Bad, bad nurse.

I'm writing this blog with the following three assumptions: a) no one who has anything to do with my nursing license reads it, b) no one who reads it would report me to the nursing licensing body, and c) if worst came to worst I'd still think I did the right thing.
My big confession is that I have transgressed my professional code of ethics as a nurse, not once, but many times. I thought about it tonight as I worked an evening shift and found myself consciously doing things that likely wouldn't pass the ethics radar. Ironically, I consider them to be the moral and loving action, even if they weren't 'ethical'.
In nursing school we were taught never to call our patients by pet names. It was unprofessional and disrespectful- they should always be addressed as Mr. or Ms. or by their first name. Good luck. What do you do if you have 30 patients and can't remember any of their names? You call them 'honey' and 'love' and 'dear' and 'sweetheart' and 'gorgeous', of course. Whatever works. Today I went into a smoking lounge looking for my patient Jack and when I handed him his pills he asked, “Are you sure you're looking for Jack?”
“Well, I don't know about Jack,” I said, “But on the chart it said to look for someone with a really big nose, so I figured it must be you.”
He laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. He really did have a huge nose.
And then there was a time I was helping an old confused man to bed, he was frail and dying and losing his mind and as I turned to leave his room he asked in a bewildered voice, “But aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?” I leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead before I went out.
I know, shocking. But I'm darn sure that if I was hauled up for inappropriate conduct I would still feel the same way. That old man had no one. All of us humans, whether we like it or not, need physical touch to feel human. We need to be loved and cared for. We need to be appreciated and treated gently. And I don't know how long that old man had gone without receiving an affectionate touch from anyone. That moment stuck in my mind and now I always make a point of touching my patients. Appropriately, of course. A hand on their shoulder, a handshake, actually looking into their eyes and caring. I remember giving a young woman a hug once and she began to cry. She was 23 years old and she told me that her parents had never ever hugged her and she thanked me for touching her. Another girl once told me that she felt like a leper because no one touched her. Am I ugly and diseased, she asked? No, honey. The world is just selfish and paranoid.
And then this evening I asked one of my patients if there was anything I could pray for him for. I know, I know, proselytizing and forcing my religion on my patients is completely unethical and I could get the book thrown at me.
Yes, he said. I am constantly anxious and I feel like I have no peace in my heart.
I sat on the edge of his bed and prayed with him and he had tears in his eyes and when I left he thanked me over and over again.
Later in the evening instead of taking a break I sat and played a game of crib with two old patients who had nothing to do. One of them kept sneezing and drooling and every time it was his turn to shuffle the cards I envisioned the germs all over the deck of cards and I had to think brighter thoughts.
I know that sometimes I've been negative about nursing. In a sense I believe that God allowed me to be disillusioned with nursing so that I would go on and continue down the path he has for me as a doctor. But at the same time I am seeing more and more that whatever we do, whether it is nursing or medicine or teaching or homemaking or any other job, it's never just a job. It is a ministry. It is a calling. You can do what you love (like medicine, for me!) or you can learn to love what you do. I'm glad I'm not going to be a nurse forever, but in the meantime, I have learned to love what I do. I love special moments with my patients. I love being able to love them.