ANGEL NURSE

When I was a kid, my father repeatedly had discussions with me about the world, and more specifically about two types of people: givers and takers.

“Don’t be a taker. Be more of a giver.” He would say from time to time. My 8 or 9 year-old brain didn’t really understand what the hell he was talking about, let alone the concept in the abstract manner that he meant. I figured that it was some kind of warped Christmas concept about giving and receiving or not taking gum or other stuff that wasn’t yours.

As I got older, I kept dad’s words in the back of my head somewhere and they really made sense when I began dating and began teaching. I found myself giving physically, emotionally and mentally a majority of the time. I didn’t mind, and I really thought that giving of yourself was the way everyone lived. It took me getting burned a few times by ‘takers’ before I learned some important lessons, but I never stopped giving. I believe that we all have an obligation to give of our wisdom of our years, give of our talents and trade skills, listen respectfully to others and try to improve the Earth for the sake of the planet and the human race in our living years.

I have realized that all of my close friends are also givers, and I believe that’s what bonds us. It’s pretty easy to be a giver to those who know you well and those that you live with. Not as easy with people you have just met. At least I used to think that way, until I lived through my serious and recent illness. The dozens of health care professionals that helped me through two very difficult months were all givers, and all wonderful, but one woman stood out among the rest. Her name is Sandra, and she is an angel on this Earth.

Sandra entered my life near the end of January when I arrived at Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital in Boston. She is a critical care and recovery nurse working on the floor where all patients have (or have had) breathing issues, ventilators and tracheostomies. Which is a fancy way of saying that you have a hole in your throat with a tube attached so that you can breathe. When I got to Spaulding, I was still using a ventilator at night, and believe me when I tell you that the hole in my throat was all too real. Breathing on my own was laborious, and although I was out of the I.C.U., my spirits were still low, I felt like crap, and was generally pissed off that all of this had happened in the first place. Enter Sandra the Angel Nurse.

“Listen to me Mr. Pat. This bed is your enemy! You need to get out of this bed. It will kill you. Remember I tell you….it is the enemy!” She barked out to me while taking my vital signs the second day I was there. Sandra is half El Salvadoran and half Italian. This woman was spicy, had an accent that cut through anyone else who was speaking and was all business. She scared the shit out of me for about thirty seconds and then she softened saying things like “We are all here to help you, but you must do the work, and have the good attitude to get back to your family and on with your life.” I knew I could get behind that, so the next day, Vanessa brought my power chair to Spaulding and I got up and regained my freedom to move.

Over the next three weeks, Sandra was my nurse more often than anyone else. She had 4 or 5 patients on each of her 12-hour shifts, but she always came to check on me first thing at 7AM. A few times I was sleeping and when I opened my eyes, Sandra would be standing a few feet from the bed and in a gentle voice she would say “Shhh. Sleep a little longer. Everything is ok. I want you nice and calm when you get up so you have a great day. I will be back with your medications. Shhh.” It was funny. All kinds of beeping and chirping noises out on the floor, and me still hooked up to a few monitors and she is calming me like I’m napping on a summer day in a hammock. It worked…

Sandra and all the nurses now use standing, rolling carts that contain computers with patient orders, stats, and med lists. The carts also contain drawers under the keyboard shelf with scissors, bandages, tubing and other stuff that I couldn’t identify. If Sandra’s cart had been “re-arranged” while she was off duty, she would complain to me that “Someone moved my stuff! This is wasting my patient time! Now I have to go to the closet and restock! Who is doing this??” Hilarious, but not when Sandra was mad….look out. I told her more than once that I would not want to meet her in a dark alley as the enemy. God help me, for the woman is fiery. She laughed.

There was one day in particular that stood out for me regarding my Angel Nurse. This was a morning when I was still lacking energy and strength and before I got up, Sandra went into action. She noticed that my hair was getting unruly, and my body in general had only had bed baths for quite a while. Before I knew it, Sandra gave me the “car wash” in her words. Warm water was everywhere, she gave me a proper shave, and used some sort of lotion on my scalp as she cleared out all kinds of dead skin (gross, but felt amazing….like I was actually getting a regular shower.) She clipped my nails, and gave special care to check my wounds several times, while somehow NEVER getting a drop of water on the bed. The amazing part was that she took 2 hours. TWO HOURS. All this time just with me. I asked her about her other patients.

“Relax, I am here with you so that this gets done right. My phone is right over there. If they need me, they will call, but right now, YOU are important and I will be here with you until we are done.” I began answering her with quips such as “Yes, Ma’am,” or “You are in charge of everything Ma’am. I understand Ma’am.” She would deny her importance, but the gleam I saw in here eye said otherwise.

Over the weeks, Sandra met my whole family and treated them like her own. My kids got ice cream when they visited, and Vanessa and Sandra teamed up on me as Sandra gave Vanessa care tips for when I got home. Near the end of my stay, Sandra would fly by the common area by the nurses station where I would be camped out watching Netflix, reading, blogging or beginning to get back to work. From a distance she would give me a thumbs up and yell: “Everything ok over there? Go sit in the sun at the end of the hall. Get some vitamin D!”

She was also ALL over me daily about my bowel movements. In the hospital, this is a big thing and cause for celebration when all the plumbing is working properly: “You must poop everyday and we keep track of your pee. You don’t poop, it is very bad. It builds up and we have many new problems. After you poop, call me so I can see. Ahhhh.very good. Large.” Yep. Disgusting, but just another day at the office for Sandra.

In over three weeks, I never saw the woman sit down and I barely saw her eat. Her colleagues told me that they needed to force her to have meals, and Sandra told me that she didn’t like to feel full and sluggish while working. She called all of her patients “my babies” and I found out that Sandra usually requested me each day. I have never, ever met anyone like her, let alone a nurse. When I was discharged, she walked Vanessa and I to my van, we were both crying and she hugged me tight.

“It was a pleasure to take care of you.”

No Sandra, it was my pleasure and a miracle that you came into my life. The words of my father echoed across the years. Sandra is the biggest giver that I have ever known. She is an angel, and we have kept in touch since I’ve been home. I feel her caring presence as I write these words, and if you are reading them Sandra, please know that you have a great gift of making ALL of your patients feel safe, supported, and above all, respected. God Bless You my Angel Nurse.

Stay safe, stay awesome, and be sure to poop each day.