Growing up in the 60's was a wonderful magical time for me. Everyone my age seemed to be just as happy as I was choosing whose front porch we would set up to play Barbie's. American Band Stand was on flowing out of the open front door so we could hear it, or the same scratched worn Beatles LP spinned over and over. I had a special birthday when I turned ten years old. My mother gave me two gifts that are still part of who I am today. I received a transistor radio and a microscope. She knew I loved music and science. She caught me performing my primative little autopsies out in the garage on field mice and grasshoppers. She also taught me how to ballroom dance and do the box step to her jazz that she played all day long on her "suitcase phonograph."
I learned to sing jazz listening to the greats. And I listened to Motown and the Beach Boys on my transistor radio under my pillow at night until the battery crackled. By day I was scooping up pond water and putting the slides under my microscope, and entertained for hours at the cellular activity. God help the poor little pollywogs I got a hold of.
Fast forward three decades to my late 40's. I wanted to be a nurse and was accepted to a nursing program. Time to get serious. My days of singing in my brother's bands, or dropping by to accompanying my uncle at clubs doing live music came to a hault. I have a serious profession I'm trying to pursue here!
I did well in the sciences, and carried a dunce cap in my back pocket while I struggled to work out calculations, especially pediatric calculations. Now I am gearing toward the last stretch of my program and the last clinical rotations. Three months prior to graduating, I meet an unforgettable patient I am assigned to. She has seen many students and many staff nurses come to her room. I'm just another one.
I establish a professional raport with her and she does her best to go along with the inexperienced nurse to be, with training wheels stuck to my whites like a toilet paper train. After a few days of caring for her, I go in to see her and change the linens with her in the bed. As I'm doing this, I softly start to sing a very old jazz song.
She said "let it out, I want to hear you."
I continued a little stronger and she joined me word for word. When the song was complete, the grin was priceless and ear to ear.
She asked "do you sing professionally?"
I said "no, but I've recorded a few at my brother's home studio recently."
She wanted to know what song it was and I said "well, it's the one I just sang."
She asked me if there was any way she could hear it. Now I am fearing crossing a professional/student line by the thought of getting caught by my instructor, or a classmate finding me out and getting booted from my last semester. I did think about it, and decided I would chance a secret that I have not shared until now, as I write this article. She got it from me and hid it like it was gold in her sewing basket. She had a little CD player with headphones to play her own jazz selections.
Her secret was sealed with me. I smuggled it in and gave it to her on a Wednesday and wondered all weekend "did she like it, did she hear a flat note, did she like the jazz arrangement?"
I came in the following Monday morning for clinical and I wasn't assigned to her. But did make it down the hall to her room for something else (what a sneaky pete). She carefully dug deep into her hiding place and told me she was thrilled to hear it and it made her nights special. Wow.
Three months later a few weeks before I am to graduate, I am sitting in a large waiting room at my local hospital for my appointment. From across the room I see a familiar face. It is her in her wheelchair with her aide. I don't look again. My name is called and I have to walk passed her. As I do, she extends her hand out toward me and grasps mine and says "you will be a nurse. But to me you will always be a jazz singer. Thank you, from my soul to yours." I was speechless as I watched her eyes glisten with moisture and her bottom lip started to vibrate. She winked at me, and out of that wink dropped one solitary tear.
To samyRN and DC Collins, your replies sure did me a world of good. I'm happy to know that others gained a good feeling from reading my article. I do love writing. There is an absolute freedom in the written word, just as much as certain music makes people free to express themselves. You remember the rock concerts you went to. A lot of "expressing" going on there!
There are people you meet in your journey as a nurse who touch you. I have known a few in my career. They are people who remain close to your heart forever.
That you shared a part of yourself is what was important to this lady and to you. That is part of the art of nursing, to be able to connect spiritually to another human being who sees you, not your job.
Specializes in home care, cardiology, transplants.
wonderful article. me too wonder about crossing that line but i sing for my pts whenever i can & they r interested! keep singing it'll make you an even better nurse!!! what a great story
Could you imagine Shannon MM if we worked the same shift together? We could sing a song or two in harmony to our patients. We also could be reducing tension among other coworkers by focusing on our work AND being pleasant and happy with our tasks. That would be a good work environment huh? And the patients certainly would be more relaxed and comfortable.
newtress, LPN
431 Posts
To samyRN and DC Collins, your replies sure did me a world of good. I'm happy to know that others gained a good feeling from reading my article. I do love writing. There is an absolute freedom in the written word, just as much as certain music makes people free to express themselves. You remember the rock concerts you went to. A lot of "expressing" going on there!