Author: Connie Kragt
I was four short months into my nurses’ training. Such a short time ago I had been an eighteen-year-old girl newly graduated from a small town high school. I was still an eighteen-year-old girl but it felt strange being in a position that was so completely foreign to me. After plunging into the rat-race of nursing theory at a big college in the city, I had earned the title of “Student Nurse”.
The next major step was to tap into this newfound knowledge and apply a little bit of it at the hospital. Jumping through the hoops of training had given me a crash course in human anatomy, disease processes and relevant treatments. With much nonchalance, our instructors quickly outlined our responsibilities.
We were to focus our treatments on basic care of the patient. The phrase “basic care” rattled around in my brain. Did these people know that six days out of seven, I didn’t even make my own bed? Were they aware that at that very moment all I had to eat in my dorm was Ritz crackers and a few wrinkled grapes? They were giving me a lot of credit. If they had known of my own inadequate basic care would they would be so quick to entrust to me with the care of someone else?
Despite my doubts, I had received the profile of “my” first patient. We were given a name, age, gender and diagnosis, as well as any relevant deficits the person may have. We had the evening to research and would receive the person into our care the following morning. With nervous urgency, I studied my patient’s profile. I was wonderfully relieved that she was a woman. I had barely seen a naked body and most certainly not in more than the dimmest of light. While the mannequins in our nursing lab were quite lovely, they did not feel the shake of my hands, they did not hear the waver in my voice and most of all did not see the lovely shade of red that would flame across my cheeks to reveal my self-consciousness. While I may have had initial awkwardness washing a woman, I felt a lot more at ease knowing my first patient would not be a man complete with man parts.
Along with our anatomy and biology classes, we were also taking classes to deal with the social aspects of nursing care. The goal of maintaining the dignity and personal feelings of the patients was of utmost importance. My lack of “life experience” was feeling like a bit of a roadblock to my success as a nurse. It was not going to be natural for me to interact with my patients as equals or peers. I was going have to “walk the walk” and “talk the talk” of a professional caregiver even though I felt far from the real thing. Fortunately, my professors had listed behaviors we could exhibit that would encourage communication with our patients and would promote an open non-judgmental and comfortable relationship. We had been instructed to: maintain eye contact, keep an open body posture (no crossed legs or arms) and to be diligent in not displaying negative facial expressions or words. I kept it all in mind but again was relieved that my first patient was indeed a woman.
With nervousness I entered the nursing station in the morning. Almost immediately I was pulled aside by my instructor. She casually handed me a paper and explained unapologetically that my original patient had gotten well enough to go home and the profile on the sheet would describe my new patient. I was instantly on alert but a mere 10 seconds later my body was in full-blown panic. The first five words on the profile were: 72 year-old male. Was it too late to call in sick? Did I have time to change my mind about nursing? Just where was a closet when you needed a place to disappear? Before I could even ponder these questions, I found myself being guided into the man’s room with basin and wash cloth in hand. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat as I approached the bed.
A quick introduction was soon followed by the man’s acceptance for a wash. I wanted to run but I surprised myself by not only bathing the man but engaging him in conversation, however, the most personal part of the wash was still to come. I froze my eyes in the most unnatural open-eyed stare and vowed to maintain eye contact with the man no matter what thoughts danced through my mind. I continued on to these unchartered territories despite shaking hands and an ever growing flush of embarrassment. With all the confidence I could muster I raised my eyes to meet his. I was prepared to meet raised eyebrows or at best, a look of critical amusement. To my surprise the man did not meet my gaze. My heart sank. I instantly concluded he had seen my blushing cheeks and I had made him uncomfortable. He could not even look at me. I tidied up my supplies and left his room, discouraged and disheartened.
In the hall I met one of the staff nurses. She complimented me on my patient’s appearance. She went on to say that since the man had lost his vision to diabetes he struggled daily with personal grooming but was often reluctant to accept help in his basic care needs. “You must have made him feel comfortable “she said. In my discomfort I had not even noticed his blindness and in his blindness he had not noticed my discomfort. Important oversights on both our parts, but one I was grateful for all the same.
Truly that morning, the blind had led the blind. © Copyright, peoplemenders, 2010. All Rights Reserved.
About the Author
Connie has worked on the Internal Medicine Unit in a hospital in British Columbia for twelve years. She began there as an entry level LPN and is now one of the most senior LPN's on staff. The Internal Medicine Unit is a specialized acute care unit. It is a busy ward with a variety of specialized treatments for which she has received training to handle.
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