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Posted: Nov 25, 2007 01:15 AM
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In my five years as a registered nurse I have met many interesting patients. Some occupy my memory because of their convoluted medical histories and diagnoses; some because of their positive demeaners through a difficult time; and others because of their past lives.
During my time working in long term care, one of my lady patients who was very demanding and "by the rule" used to frustrate me to tears, until one day I noticed the pictures on the wall by her side of the room. In one of the photos, three beautiful young women in mililtary uniform stood posed with a man in uniform. The man looked familiar, but how could that be? So one night when my patient was lucid, I asked her about the framed picture.
"Oh, that one is when the general visited us to encourage us during our time overseas." Turns out the "general" was General Patton! She talked little about the situation, but accepted my praise for her service during World War II.
A few days later I brought pictures of my mother in her United States Marines Corps uniform during World War II, and a picture of me in my U.S. Army WAC uniform during the Vietnam War. As she gazed at the photos, particularly my mother's, she whispered, "You better not let people know you were in the service, they will think you were a "bad girl' and not like you."
On Veteran's Day all veterans had miniature United States flags by their beds or somewhere in their rooms and I noted that "Maggie" was the only woman veteran.
A few years later on a busy medical oncology floor I had a withdrawn, morose, elderly male patient who was receiving chemotherapy, but his prognosis was not positive. During my night shifts I would perform my assessments, IV checks every two hours, administer pain and nausea medications, and assist him when he had "an accident". He would be mostly nonverbal, answering only with one or two word sentences if the answer wasn't a nod of "yes" or "no".
One night as I bent over to listen to his heart, his normally flat demeaner changed to a look of interest. "Whose dog tag is that around your neck?" he asked as I straightened up. "Do you have a husband or son in the service?"
"Well, my husband was in the Navy and I have no sons in the service; this is my dog tag from when I was in the Army in the 70s". Now his eyes were wide open. Still, he was quiet while I continued my assessment. Once I started straightening his covers, he started to speak.
He had been in the Army during World War II in Germany. It was so long ago and yet so hard to forget. He didn't have nightmares but he told me he would never forget his time "over there". I held his hand between mine and thanked him for his service...and said "Everyone has a story about their 'war', don't they?" His eyes blinked hard and he withdrew his hand. I told him I would be back in an hour to check his IV.
When I left his room I worried that I had reawakened some bad memories for him. I hoped he would not be troubled the rest of the night.
I got called to "Mr. H's" room before my IV check. "I need help, I messed myself", he said. "This is so humiliating, but I can't control it". As he and I resolved the matter I reassured him that the medications can wreck havoc on our bowels but once he is off the meds he will probably be able to control his bowel movements again, as he had been continent before his illness. As I turned to leave the room he motioned for me to come closer.
I pulled the chair closer to his bed and listened to him sigh, as he told me the following:
"It was so cold and damp. Our platoon was downsteam from the enemy camp. We were hungry and cold and exhausted. We were told to never drink the water from the stream without using our tablets. We had these tablets to put in the water so we wouldn't get sick drinking the water. The 'enemy' used the streams for their toilet, and we were downstream.
"I ran out of tablets and I was so thirsty I couldn't help myself from drinking from the stream. When I started the diarrhea and vomiting I got so sick I couldn't move. A skinny lieutenent and my best buddy carried me to the first aid tent and I begged the lieutenent to let me die. I was so weak and sore from vomiting and the diarrhea. He looked at me and told me he would get me through this.
"The lieutenent stayed with me all night, cleaning me and helping me with sips of broth and water. He stayed with me the second and third nights. I felt like I came back from the dead.
"I was over there for months and months. I was shot at over and over. My feet were near rotten. I went through all that and what stopped me was that untreated water...and I wanted to die, I was so sick. But some skinny little lieutenent wouldn't let me.
"And that is my story".
"Thank you for telling me. I can see why this is particularly distressing. But we will get you through this", I told him as he closed his eyes again.
A few days later I was on the floor to pick up my paycheck and Mr. H. is being escorted by a transporter towards the elevators. "Where are you headed, young man?" I asked him as I walked to his cart and patted his arm. His smile was a reward from heaven for me! "Oh, they have to check me out again", he replied. A few feet away stood my nurse manager, her eye brows raised in question.
"Oh, hi, NM, this is my buddy, Mr. H. We were exchanging military experiences the other night and we bonded". Mr. H. looked at my nurse manager and added, "She is a great nurse, isn't she?" as he returned pats to my arm. I helped the transporter guide the cart into the elevator and told him to behave himself in xray, and I would see him in a couple of nights.
And that is my story.
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