Last week I was walking from my car through the campus , where I work , at a large university hospital . It was early in the morning and I passed many student doctors and nurses chattering and excited heading to class , treading where thousands of medical residents, surgeons and faculty had before them over the last 100 years.

They were bright and chippy , obviously thrilled with their choice of career, and seemingly very happy to be starting another new day. White pressed lab coats and shiny stethoscopes around their necks.

It started me thinking about how I was at the other end of my career. Now working only one shift per week and happy to be near retirement at the grand age of 47. I’ve done my time , worked all of the shift patterns, missed holidays with my family , trudged through rain and snow to get to work and crossed the world to work in the USA.

I started my nursing career at a fresh 19 years old in Scotland , after choosing not to attend university, and was apparently as green as it got.

My first shift on the ward the sister told me to give my geriatric patient a suppository. I looked at her, in my highly starched white dress and cap , as if she was speaking a foreign language as she thrust a foil tray with a glove, some lube and a pellet at me. I managed to squeak out “which finger do I use “ to which she replied “ the longest one”.
The swish of the curtains closed behind me and suddenly I was a bonafide nurse.

On another occasion , just a few week later , an elderly lady had fallen and gashed her leg deeply. The sister had the student nurses gather around the bed to watch her clean the wound and bandage it. I was at the foot of the bed when suddenly I saw stars before my eyes and I was losing my hearing , near to fainting.
I gasped “ Sister , I can’t see “to which she replied “come closer then “ as I fell backwards onto the floor.

Despite my obvious wrong choice of career, I continued and managed to get over my fear of deep wounds and poop. Three years later and I was an RGN.

It was a huge change from Scotland to California. The differences in drug names and names of body parts had me blushing right from my first shift ,as well as being expected to come to work in what seemed to be pajamas . I was to give an injection to a patient and she asked me if I was going to give her it “in her fanny” ! I was shocked as that isn’t the name for the derrière in the UK , it’s a naughty word there.

I’ve had some very sad moments during my 28 years , but also a terrific amount of hilarity and nonsense both with my patients and colleagues. Giggling uncontrollably through report, doctors rounds and on break. It sounds bad when the patients around us were sick, but it helped to relieve the daily stress and was a coping mechanism. It was never directly in front of a patient.

I have sat with medical residents on the night shift who were crying because they were so tired , given them words of encouragement and a cup of tea, covered them with a blanket and answered their pages for them. It was a team effort and we certainly were not their hand maidens ,as some of the older doctors treated us.

The psychiatric and confused patients were always an experience. One came into the ER after assaulting a mannequin in a department store yelling  “I need a doctor , even Dr Pepper will do” , another would come in frequently with his tin foil helmet on to stop the voices. I’ve been instructed to put a pillowcase over a patients’ head to move him to another department as he was paranoid and believed there was a ‘hit’ out on him. I’ve looked for chickens under beds in geriatric wards and sang songs with stroke patients that can’t get out a single word but can miraculously sing a whole song.

It has been a privilege to be a nurse, but I’m winding down now, happy to pass the syringe on to the enthusiastic younger nurses.

May they always choose their longest finger and keep a sense of humor.