A seasoned nursing colleague tells me we're invisible to people under 30. Is this true for veteran nurses and new graduates? What are you saying about us in the locker room? Are we even on your radar? We look at you, your young limbs and unlined face. We remember being in your shoes, thankful we survived the rigors of nursing school and passed the dreaded NCLEX exam.
When our career began, we wore a cap, a starched white uniform, white support hose, and white nursing shoes. Our hair, like our male counterpart, had to be off our collars or pinned up. You have a thousand scrubs to choose from, one to reflect your personality, tout your school, or express your tastes.
We marvel at your computer skills and texting abilities. You've never known life without a computer or cell phone. We remember doing lab and x-ray requests by hand and charting on paper with ink in three different colors, black for day shift, green for the evening and red for nights.
We've been made to believe the hospital will fall down if we don't show up. Our parents, survivors of the depression, beat that work ethic into us. You seem to know there's more to life than work. When a younger nurse calls in or asks to take off we're aghast. What, ask off for a holiday!? What is she/he thinking? You have to earn that privilege, work your way up. In the locker room, we grumble, "They're not even the one preparing the turkey? Why do they need the day off?"
We've seen vast changes in healthcare, some for the better. Our intentions were good when we provided milk and Maalox at the bedside of our peptic ulcer patients. Doctors order said they were to drink 30 ccs, alternating every other hour, only to discover this was the worst possible treatment. You discovered a pesky bacteria called H-pylori was the real culprit.
Our cataract patients stayed several days. Heaven forbid they have nausea and vomiting. Allow that to happen and we'd undue the surgeon's good work. We kept our post-op patient supine with bilateral sandbags to keep the head level. You'll rarely see a cataract surgery unless you work for an ophthalmologist's office.
Labor and delivery have changed. We saw the inclusion of fathers serving as a support person, but only if he attended prepared childbirth classes. Your expectant couple may be two mothers. Our newborns were wheeled back to the nursery, none of that rooming-in business. Fortunately, someone figured out this was an ideal time for new parents to get acquainted with their infant. On admission, our laboring mother might admit to the recreational use of alcohol or pot. Your clinical rotation as a student likely included the horror of watching a baby withdrawing from narcotics. Opioid addiction is a household phrase today.
One member of our team, whose position may have been eliminated by electronic medical records, was our unit secretary or ward clerk. A good one was like a dispatcher for law enforcement. She paid attention to everything and sent us where we needed to go. She prioritized wants and needs and told us which call light was most urgent. You don't have her to rely on. Your ability to maintain eye contact has been altered. You have a new appendage, a computer. You are responsible for all the data entry the unit secretary provided for us.
We jokingly call menopause, "mental pause." There is truth in humor. There are days when we feel dull and miss our mental acuity. We learn to laugh at ourselves, but not too hard because our bladder control is not what it used to be. Are we grumpy or kind to you? Are we eager to share pearls of wisdom? How are you treated when you ask about a policy or a procedure? Do we respect you as colleagues, or do we act like Nurse Ratched? Do you know who she is?
Are we co-existing, living in harmony and sharing a common goal? Do we come together in caring for our patients, or is there tension in the air? What are you saying about us in the locker room? Do we show up on your radar?
