Read Chicken Soup for the Nurse's Soul Online
Authors: Jack Canfield
To our amazement, Charlotte actually remembered my father, brother and me, and throughout the evening she shared several endearing stories of the friendship she had developed with my mom for over a year. The commonality of having children the same age made their relationship especially close.
Well past midnight, my sister-in-law was not making progress, so a C-section was performed and Kylee Ann entered the world. For the first time in twenty years, the sadness I so often felt on this day, the anniversary of my mother’s death, was replaced with the joy of new life.
Two days later, as Kylee Ann was being discharged, Charlotte came in holding a delicate white porcelain figurine of a large bird perched on a branch looking down at a smaller bird.
“Your mother gave this to me as a thank-you gift when I took care of her twenty years ago. I’ve cherished it all these years. Now I pass it on to Kylee Ann”—a gift from her Nana.
Terri Murcia
W
e judge ourselves by what we feel capable
of doing, while others judge us by what we’ve
already done.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Patients may not be aware of how they can affect the lives of hundreds of people.
After my first year of night duty, I felt overworked and under appreciated as I worked five nights per week on a very busy med-surg floor. We often had fourteen patients each, and that was before IVACs, IV admixtures, unit dose medications and Pyxis distribution. In other words, we were very busy. Every two hours, patients had to be turned, deep-breathed and coughed. Surgical dressings had to be checked and marked. Without computerized or checklist charting, head-to-toe assessment had to be documented every two hours on every patient. I did my best, but as a “new grad” I felt overwhelmed and very inadequate to meet the needs of my patients.
After an especially difficult night, my clinical coordinator announced she wanted to see me in her office. My heart sank to my feet. I was doing the best I could to care for my patients, do all my charting and care planning, and maintain my composure while on duty. I finished counting the narcotics with one of the oncoming nurses and reluctantly dragged my body into her office, prepared for my reprimand.
The clinical coordinator closed the door behind me and asked me to sit down. This was too much for me. I could feel a lump in my throat; my eyes misted. She reached into her drawer and took out what looked like a letter.
“Do you remember a Mrs. Dickenson in room H723-B?”
“No, I don’t really remember a Mrs. Dickenson in that room. Was there a problem?” I asked, fighting back tears. The name didn’t stand out to me. I could barely remember names from one week to the next because of the high turnover of patients.
“Well, maybe you should read this then,” she said, handing me the letter.
In very shaky handwriting was written the following:
Dear Head Nurse on 7 Hamilton,
I was a patient on your floor in the recent past. I’m
sorry, but I don’t recall everyone’s name, but one name
stood out to me. It was my night nurse. I remember her
soft, comforting voice in the dark. She was the cool
hand on my fevered forehead. She diligently checked on
me every couple of hours and made sure that I was comfortable
and well cared for. I thank her from the bottom
of my heart.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Dickenson
I was stunned. I had expected a scolding, but instead received one of the greatest gifts I’d ever been given: words of thanks from someone’s heart.
Fifteen years later, I still carry those words in my heart. I orient new night nurses according to them and practice them as I treat every patient. That thoughtful letter has guided many hands during the night over many years.
Georgann Phillips Schultz
S
hould you shield the canyons from the windstorms
you would never see the true beauty of
their carvings.
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
May, 1998
When the call came, I knew she would not live through the morning. I watched as her frail body struggled one last time, finally giving up the two-year battle with chemotherapy, radiation, fatigue and pain caused by the breast cancer she had fought so hard to overcome.
Then a steady touch wiped her brow and held her hand. A soothing voice whispered in her ear with patience, tenderness and love. This touch, this voice provided me, too, the comfort I needed to ease the pain of the inevitable passing of my mother.
May, 1999
The loud ringing of the phone brought me out of the deep sleep I needed so desperately.
My husband had been diagnosed with cardiomyopathy. For five years we had coped with the ups and downs of Jim’s health and, finally, the decision to put him on the heart transplant list. As we waited for a heart, we lived our life as fully and normally as possible. He had been on the waiting list four years when he began to rapidly fail. An electronic device was surgically implanted to help his heart function until a transplant could be done.
The months after the device was implanted were the most physically and mentally challenging time of my life. I felt helpless as he fought to recover and gain enough strength to return home, and rejoiced when he finally did. The infection had caught us by surprise; his return to the hospital devastated me.
The phone message cut deep into my heart. Jim had suffered a stroke. He lay in the hospital bed as if asleep. I could hear the surgically implanted ventricular device pumping loudly in his chest. I watched the monitors and prayed the stroke had caused minimal damage.
Then, there she was again. She walked in the room and sat beside me, holding my hand and wiping my tears. She spoke quietly, giving me hope that somehow he would recover, and courage to face the fear if he didn’t. As the day wore on, she quietly listened as I told her that no matter what, I would take him home and tenderly care for him.
She gripped my hand as I learned it was a massive stroke, causing irreversible damage. My whole world stopped in that single moment. I insisted I would not leave him there—I would take him home. Through the following agonizing hours she tenderly sat by my side, as I made irrational plans.
I will never forget the determination in her eyes as she finally stood with me by Jim’s bedside, and calmly and quietly explained that the husband and father I knew and loved for almost thirty years was no longer here—he was in a better place, free of pain and suffering. With her at my side, I held my Jim’s hand, stroked his cheek, and realized I needed to face the inevitable.
May, 2000
My heart filled with love, pride and sadness as she walked toward me with her diploma.
Love, because she was the glue that had held me together during my darkest hours.
Pride, because she had learned to unselfishly give comfort where there is pain, courage where there is fear, hope where there is despair, and acceptance when the end is near.
Sadness, because her beloved Grandma and loving father were not physically here to share this happy moment.
As I looked at my daughter’s college diploma, with the R.N., B.S.N. behind her name, I knew that college had given her technical knowledge and life had given her that special something to lead her in her chosen path.
Now she will give the world all the comfort, wisdom and strength she has given me.
Carolyn Gavalas
W
ork is love made visible.
Kahlil Gibran
You evangelists of encouragement, you are so much more than you know.
You have never let what you couldn’t do stop you from doing all you could do.
You are salespeople; your briefcases are filled with a product called hope.
You are explorers, knowing that once you have gone as far as you can see, you will still see farther.
You are singers spreading the melody of consideration.
You are lawyers making a case for life.
You are authors helping others add more pages to their book of memories.
You are comedians dispensing the medicine of laughter.
You are magicians creating real miracles that inspire patients and families.
Like King Arthur and Joan of Arc, you are warriors battling against the villains of negativity.
Dorothy would have reached Oz much faster in the company of one nurse.
For no one can practice your profession unless they already possess a brain brimming with wisdom, boundless courage and a heart filled with love.
You are living proof that humanity is created in the image and likeness of God, and the name of that God is Love.
John Wayne Schlatter
Previously appeared in
Chicken Soup for the Surviving Soul
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Chicken Soup for the
Nurse’s Soul
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A nursing endowment scholarship program is being created for the
American Nurses Association,
a full-service professional organization representing the nation’s approximately 2.7 million registered nurses through its constituent state nurses associations. The ANA advances the nursing profession by fostering high standards of nursing practice, promoting the economic and general welfare of nurses in the workplace, projecting a positive and realistic view of nursing, and lobbying the Congress and regulatory agencies on health-care issues affecting nurses and the public. As a related entity of the ANA, the American Nurses Foundation promotes the health of the public and advances the nursing profession through the development and support of programs of excellence. To join
Chicken Soup for the Nurse’s Soul
and the ANF in supporting the nursing endowment scholarship, call the Development Office of the American Nurses Foundation at 202-651-7066 or contact:
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600 Maryland Ave., S.W., Suite 100 West
Washington, DC 20024-2571
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The Children’s Miracle Network
(CMN) is an international nonprofit organization dedicated to raising funds for children’s hospitals. The hospitals associated with CMN care for all children with any affliction and ensure that care will be provided, regardless of the family’s ability to pay. Each year, Children’s Miracle Network hospitals treat 14 million children. To join our efforts contact: