Coarse Instruction

Months became weeks, as I pondered what to decide about entering college following graduation. My dream of attending art school had basically been squashed by both of my parents and the remaining option was Mom's desire for me to go into nursing. She had always wanted to be a nurse, and now that the opportunity was before me, she could not understand why I would even hesitate. I had been granted a scholarship, so to my parents it seemed a 'no brainer'. Aside from the fact that my heart was not in it.

Following breakfast in the busy hospital cafeteria with my roommate, I took the elevator to the fifth floor. 'Medical /Surgical Floor' the sign read, as I made my way to my first patient's room for the day. Ms. Parks had been my patient for the past week, having suffered a stroke. My role in her care was to start the morning taking her vitals, helping her get washed up, then changing her bed linens while she sat in the chair eating breakfast. She was a pleasant, sixtyish woman with graying, medium brown, shoulder-length hair that fell in soft waves framing her rounded, rosy cheeks and dark brown eyes that twinkled when she spoke. I enjoyed working with her as she tried to work with me, in learning new skills as to how she would manage once released from the hospital. Her speech had been slightly affected, however, I didn't seem to have difficulty understanding her. Sometimes we would end up sharing a good laugh as she struggled to form a particular word or sentence. Having been an executive secretary in a large corporation and recently retired, she was not sure what she would do with all her time. Life now seemed to show her.

As she explained it, she was working out in her yard when she began to feel dizzy and went back inside to perhaps rest. Instinctively, she knew something wasn't right and phoned her physician. Upon hearing her symptoms, the nurse had called an ambulance to Ms. Park’s home. She experienced a stroke while being transported to the hospital. Soon after, she then became my patient. I had between five and seven patients each shift, but Ms. Park’s was my favorite. 

Today, as I entered her room, I was surprised her drapes were still pulled shut, and the light above the head of her bed shining, while she lay fast asleep. “Good Morning, Sleepy Head!” I greeted her, smiling as I wiggled one of her toes. She did not respond, and I noted her toes felt cold. Approaching the side of the bed, I took her arm and called out her name. “Ms. Parks, can you hear me? It's nurse Shyla.” I didn’t get a response and quickly felt for a pulse in her neck and her wrist. Nothing. I hit the Call Button and asked for emergency assistance. 

Within a minute or two the head nurse on the floor was beside me and listening with her stethoscope. She called for 'Code Blue' to Ms. Park's room, which immediately sent other doctors and nurses to the bedside. My own heart was racing as I continued looking at Ms. Park’s ashen face while the team worked tirelessly to bring back a heartbeat. An attending doctor then placed the paddles to jump-start her heart, “All clear!” he ordered, as the team took a step back from her bed, her body jolting with the charge. The line on the heart monitor remained flat. After some time, they stopped actively trying to revive her and looked at me and said, “She's gone nurse, note the time.” as the team then departed.

The head nurse turned to me and asked, “Have you been taught how to prepare the patient, Miss Shyla?”

Struggling to answer her with a throbbing pain in my throat, I replied “Yes.” 

“Well, let me know if you need any help,” she added, placing her warm hand on my shoulder, prior to closing the door behind her.

The room felt eerily quiet, as I began to go through the routine of getting Ms. Parks cleaned up, before calling for transportation to the morgue. “Oh, Ms. Parks, “I said softly, with only myself to hear my voice, “What happened? I thought you were doing better.” as I wiped the warm washcloth across her pale face. Tears filled my eyes as I continued lightly cleaning her soft, cold skin. How I wished I could have seen her return home and enjoy her retirement! Gently I wiped her arms and hands, her nails still perfectly manicured as a lasting reflection of her position in the corporate world. I then proceeded to turn her on her side. Being a large woman, I used the draw sheet to help me roll her, and it was then that I saw it. There was a metal bedpan nearly embedded in her bottom flesh! Because of her size, none of the cardiac team would have seen that she wasn't completely flat on the bed. Sadly I wondered how long she had laid on the bedpan? Had she even tried to ring for help and no one came? Someone had put her on it and then obviously forgotten about her.

Knowing I had to make a report about the bedpan I pressed the CALL button again. As the head nurse returned looking at my face then toward Ms. Parks she exclaimed, “Oh no!” as she brought her hand to her face. “Why don't you take a break, Miss Shyla, I'll finish here. Have you made a report on this?” “Yes,” I replied as I handed her Ms. Park's chart and headed to the door to leave the room.

Feeling I would soon begin uncontrollable sobbing, I quickly ducked inside the lab room. It was there that I couldn't hold back any longer the thought of how Ms. Parks had probably suffered, as I sobbed into my hands. Reaching for a tissue on the long, white, marble lab counter I suddenly realized I was not alone, as my vision caught a glimpse of another figure getting up from a chair. Lifting my head, I recognized Ms. Brown, my nursing instructor. Her tightly coiffed hair and crisply starched uniform completed the stern expression on her face along with her brisk steps toward me. Stopping to stand in front of me, raising her right hand, she gave me a quick slap across the face as she commanded, “You must harden yourself to this as a good nurse would do!” Not only was I shocked that she had just slapped me across the face, but the words she spoke almost hurt worse! 

“Harden myself to death like this?” I asked. “Well, I hope I never do! " I loudly retaliated, glaring into her uncompassionate eyes of steel. She was well respected by the school for her years of service, but most students tried to avoid any interaction with her.

Turning to quickly grab the door handle, I hurriedly made my way to the elevators pushing the button for Ground Floor. As the doors opened, I rapidly made my way across the cafeteria to the school and dorm rooms. Throwing myself across my bed, I sobbed into my pillow. My head began to throb as thoughts of this morning's experience repeated my former affirmations. "This is not for me. I was only kidding myself to think I could do this...and why? I didn't want to be here from the start! " Turning my face toward the window, I felt my weary body drift asleep. I didn't mention anything to my roommate when she returned to the room, aside from telling her I had a migraine. 

Ms. Edelstein, Principal, the black plaque on the wooden maple door read. I gently knocked, though I knew she was expecting me at 1 pm. “Come in.” her voice, clear and crisp, commanded from inside. 

My hand felt clammy, and my heart was pounding as I pushed the handle down to enter. With all this trepidation, I still felt certain I had to do it. I had only met the principal once before when first starting at the school, but she didn't feel as intimidating as she did right now. Sitting behind her large, polished maple desk, her small stature made her appear almost miniature. “Come sit down,” she said, pointing her aging fingers toward the maple chairs that faced her desk. “How can I help you?” she asked, peering through her thick, bifocal glasses which made her eyes look fish-bowl like and glaring. 

Looking into her face. I sensed the familiar, nervous stuttering begin from deep within as I sought to at least get the first sentence out. “I...I...I came to tell you that I am qui...quit..ting the nurrs...sing program.” There, I had said it, I told myself, as I waited for her response. 

“May I ask why?” she asked, with a curtness and irritation in her voice. 

“I..I...I’m just not cut out to be a nurse.” I was able to exclaim. Embarrassed at my stuttering, I hoped she would not take it that I wasn't sure of my decision. 

Her eyes now fixated on me, she began lecturing, “Do you know the opportunity you have been given? Do you know what this education is worth? You received a full scholarship to complete your certification as a nurse. We chose you from many young ladies that wanted to be accepted here. Do you realize what you are throwing away over one incident?" Her questions fired away, rapidly following one after another. She had obviously spoken with Ms. Brown, my floor instructor.

“Yes," I replied. “And I hope you could give my scholarship to someone else that would want to be here,” I said apologetically. I felt my legs begin to shake with anxiety, as I placed my hands between my knees.

“Well, unfortunately, it doesn't work that way!” Ms. Edelstein spoke with obvious irritation in her voice. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, dropping my head as I was no longer meeting her eye to eye. 

Then, without a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Are you pregnant, Dear?” 

My head popped up, like the last wind of a Jack In The Box! Abruptly I looked her in the face and said, “No! Why would you think that? My voice reflected my obvious irritation at such an assumption.” 

“Well, the Housemother tells me that you and your roommate have gone out on dates with young men quite frequently while you have been here, and sometimes staying out later than the house rules state. I just thought I would inquire.” Her tone of voice, both indignant and condescending.

I didn't even know how to respond. Obviously, every movement you make is being watched and shared by the school staff. “That may be true,” I added, “ but it doesn't automatically follow that I am pregnant!” I pushed my chair back wanting to give myself room to stand up and leave her office. Anger rose quickly in my chest, over her questioning. She must have sensed my upset as she opened her desk drawer, pulling out some papers that she slid across to me. 

“I will have to ask you to fill these out and turn them back into me, before leaving,” she explained. 

At least she had gotten the message clear that I was quitting. Grasping the papers from the desk I headed out of her office, not saying another word.

“I wish you well.” I heard her faintly speak, as almost a consolatory comment to make after such an accusatory questioning. 

I believe I mumbled, “Thank you” as I closed the door behind me, not sure why I even bothered to respond. The air in the hallway felt so much cooler and my body felt lighter, having completed step number one.

Now to tell my roommate and then my parents. Neither was going to be easy.