The Paths We Walk

Certain memories of early childhood cling forever and remain crystal clear.

At age four, I went to the hospital to have my tonsils removed. In 1943, going to the hospital was done either to have a baby or maybe to get ready to die, but somehow our family doctor convinced my parents that I needed to have my tonsils removed. They dutifully took me to the suburban Chicago hospital closest to our home.

I remember my mother's heels clicking on the hospital corridor floor as we made our way, hand in hand, to the lab for a blood test. The blood was drawn from my earlobe, and when the technician jabbed me, I pulled back in fright. Blood spurted everywhere. She scolded me as she wiped the blood away. Still seated on a counter, I started to cry. The lady hurt me, and I didn't know why, and then she yelled at me. Not a very good beginning to this hospital experience.

Off we went to the three-bed ward which was to be my home for the next three days. My mother left me soon after she had me settled with new crayons and a coloring book in the big bed. Before long my daddy appeared in the doorway. He told me stories, carried me to the window, and sang nursery rhymes until visiting hours were over. When he told me he had to go home, I cried. I held onto him, begged him not to go. He told me to be quiet so we wouldn't disturb the boy in the next bed. It wouldn't have mattered, because the boy had what was then termed "sleeping sickness," and his eyes never opened.

A vision of pure loveliness appeared in the doorway as I cried and clung to my father. She wore a nurse's uniform and cap, and her blonde hair appeared to be a halo around her head. Blue eyes twinkled, and she offered a soothing smile. "Nancy," she said, "would you like to see the babies in the nursery?" Her words brought my tears to a rapid halt. I nodded and allowed my daddy to kiss me good-bye.

The blue-eyed nurse picked me up and carried me down a long hallway to the nursery. We spent what seemed a long time looking at all the newborn babies in their little beds. I had a baby brother at home, but these babies were so much more interesting, and so was my companion dressed all in starched white. Finally, the nurse carried me back to my bed, tucked me in, and placed a kiss on my forehead.

I liked the ride to the operating room the next morning. Once there, someone with a mask over her face told me to count backwards from 10 and said I would soon be asleep. At four, I could barely count forwards, and I worried that they'd do the operation while I was still awake. They placed a cone over my nose and mouth and dripped ether into it, and before I knew it, I fell asleep.

When I woke up in my hospital bed, my throat hurt, and my mother sat beside me. She smiled and brushed my long red curls to the side, then tried to feed me ice chips. The boy in the bed next to mine still slept, and his mother sat close by with a worried look on her face.

Before long, strange things started happening. A doctor and nurse hurried to my bed. I didn't know what had occurred, but my mother looked very upset. Years later, I learned that I'd hemorrhaged, and a private duty nurse took care of me that night. Sometime during the night, my blue-eyed, blonde nurse visited. She held my hand and spoke softly about the babies in the nursery. She coaxed me to eat some Jell-O and held my hand until I fell asleep.

By the next day, all was well with me. No more bleeding. Mother arrived to bring me home. She helped me dress, and we passed quietly by the boy who slept on and his mother who still sat by his bedside.

I never forgot my special angel, the blue-eyed nurse who worked the early evening shift. The older I grew, the more determined I became to make nursing my mission in life. I wanted to help others as she had. In high school I learned that chemistry was a big part of a nurse's training. Science and math terrified me. I made it through those courses, but only barely. Reality hit: Nurse's training was not for me. My dream of helping children evaporated, until I realized that becoming a teacher would allow me to help others, and I didn't need to suffer through chemistry. I could still be like the nurse I remembered so clearly.

Even long after my teaching career ended, I continued to do volunteer work at our local hospital, library, and school. A young blue-eyed nurse with a cloud of blonde hair set me on a path to helping people more than 64 years ago. I never knew her name, but she is etched on my heart forever.

Discuss This Article

Have something you'd like to say? Tell us what you think! Read and post comments for this article.

Find a Job

Choose your career:

MedHunters is the world's biggest healthcare job board. Our job directory has 17,593 jobs with 2,446 hospitals and other direct employers.

We want you to find your next job on MedHunters. Need Help? Call us at 1-888-884-8242, email us at info@medhunters.com or sign up now.