Sample Story

Chicken Soup for the Nurse’s Soul

The Depth of This Career

Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do Not lose courage in considering your own imperfections, but instantly set about remedying them-every day a task anew.       Sr. Francis De Sales

         I was such a young nurse, I had nothing in common with the grannies and grandpas on the orthopedic surgical floor.  I was glad of that and glad to leave them at the end of my shift.

         Nothing rattled me much, until I was assigned to the gangrene lady. Both her calves were decaying.  In days past, I'd helped other nurses change her dressings.  I held her heels up while the attending nurse irrigated the wounds and wrapped the bandages.  I tried to look out the window.  The stench was unbelievable. I breathed from the corner of my mouth to avoid it.  After I left the room the sickening smell clung to my clothes.

         I knew I'd been lucky not to get the gangrene lady until now.  Lucky, or else the charge nurse had been kind to me because I was new.  In any case, it was my turn today, and I would handle it, though the mere thought of those wounds made me cringe.

         "She had her dressings done at six," the charge nurse told me, "and she's going to surgery at ten."

         Wow—so I didn't have to mess with her legs. What luck. The night nurse even got her to sign the surgical consent for a double amputation above the knees.  What a relief.  I could be practically stress-free, just finish the paperwork.

         I held my breath against the odor as I entered her room.  "How you doing there, Mrs. Palmer?"

         "Hmm?"  She glanced at me and looked away.  She was thin, her skin browned by the sun and robbed of moisture.  Her long white hair fanned out behind her head.  Long hair on an old woman was in a way charming, like a lady at court in more chivalrous times.  In another way it seemed strange, because all her peers had cut theirs short, and she still grasped at youth and vanity.

         I helped her sit forward and placed my stethoscope against her back. "Take a deep breath," I said.  I decided not to peel back the covers to check her legs. No need.  She'd have fresh healthy stumps this afternoon.

         "Surgery's at ten o'clock," I said.  "You're going to feel a lot better by tomorrow."

         "Why do you say that?"  She turned her eyes on me.  "My legs don't hurt."

         "You'll be healthier."

         "Hmm."

         "It's all for the best. There's really no other choice. They'll teach you how to walk again.” I gave her hand a quick squeeze.

         Tears welled up in her eyes. This I couldn't handle. "I'll be back in a little while," I blurted, and went to pass pills to my other patients.

         Dolores was working my side of the hall that day. She was an older nurse, competent in every way, though she wore false eyelashes and a big poofy hairdo with ringlets. I always felt apprehensive working alongside her because she was a much better nurse than I. She gave me occasional suggestions. She was always right. I hated to be wrong. I knew I was still learning, but it disturbed me to be corrected by one whose appearance I considered ridiculous.

         It was nine o'clock when Dolores caught me in the hall and asked how my morning was. 

         "Good," I replied.  "I've got everything under control."

         Dolores smiled as we walked toward the nurses' station.  I had an itch to get away.

         "How about that surgery?" she asked softly.  "Emma Palmer?"

         "It's all ready." 

         "I took care of Emma yesterday," said Dolores.  "Such a shame, what's happening to her."

         We both glanced into Palmer's room. To my embarrassment she was dangling at the foot of her bed, weeping and watching the hallway for help.

         "Oh, she's crying!"  Dolores walked right into the room as if pulled by a magnet.

         I followed reluctantly. What was I supposed to do now?  I couldn't stop her tears.

         "Here, honey, let's put your feet up."  Dolores put one arm around Palmer's neck, the other arm under her bandaged legs, and scooped her gently into bed.

         I couldn't imagine getting that close to those legs with my bare arms.

         "Didn't your family come to see you yet?" Dolores asked.

         "N-no," she sniffled.  "I don't have any family."

         "Oh, Honey!"  Dolores sat down on the mattress and hugged her close.

         Emma Palmer sobbed aloud and hung her head on Dolores' shoulder.

         I stepped back and swallowed.

         "Oh, Emma." Dolores began to rock her soothingly.   "It's all right.  No, it's really not all right, is it?"

         Emma let loose a bigger flood of tears.  Her mouth opened wide but speechless.

         I could hardly tolerate all the pain in that room, all the loss Emma had to bear.

         "Yeah, it's the pits, it sure is," said Dolores, her strong arms wrapped around those frail shoulders.

         "It . . . is," said Emma.

         "But you know your legs are so far gone, Honey, you're better off without them." Dolores stroked her back again and again.

         Emma's intake of breath was staccato from weeping.  Dolores kept rocking her, comforting her until she calmed.

         Emma said, "How will I manage, at my age?"

         "Oh, you'd be surprised.  They've got wonderful prosthetics these days."

         Dolores leaned back and looked at Emma. Her hands gently brushed down from Emma's shoulders to her fingers.  "It will work out."

         Emma cried. "How?"

         I felt awkward and useless. I began to understand the depth of this career, and how shallow I had chosen to make it. Would I ever be able to give from the heart as much as Dolores did, so easily, so naturally? 

         I patted Emma's leg. "I know how. I'll help you."

                                                                                                                           Diane Stallings

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