing they will tell you is not to rush what you are doing, so you only have to do it once. If I could write a book about them I’d call it: The mother and Marguerite; a satire about rushin’ culture and the need for a certain artificial order.
In between etching out their trade you’ll find them chatting to the patient or the patient’s loved ones