Laughter, the Best Medicine for Nursing School Blues

I graduated from my first nursing program in 1984 at the ripe old age of 22. I was the president of the Student Nurses Association and had some teachers that loved me (from my perspective) and some that hated me (from their perspective). Nursing school is painful, and it seems to last forever- until you are done. Then, you have go get a job and really be a nurse and you know absolutely nothing! You know how to make a bed, even with someone in it, but you don’t know how to get around to making the bed when the patient keeps asking you questions and sending you on errands. A new nurse is about as worthless as a newborn baby. We run circles around ourselves and have all the best intentions but take too long to get way too little done. However, even after over 20 years of nursing, I would not have traded my nursing career for anything, except maybe a huge lottery win.

While I was in nursing school I had the privilege, I can’t say it was a pleasure, to take care of 2 very old men while doing my nursing home rotation. We spent 2 days a week in a nursing home and were assigned 2 residents that we cared for consistently. At the end of that rotation you picked a resident to write an extensive case study on. It was painful. Adding to the discomfort was the clinical instructor. Mrs. A could only be described as a “battle ax”- I can’t think of a better descriptor. She was scary, and made us all tremble. A nursing cap askew or a slightly stained polyester pinafore could send her in to a rage.

One of my two residents, I’ll call him Mr. Smith, was 96 years old, blind, deaf and only minimally responsive. He had a sweet wife that came in every day to feed him breakfast and spend the day with him. My job was to get him up and ready for her. I will spare you the details of such chores. One day, late in the rotation, I came in to wake up Mr. Smith. He was lying on his back, mouth gaping open, and quite still. I came closer, just to make sure he was still breathing. I came closer still, as I couldn’t tell if he was alive. I leaned over the side rail, which was fully up and hit me about waist high, and spoke loudly and quite clearly, “Mr. Smith it’s time to wake up and get ready for the day!” Mr. Smith didn’t move a muscle; he didn’t even close his mouth. I leaned over again, hands at my side bending over the siderail, and spoke a little louder, “Mr. Smith, it’s time to get up and get ready for your day.”
Nothing, nada, mouth still open, gaping. Do I see him take a breath? I cannot tell. This time I reach up, put my hands on Mr. Smith’s boney shoulders, and speak even louder, “Mr. Smith, it’s time to wake up!” Next thing I know, I have a little old man with a bear hug-choke hold around my neck . Mr. Smith has his arms around my upper neck and back and is pulling me to his face and chest. I am over the side rail, feet off the ground kicking, and now I really am afraid. I am NOT afraid of Mr. Smith. Oh no, I am mortified that Mrs. A will walk by and see me, feet flailing, “accosting” a resident and I will surely be thrown out of the nursing program! I cannot get free. My elbows are bent; my hands tightly against Mr. Smith’s chest and my legs are kicking in the air as a 96 year old corpse tries to do something related to kissing me. I yell out, one more time, “Mr. Smith, do you know who this is? This is not your wife; this is your nursing student!!” All I get in return is a low pitched, “ha, ha, ha.”

Since nursing school is a chance to experience all types of patients it also included a rotation to the OB ward. In my program, you did not just get to watch a few babies being born; you got to share the experience with a willing family. We were assigned a couple in the middle of their pregnancy. We attended doctor visits and ultrasounds and interviewed them. We were then called when they were on their way to the hospital to deliver. Of course, all of this “fun” would culminate in a huge paper.

I was assigned a wonderful couple. They were in their mid 30’s and this was their first baby. They were amazing! The husband was a nuclear engineer, the wife a speech therapist. They were professionals on every level and spent much time researching this new experience. They had decided to have the baby naturally, no pain meds, no epidural, just the two of them (and me) with their Lamaze and breathing.

I truly enjoyed getting to know this couple. Our interviews were stimulating and their research on the subject of birth and child raising was exhaustive. Then the call came.

It was about 9pm on a week night. We were excused from class the next day if our birth family called, so I was on my way! I arrive at the hospital and take up vigil in the corner of the room. It was a lovely experience the first few hours then the scene before me became gruesome. I shrank into the corner and tried to become a part of the wall, a light fixture, something inanimate that could not be drawn in to the experience.

Let me digress, just for a moment, as the scene I am going to describe was not like any other births I had so far experienced. I had observed a sweet woman give birth. She had quietly endured a 3 hour labor, a baby was born, and I never heard the woman cry out. She didn’t even seem to sweat. I figured child birth must be a piece of cake.

I then was lucky enough to sit in on a young girl giving birth. I knew enough of her language to realize that she was not enjoying the experience. She groaned, she cried loudly, she yelled, and boy, did she sweat! The baby was born and I had to re-think my original assessment of the experience of childbirth. At that point I was fairly open-minded to the idea of having a child some day.

Now, back to my Master’s prepared soon to be mother and PhD prepared soon to be father. My assigned couple had decided that they would do natural childbirth. To them that meant, no drugs. This was a topic near and dear to their hearts as they felt that it would be much better for them and for the baby. Remember, they had done their research. Needless to say, as this well educated mother entered the transition phase things became quite intense. This phase can best be described as when the head of baby starts to feel like a watermelon being pushed through a donut hole, and the donut hole is not going to allow it. Well, about this time my sweet, calm and educated young mother to be began to bellow. Previously she had alternated between laughing, crying, moaning and groaning but now she was bellowing. She called her husband to her face, grabbed the front of his shirt and said, “I want drugs, and I want them NOW.” Her husband started to stammer something about natural childbirth and I swear I saw her head twist around at least twice upon her neck. Her face became all crinkled and grotesque as she pulled her sweet hubby closer to her face. The bellow then became a low growl as she said, “get me drugs or you are never f------ touching me again.” I remained in the corner, watching this horror movie unfold before my 19 year old eyes thinking I would NEVER, EVER have children.

I was also told by one of my instructors that I would never make it as a nurse because I laughed too much! Funny enough, I'm still a nurse after all these years. I was often told that my laughter and easy smile have made all the difference for a child or their parent going through a difficult hospitalization. Considering that hindsight is 20/20, what would I have done differently with my life? Lots of things. Would I still be a nurse? Most likely, and I never plan to quit laughing!