The Weekend

They say 

that when you’re retired 

there are no days off because 

every day is a Saturday. 

I humbly disagree with that statement. 

Maybe it’s my desire to be obtuse, 

but I take Saturday’s and Sunday’s off. 

As a nurse, there was no such thing. 

Now, I ‘make it so’~

as Captain Jean Luc Picard said to his crew.

Topsy turvy is the order of each day 

and I fly into the open space of the weekend.

That doesn’t mean I don’t get the laundry done.

“I have to be alone very often. I’d be quite happy if I spent 

from Saturday night until Monday morning 

alone in my apartment. That’s how I refuel.”

~ Audrey Hepburn: Many-Sided Charmer, 

LIFE Magazine, December 7, 1953

One More Year

In 1980 I was fed up with nursing and threw away all my pins. I resigned for a year - of course never to darken a hospital door again - but kept returning.  I also return to our five year class reunion, as often as possible. But today’s luncheon was one more year for the RGH School of Nursing luncheon. The 45th RGH School of Nursing Alumnae luncheon. More than one more class, but classes from 1949 through each year until the School closed in 1972. We were all girls then, many from farming communities throughout the province. Now we are scattered across Canada, the U.S. and even globally. Our careers have taken us to the North, into the military and war zones, at the bedside from birth to old age, public health, and into universities to teach other young people. Today, we were as those girls in the ’60’s. But our numbers grow smaller. We honour those that are no longer with us. Our hair is streaked with white, some more than others. We share about our families and fuss about how nursing has changed in ways that are different. But we are the same and will meet again next September to share a meal, our school song, memories and lots of laughter. 

“True friends are never apart, maybe in distance but never in heart.”

~ Helen Keller

A Short Couple of Hours

Stein from 1978 Class Reunion

Coming to rest at days end,

I recall the bustle and chatter 

of the restaurant with six classmates of 1968. 

Many more came together, young and enthusiastic, 

then diverged into the stream of families, careers, friends 

until we six met again with 

hair greying, pace slowed 

but still our laughter and chatter 

as bright and full of life as bygone times.

Changed in quality only by 

rolling life experiences, 

yet we become, 

for a short couple of hours, 

girls again and I am glad.

“Time moves slowly but passes quickly.”

~ Alice Walker

Book Review: The Pull of the Stars by Emma Donoghue

Nurse Julia Powers, just shy of 30 years old, lived with her younger brother who is damaged by the war. A trained obstetric nurse, she took a tram partway through rain soaked Dublin; unlocked her bicycle and rode the streets to the hospital. In 1918, dark, crowded and bleak, the Influenza Pandemic raged; people literally dying in the streets. Suddenly she was nurse in charge of a cramped three cot Maternity/Fever ward, a converted supply room. The usual charge nurse had taken ill with Influenza. Long shifts, only one nurse to relieve the next shift. Physicians in short supply. Bridie Sweeney, the only help that Nurse Julia was given, came from a ‘home’ run by an order of Roman Catholic nuns.

Throughout three days, Emma Donoghue describes scenes of child birth that horrified me. Poverty and malnutrition made birthing tragic and the effects of influenza compounded it. Julia Powers’ commitment to her patients pushed it all aside. She had to instruct Bridie Sweeney on the fly. Bridie was bright, attentive and willing to do whatever was necessary. Patient care, getting bandages or instruments, mopping the floor, running for a physician, carrying messages, and when there was time was getting food. Julia, with a doctor’s verbal orders, gave out ‘chloral’, whiskey and morphine. For a patient that refused all sedatives, she was given warm lemonade and aspirin.  Julia made linseed poultices or used camphor to ease chests. One still birth, one baby born healthy, one baby born with a cleft palate. One mother died leaving her child motherless. The births were anything but easy. We can be very grateful for the times we live in.

One character in The Pull of the Stars was Dr. Kathleen Lynn, an obstetrician. This character is the only character in this novel that is historically real. The authors note tells the reader that she was vice president of the Sinn Féin executive and its director of public health. Although arrested, the mayor of Dublin freed her to work combatting the flu. There is more in the authors note about her history.

What an amazing read! And so well timed. This weekend I attended my nursing class reunion and thought of all the brave and dedicated nurses through years. I purchased this book because I’ve read others by Emma Donoghue. I had also heard an interview with her on CBC by Elinor Wachtel, so when I saw The Pull of the Stars at the local bookshop, I purchased it without knowing much about the story at all. I’m glad I took a chance on it.

“Nursing was like being under a spell: you went in very young 

and came out older than any span of years could make you.”

~ Emma Donoghue, The Pull of the Stars

Title: The Pull of the Stars

Author: Emma Donoghue

Copyright: 2020

Publisher: Little, Brown and Company, a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

Type: Novel

Format: Fiction

ISBN -  978-0-316-49901-9  (hardcover)

ISBN -  978-0-316- 70529 -5  (large print)

LCCN - 2020935462

From Class Reunion to Alumnae Luncheon

We weren’t finished. Our class reunion was, but today the Regina General Hospital School of Nursing annual gathering met for lunch. On hold during the Covid 19 pandemic, this was our first one back: the 44th Annual RGH School of Nursing Luncheon. In past years, it was a Saturday night dinner, then a Sunday brunch and today a Sunday luncheon). Two hundred and twenty one nurses sat down to a delicious meal in the Ballroom at the Doubletree Hotel. It was not an easy task to get us all seated and quiet for introductions! Herding cats comes to mind. 

From the classes of 1949 to 1953 all the way to the last classes in 1972, we were an amazing gathering! Several of our classes celebrated reunions or caught up on reunions missed due to Covid 19. Today we lunched with nurses we learned from and worked with; looking for our ‘big sisters’, instructors and colleagues. ‘Big sisters’ were from the year previous to teach us the ropes of the Nurses Residence we lived in. Many of us had no clue who our big sisters were!! Some were able to reconnect with a big sister. Not all had maintained that relationship when life and circumstance interfered.

It was a great weekend. In five years, the RGH Nursing class of 1968 will meet again - location to be determined. In one year, the RGH School of Nursing will meet for a Sunday luncheon, or brunch - that’s to be determined as well.

Thanks go to the Doubletree by Hilton Hotel staff for a comfortable well run weekend for us all.

“……the hours are long, the work hard, and the pay inadequate to the 

amount of concentrated energy required. A nurse, now does not view 

her profession dispassionately. It is too much a part of her.”

~ Monica Dickens

55 Year Reunion ~ A Story Space

Tiny nurses caps made by
one of our classmates

A really vibrant story space! We were and still are so fortunate to have been one of the 'three year classes’ to share a residence; to learn our craft; to work together and best of all to share our nursing fears and woes with each other as we learned. This weekend we have come back together to rehash so much of the past, the years in-between and being present with one another again. Tonight we shared a fine dining experience that would have been impossible on the pittance we received in training. To top the evening off our maitre de asked us for a song he had been told we all knew. Poor man blushed when we sang the whole song beginning with “We are the General girls, we wear our hair in curls…….” The ending is not particularly polite ~ not bawdy, just not polite in today’s world. A bit of stumbling over the second verse, but we did remember it as children remember nursery rhymes.

“I have never had a problem or worry, either big or small, that couldn’t be 

made better by meeting with a girlfriend and talking about it over coffee.”

~Tilda Shalof, The Making of a Nurse

Reunion Fellowship

Regina General Hospital to the right
Nurses Residence at the back

Faces unchanged but still the same ~

conversation flowed like pebbles along a shore telling of

exploits and experience wrapped in the warmth of fellowship

while photos and yearbooks examined for classmates we miss, memories of rigid or kind instructors, student pranks and residence life.

At the buffet line, the bubbling chatter merely slowed.

“We all take different paths in life but no matter where we go, 

we take a little of each other everywhere.”

~ Tim McGraw

Where Nurses Come From

Nursing is not a solitary task. We must find a place of solitude when creating relationship with our patients, while remembering the demands and exceptions of the outside world. Before the work and soul of nursing, we were girls and young women. In nursing education before the 1970’s in Saskatchewan, we entered a three year diploma program. We lived 300 strong in a Nurses Residence, rooming with a stranger following the same path. We learned about physicians and the power they held, and had to learn our own place in health care. We learned about medicines and surgeries, wheelchairs and dietary restrictions. We wore starched uniforms and caps; black stockings in First Year and white stockings after successful completion of that first terrifying, exciting First Year. The shoes! Very sturdy and boring. Definitely not dancing shoes, but serviceable. Our white, starched and very annoying, caps: no band in First Year or Second Year; a blue band in Third year. Many of the procedures and equipment are pieces of history now. What is the same is that sick and injured people need the care that nurses give 24/7, no matter the staffing shortages, pandemics, or tragedies. 

Most, if not all, of our class of 1968 have retired; we have lost too many over the years to the illnesses we have all cared for. Some of these young girls, now older women, are gathering this weekend for our 55th Class Reunion. Those lost to us will be sadly missed. Those not attending due to distance or circumstance will also be missed. Yearbooks and mementos always bring forth memories to compete with good food, many tears and a lot of laughter. 

“Panic plays no part in the training of a nurse.”

~ Elizabeth Kenny

The 'Others'

The 'Others'

“Awareness of others? You’ve got to be kidding. I am barely aware of myself let alone others. Besides that, this social distancing thing and wearing masks sends the wrong message as far as I’m concerned. When I walk past one of those ‘others’ you talk about, I almost feel like turning and running the other way. Some people look positively scared. And it’s hard to get a smile out of anyone and if someone does smile at me, I can’t tell unless their smile goes all the way up to their eyes.”

“So you are aware of others then.”

“What do you mean?

“You feel separate and almost antagonized by them. Do you ever wonder why people seem so scared?”

~~~~~

A Rant:

This is a conversation I imagined this morning. On the way to a drugstore this afternoon, I passed a few people, most not wearing masks, and a few that were. I had not had a mask on while I was walking on my own and no distancing was required, but when foot traffic increased, I stopped, put my mask on, and left it on until I did my shopping and was once more outside walking only own. I knew, at least I believed I knew and believe I know, that I am not even a carrier of the Covid 19 virus. And yet, I wear a mask. Partly because it is recommended, but partly because I don’t know who is a carrier of this invisible virus - where a viral threat may be hidden.

As I watched the news tonight the refrain was repeated again about the economy and the rights of others. A retired nurse, I thought of the rights of the nurses and all other health care workers that are being trampled on by those that disagree with the health recommendations.  As the mother of a small businessman I thought of his rights and how they have been pushed and shoved around by the presence of this virus. The rights of those that do get sick, the rights of families of those that have lost a loved one, and the rights of so many with other medical problems, seem absolutely ignored. Their grief, their dedication and hard work expected! No matter that they are all more than exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally. Is it because we can’t see them unless we do watch the news or know someone affected by this virus? Being aware of all the others is just logical and polite.

“What is hard work? It takes strength, energy, and stress to truly care about others enough to place oneself last, but it is easy to wrap oneself up and selfishly scramble on the head of others.”

~ Criss Jami, Killosophy

Chapter One, Episode 159 - Common Ground - Situationally Theirs

Review, Revision, Edit and Update

“So let every encounter between your characters be important. Remember that it's when you as the writer understand the significance of character relationships that you are able to most profoundly understand the characters themselves.” - Katherine O'Chee, 8 Secrets to Writing Strong Character Relationships from her blog site Writer's Edit.

In this episode, there are several characters. Two minor ones - Miss Green, RN and the nurse's aide. Miss Green plays an important role in creating a setting for this most uncomfortable relationship between strangers. In Katherine O'Chee's 8 Secrets she also speaks of the importance of back stories for each character as the rationale for the relationship is developed. The two main characters for this episode, Emelina Beaufort and Carrie Tyler take tentative steps to learn how their individual back stories converge. Once more, I am fascinated by all the construct that is writing, whether it be fiction or non-fiction. 

Common Ground

“Mrs. Tyler, would you like a visitor?” 

Dressed per hospital protocol in full protective garb - gown, mask, head covering and gloves, Miss Green, RN was on duty again. Other nurses would only give their first names, but Miss Green, RN, as her colleagues spoke of her, was ‘old school’. “In my day” only last names were used,  and very frequently with out the ‘Miss’. Her patient looked much better today, although she was still pretty low on energy. Although it was none of her business, she was curious about such a pretty girl getting into this fix. 

~~~~~

Carrie was tired, not sure she was up to another round of questions about her past. In a strained, quiet voice she said “Is it the Social Worker again? He did say he’d be back today. Do you think he could come back in about an hour? I really don’t think I’m up to it.” Carrie had been napping, like she did everyday. Naps had always been a favourite since she had been a child, and her mother told her she was ‘the easiest baby to put down for her afternoon nap.’ But this napping every hour was not the same, she just couldn’t help drifting off. Now that she was able to read the few books donated to the Covid19 ward, she would wake to find the book, still in her hand, but heavy and flat on her chest. She was stiff and sore from lying in bed all day. 

“No, it’s not the Social Worker, dear. Do you have any memory of the night you came in…….no, of course you don’t. You were so sick, we didn’t think you’d  survive the night.” Miss Green may have been ‘old school’, but she could also be quite chatty from time to time. “It's the woman who came up here in the middle of the night because the doctor on call contacted her.” Miss Green was taking clean hospital garments out of the pass through cupboards that had been created for this ward. “I can’t be certain but I think it's the woman you have been corresponding with.” Carrie’s lethargy evaporated,  and she became animated with excitement. “Where is that mirror? I must look awful. I’m so thin and pale.” Carrie reached into the bedside table for her brush, one of the few things they allowed her to keep. Such personal items were soaked in antiseptic each night and most definitely before her discharge. “I’ll need a clean nightgown and housecoat, please and I want to get up in the wheelchair.” In a rush, she sat up quickly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was about to stand when blackness folded suddenly around her. Miss Green instantly supported her, one arm around her shoulders, leaning in while pulling the wheelchair forward with her other arm. “I’m all right. Just a little dizzy.” Carrie barely whispered, tried to stand again, but had no strength. Sternly her nurse contradicted her “No, no you’re not all right. You’re moving too quickly.” Miss Green let go of the wheelchair - this thing is in the way. “There now. Sit back on the bed.” At the same time she rang the call light. One of the nurses aides came quickly to the door. “Come in Mary, towels and wash cloths by the sink - wet one of the wash cloths with cold water. Thank you. I think we’ll be all right now.” In short order, Carrie, no longer dizzy, was washed, her hair combed and tied back, and changed into clean hospital attire. Those tasks completed, she was assisted to the bathroom in the wheelchair. Looking at herself in the mirror she said to herself and then to her nurse “I think I’m ready now - I hope my visitor is still here.....I’m finished in here, Miss Green.” 

~~~~~

“Your bed is all made. Here’s a blanket for your knees. Did we get your socks on? Yes… Now you're ready. Can I bring her in now?….Oh, your mask! Quick put it on.” After ushering Emelina Beaufort into Carrie’s room and reminding them that the visit was only to be 20 minutes, Miss Green left the room, returned to the nurse station and wrote up a brief note in Mrs. Tyler’s chart.

For a few minutes the two women just looked at each other. This very artificial setting for a first meeting was very uncomfortable. Both women were thinking the same thing, that the letters they wrote had been easy, merely polite conversation between strangers. Neither  of them knew what to say. Silence ballooned in the room. Behind their masks, they both started to smile. A smile that crept up to their eyes only visible by the appearance of tiny, crinkling smile lines at the corners of their eyes. “So who goes first?” Emelina popped the balloon with just four words. Carrie settled more comfortably in her chair “I suppose I should. I’m kind of the host. I really don’t know what to say. I can’t believe that you’re actually here, that I’m actually talking to you.”

Emelina had just come to the hospital on a whim, wanting to meet this young woman who had stirred up the past. At first she just wanted to wait until Carrie was out of the hospital, but the more she thought about it, the more excited she got. “Let’s go slow. We really don’t know anything more than we are new friends.”

“Haven’t you seen the photo or the adoption papers? Surely you’d recognize the photo and the signatures.” Carrie, in one of her foggy dreamy states from yesterday or the day before, was sure Emelina had seen both of them. So certain that she believed it to be true.

“No, I haven’t. As far as I know I am waiting on the Social Worker to verify them with someone….I don’t really know what he - or she - has to do. How is your memory about the signatures? Did your parents tell you anything about where you were born?” Emelina’s curiosity had won out over her initial awkwardness. 

“What did they tell me? My memory is so hit or miss, that I’ll have to think more about it. Mom and Dad don’t even know I’m in the hospital. They're probably worried sick. They haven’t heard from me in - how long have I been here? Probably before that. I’ll call them and…” Pulling a tissue from the box on her lap, she dried her tears. “Seems I have very little emotional control. The only thing I remember is that I had to come here to Hartley - I didn’t plan on getting sick like this, though.” Carrie and Emelina both laughed, breaking any remaining tension. “You might ask the Social Worker to see if you were born here. I don’t know what name you would have been registered under, but he may be able to find out.”

There was a light knock on the door to Carrie’s room. A nurses aide stepped just inside. “I have a message for you, Mrs.Tyler. The Social Worker called and said he’d be up here in half an hour.” Turning to Emelina she said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to cut your visit short. We need to have time to clean the chairs and touch surfaces between visitors.” At the sound of a call bell, in a flash she was gone. 

Emelina stood to go. She wanted desperately to touch this young woman, even if it was a gentle hand to her thin hand. Choking on emotion, she just said “I’ve left my phone number with the nurses. If, for any reason, you want to call me, please do.” Just before leaving the room, Emelina turned back, her eyes smiling  “And, Carrie, please remember to call your parents.” 

“A certain awkwardness marks the use of borrowed thoughts; but 

as soon as we have learned what to do with then, they become our own.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Chapter One, Episode 155 - Stretched - Situationally Theirs

Review, Revision, Edit and Update

Two areas of writing, character development and the relationship between the characters, are part of the puzzle of writing stories. My experience with this has been in the many episodes of Situationally Theirs. In my library of writing books and searching the web, there are many tips for character development. Dialogue, important according to the information found, also aids me in visualizing the character and the setting. The next is showing relationships. There are three characters in the first part of this episode - Cook, her employer Emelina, and Emelina's friend, Dr. Crawford. The experience they share is casual, friendly and respectful. When there is only one character, Randal Matthews, Social Worker, in the second part, the relationship is with the setting. Still lots more to learn for this writer. (There were typographical errors to be corrected, and then only a few.) A pleasant read.

Stretched

She always enjoyed her walk to the Estate in the early morning, even if it was raining. Today, she could just enjoy a clear morning, stars winking out, and a sickle moon riding low in the sky. Rounding the corner to the back of the house, she saw it. Speaking to the squirrels that were already up and grubbing for something to eat, she told them “That’s a pretty fancy looking little car! I wonder what Dr. Crawford's doing here at this hour.” Mary Elizabeth Saunders, better known as Cook, chuckled and, talking to a noisy crow sitting on the eaves, she asked “Do you suppose he and Miss Emelina aren’t up yet?” As Cook stepped up on the porch, the crow rasped at her and flapped away. Talking to herself she went on “I don’t see any lights on, so I guess I’d better be as quiet as I can and get the coffee on.” 

~~~~~

Emmie heard the quiet downstairs being disturbed. She opened her eyes just enough to see the time: 0730. That must be Cook. Should I let him sleep a little more. As quietly as possible, Emmie slipped out of bed, covering her cold skin with her housecoat. “Emmie. Where are you going? It’s not time to get up yet.” Emmie slid back under the covers, housecoat still on. “Cook’s here, Jeremy. We should start…..”    “Start what, Em. I’m still too sleepy, but you could try to wake me up.” ….. “Jeremy Crawford, behave yourself. I’m going to shower. If you want to come with me you can, if you want to stay in bed being lazy that’s your choice.”  Emelina got out of bed despite his groaning pleas, and walked across the hall for her shower. 

~~~~~

At the stove, getting a good breakfast started for the two lovebirds, Cook had her back to the stairway. She heard them come down the stairs, whispering like a pair of conspirators making a plan. Cook smirked and stifled a chuckle. A little too brightly and in unison, Emmie and Jeremy called out “Good morning, Cook!” Emelina whispered “I thought I was supposed to say good morning.” Jeremy whispered back “No, I was the one. Shh. Cook’s turning around.”

“Well, good morning you two. Did you sleep well?’ Without waiting for an answer, Cook gestured towards the coffee machine. “Coffee’s ready and as soon as I set the table, I’ll serve up your breakfast.” As she reached up in the cupboard for two plates, her smile never leaving her face, she added “You’re both looking so very rested.”  Jeremy decided to break the rapidly thawing ice “Cook, you darling girl, you know perfectly well why we look so very rested.” Cook feigned innocence. “Do I now? I’m just the cook here and only just now saw the two of you. There are three bedrooms up there and a nice comfortable sofa in the living room. I certainly don’t get any messages from our little ghost girl Sarah.”

Emelina listened to the exchange with amusement. “Jeremy, leave Cook alone. If you’re not careful, you’ll not get any breakfast and Cook will usher you out of the house before you know it. I’m going to have my breakfast. Cook, get your coffee and toast and sit down with us.”

~~~~~

Several days before at the hospital:

There is a Social Work department in every city hospital, and not always staffed very well, considering that only small compliment of Social Workers took care of the entire hospital. All the societal living problems that patients brought with them landed on their desks. Mrs. Carrie Tyler was one of them that Randall Matthews had dealt with since the day after the patient’s admission. Randall, relatively new to the hospital and newly graduated with a B.S.W., liked order. As educated as he was, he was not prepared for the puzzle of Mrs. Tyler’s life that would consume his morning.

Except for her date of birth, her name, and her most recent address, she had little paper work with her. Initially the physician and nurses hadn’t expected her to live, however her condition had slowly improved. One of the physicians - Randall had to look at his notes - ‘Dr. Jeremy Crawford’ - had left him a message to see her about ‘her situation.’ What an odd message. ‘her situation?’  Randall Matthews called the nurses station. He didn’t get much more information as the unit clerk didn’t have the it or couldn’t give it out. The nurses were all too occupied with their patients to take his call. So this is what being a Social Worker is all about. Phone calls and literal leg work to track down information. 

Randall looked at his watch - it was 8 a.m.. Talking to an empty office, aloud he outlined his morning “I have a meeting with all the clinical staff at 11. I should have time to see all the patients on the Covid19 floor and review their charts.” Randall was mistaken. He spent most of the next three hours, reading Mrs. Tyler’s chart (not much there except medical info), reviewing the adoption papers which were copies of the originals from about 30 years ago, and he almost missed an early entry in the nurses’ notes - something about a photograph with a name on the back. He approached the only nurse in the nurses station and asked if she knew what that meant. “Oh, that’s my note. I was working last night when she came in. She got so agitated about that photograph we finally pinned it to her pillow where she could reach up and touch it. It wasn’t the most sanitary thing…. but then you don’t need to know all that. She’s resting quietly right now, but if she’s awake she may want to meet you. The other thing she said to me was that she didn’t have anybody. Dr. Crawford called somebody and a couple of women came up for a while. He talked to them and then they left. I don’t know who they were. He said something about they may be family?”  Miss Green looked up…..”Excuse me, Randall, I’m getting off soon. My replacement is here and I need to give her report.”

For Randall, that was just the beginning. He came to see Mrs.Tyler everyday and was able to speak with Dr. Crawford once. He didn’t get much more information except that the person he had called on the night of her admission was a possible relative. He learned on one of his visits to Mrs. Tyler that she was corresponding with this person that Dr. Crawford mentioned. She improved slowly and was no longer having to go to Intensive Care. Her attending doctor was making noises that discharge was imminent. Randall needed to get started on a discharge plan that did not involve discharging her to no one and no where. Possibly a Care Home would have a bed for her for a longer convalescence. He still needed to talk to her about the adoption papers and the photograph. After another busy day with sorting out life stories and listening to them all, Randall got back to his office when it was time to end his shift. There was a message on his desk phone. Dr. Crawford wanted to meet with him about Mrs. Tyler. I’ll call him back in the morning. I just want this day to end.

“A mind that is stretched by a new experience 

can never go back to its old dimensions.”

~ Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.