Robert B. Simpson: Professionals and amateurs
The View" is one of many television programs I don't watch. I've seen a snippet of it a few times, which was enough. Raucous opinions tumbling over each other on subjects that might or might not be important did not impress but only irritated.
Now the daytime show has proved to me the wisdom of my avoiding it. The women around the table watched a video of a registered nurse's talent presentation in the Miss America contest. They ignorantly and rudely made fun of the nurse's presentation and, by inference, of nurses in general. A predictable firestorm erupted, costing The View an unknown number of viewers and at least two profitable advertisers. Not to mention the goodwill of thousands of nurses.
Over the past nearly 20 years, I have spent a lot of time with my wife in hospitals and in the company of nurses. While there were a few whose personality didn't mesh too well with mine, I found most to be hard-working people who were dedicated to caring for their patients. On the occasions when they were less than excellent, I could almost always see that it was a problem of the institution, not the nurse. Most nurses were overworked at tasks that strained their bodies and stressed their emotions, often with little enough thanks from sick and unhappy patients.
During the past three months, I spent time on my own account in the company of several dozen nurses, total, at St. Francis hospital in Columbus and St. Joseph's hospital in Atlanta. The care I got from a handful of magic-working doctors was completed and polished by the outstanding around-the-clock care I received from the nurses. Personalities varied, but the care was always thorough.
While I am 'way too old to judge nurses by their physical appearance, I am not blind. Two of the ladies who cared for me were strikingly attractive. Both were ICU nurses. One was, while obviously technically proficient, one of the biggest pains in the neck I've yet dealt with. Whatever I said, she countered. If I asked for something, she told me to wait. If I asked her to put something on the table, she said she'd put it on the chest, and did. I finally snapped and asked her if we had to argue about everything. She even disagreed with that. She said we were not arguing.
The other, who had trained in one of the premier hospitals in this country and who was held in obvious high esteem by the other nurses, even much older than she and even in other departments, was the opposite. She was a caring, nurturing person whom I was glad to see enter the room, for I could be sure she would do her duties with a high degree of professionalism and with a pleasant attitude, often kidding with me as she worked.
One night in the ICU I was struck with extreme pain, some of the worst I've ever had. I was told it was delayed reaction, deep inside my chest, from the most recent surgery. While I waited for morphine to take effect, and tried to keep from screaming, my assigned nurse and the ICU charge nurse, both ladies in their middle or possibly late middle age, sat one on either side of me and held me. One stroked my hair and the other stroked my hands. There was nothing sensual about it, just two caring people going to extra lengths to console a patient during a rough spell.
Their actions and their attitudes made me feel that somebody cared how bad I hurt, and that things would get better. Things did.
Looking back, I recognize that some of the most important people in my life over the past two decades have been nurses. If 10 per cent of the current nursing population disappeared, the whole country would suffer tremendously. If one hundred per cent of The View disappeared, I'm not sure who would care. I know I wouldn't.
Robert B. Simpson, a 28-year Infantry veteran who retired as a colonel at Fort Benning, is the author of "Through the Dark Waters: Searching for Hope and Courage."
This story was originally published September 26, 2015 at 12:00 AM with the headline "Robert B. Simpson: Professionals and amateurs ."