As an 18-year-old college freshman, I was ready to submerge myself into the world of healthcare and nursing. A path I chose from a young age, after my mother and her mother, two incredible nurses that I’ve learned to look up to entirely. When I began my journey, I couldn’t wait to change the world. However, as I enter my junior year and reflect on the last two years of my life, one thing I have found is that it’s not about saving the world, but making someone else’s world a little more bearable. Even if it’s only for a short while.
My Nana’s health took a turn that year I entered nursing school. My newly separated parents agreed that staying at school was the best option for me while she stayed in the hospital. You get a feeling, though, sometimes. They call it a “gut feeling” but it’s not always in your stomach. Sometimes it’s all in your head. And that’s where it remained as I went to my classes, my job and out with all my new friends. Until one weekend when my mother didn’t sound quite so certain that “everything would be fine”, and she’s always certain. But again, her and my father told me I had to stay at school, there was no need to come to Brooklyn, where she was staying in the hospital. I consulted my roommates and my boyfriend who’s consensus was, I had to do what I had to do.
When I arrived at the hospital after a two-hour train ride, my cousins, aunts and uncles were all in attending for the matriarch of my father’s family, because we always look after each other. My family members were surprised and glad to see me walking onto the unit. After the hugs and hello’s, my uncle said to me, reassuringly, “It’s okay, just don’t be shocked when you see her.” Shocked? Of course not, I was a nursing student after all, right?
She was weak. She was barely verbal and dehydrated. I was gracious and ready to do whatever I could to make up for some lost time. That day I knew that my grandmother was the strongest woman alive. She raised four kids, picked up a job when times got hard, she kept this whole family together. She was independent. She made sure that every holiday, birthday and communion went smoothly, and that no one would have a bad thing to say about one another. She was warm and open minded. She was cherished by my cousins and I, and all of her great-grandchildren.
But that day, she was tired.
My aunt put my Nana’s hand in mine and I smiled. “Mom, Allison came from school to see you.” I can’t remember if she nodded, but we were with each other. We were all with each other. We talked to her for a while, sat and took turns standing by her side. I brought my anatomy textbook with me, it was the only thing I brought on the train. I browsed it, to ease my mother’s mind. I must have had a test coming up.
The young, new nurse came in a couple times, she walked in with a Jell-O cup and a spoon. I asked my Nana if she wanted to try and eat. I started to spoon little by little into her mouth, while holding her hand. I paced the speed nervously. Not too much, not too little. What if it wasn’t enough? Clinical experience number one.
My uncle perked up and told me they couldn’t get her to eat a lot for the last three days, and the fact that she was, was amazing. And that’s how I know she knew I was with her. She was trying.
When the Jell-O came back up not long after, my mother showed me how to change her gown, modestly. Clinical experience number two. I held her hand again, knowing she was going through something that would eventually take her home, but not to us.
That night, when she was ready, she went peacefully while we were all out of the room. A strategic move on her part. I don’t believe that she was afraid, how could you be scared when you’ve been surrounded by nothing but love for 90 years? Her life was bursting with pride and accomplishments. And she missed my grandfather dearly, that was understood.
There was grief, mourning and sorrow. Accompanied by a family coming together as one. Accompanied by stories, old friends and bonds that never really broke, despite the distance between one another. In the wake of a loss, we found togetherness and felt grateful. And then I realized that in those moments with her in the hospital, I had fell in love with bedside nursing.
I entered my first actual clinical this past spring as a sophomore in nursing school, overwhelmed with excitement, finally getting hands-on experience. My first day in, a man had looked me in the eyes and said, “Sweetheart, I am dying”. And you can bet that I held his hand, too. And listened. He told me about his sickness and that it was destroying his insides, and I listened. The more I saw him, the more he told me about his life, and I learned the true meaning of “comfort measures only”. Patient after patient I vowed to treat them all exactly how I had learned to treat my Nana. With respect and care.
I am two years away from graduating nursing school, with many more patients to learn from. And I thank my family in advance for supporting me after everything we’ve been through. Especially my Nana, for allowing me to help her the best I could in her final days, and for being my very first patient. Ghandi once said “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others,” and I second that.
