I got the call this morning at 0455. A call I actually love to get in the wee hours of the morning. A low census call, which means that, if I choose to, I can stay home from work today. As an RN at a small community hospital, this call come a few times a year when our patient load is light. I do not receive “call-pay”, although some departments do offer that option. However, this means that I do not have worry about being called in later if it gets busy. I work on the medical-surgical unit, where an assignment for the day may include, a baby with croup, a 55-year-old with chest pain, a 75-year-old with hip surgery and a 99-year-old with heart failure. The variety is one of the things that I love about working in a small hospital, as I’m a “Jack-of-all-trades” sort of person. I love this job, this department and this hospital so much that I have worked there since I was a sophomore in high school. At 45, I have been there for almost 29 years. I don’t for-see myself going somewhere else (how many people already have a pension at 45, actually who even has a pension these days?), it is not unrealistic to assume that I will be there for 50 years if I retire at 66.
At 16, having had my drivers license for one month and a 1979 Honda civic for 2 weeks, I started training to be a certified nurses assistant or CNA. It was either that, or a job at McDonald’s and since this job offered 3.75 an hour, 40 cents more than the minimum wage at that time, it was a no brainer. The local hospital was desperate for CNA’s that year and decided to offer free training in exchange for a promise to work full-time through the summer. That was 1988. I never left. Oh, I had time off occasionally, maternity leave times two, various injuries and one time to have my gallbladder removed, but I always returned. I went to nursing school while working there, and stayed on the same unit after graduating, working as a staff nurse for two years before training as a charge nurse. I never considered being a nurse as a kid, being an actress or the first woman president was my plan. Since I never even took a drama course in school and I mostly slept through my Government class, nursing seemed to be a smart idea while I waited for fame to hit. Although I never fell into stardom, I did, accidentally, it would seem, stumble upon what I was meant to do. I love being a nurse. I love the hub bub, the controlled chaos of admissions and discharges, the swirl of activity in the hallway and the peace of holding a dying woman’s hand at her bedside. I love to calm fear in my patients and their families, I love to quiet the fire of pain with medication and touch, I love walking with patients, holding their hand or their arm. I love the joking and harmless flirting from the old men and hearing about the old woman’s children, her grandchildren and her great grandchildren. I love seeing a surgical patient come from the OR, quiet and pale with tubes everywhere one day, be wheeled out to a waiting car, with a relieved smile and a lap full of flowers the next. I love that I can battle for someone when they cannot, speak for them when don’t have the words and give them courage when they are afraid. I love that my co-workers understand all of this, the good and the bad. I am so grateful for this job and happy that I never ended up living at the Whitehouse, if only because the president would never get a low census day off.
Thank you for reading,
Susannah Warner
I’m glad you didn’t become President. Some Presidents hurt the people they are supposed to heal and help. You have helped people heal, physically,and mentally. Your presence ,in their time of need, is of caring, and compassion.