[2021-05-12] International Nurses Day
May 12 is International Nurses Day, which falls during National Nursing Week, from May 10-16. The day is more significant to me than ever given my health issues this past year.
Nurses were central to my care when I went into The Ottawa Hospital for my hysterectomy in August. Though I saw surgeons, anesthesiologists, physician assistants, porters, cleaners and administrators during my stay, my most frequent interactions were with nurses. As I had experienced before my cancer surgery, I rediscovered that nurses are a special breed: compassionate, attentive, empathic...even funny.
While I was still in hospital, I wrote:
At midnight last night, Nurse Deb decided to untangle all my tangled-up lines. That's commitment. And Nurse Pat, who was with me for the first two nights, would pad in like a cat and say my name quietly so that I would wake up enough so that she could check my vital signs. Day nurses Miranda and Courtney handled the extractions (tubes, bandages) and would check in with me even when I hadn't used my call bell.
And the day I left the hospital, I confided that I had cried:
I cried because of the beauty of the human spirit that is embodied in all the nurses who took care of me when I was at my most vulnerable. After working with me for just 4 hours, my final nurse (Sarah) said to me as I was preparing to leave the hospital: "If it weren't for COVID, I would have given you the biggest hug." She took the same pride in my hitting milestones as she would have had I been her best friend. "Look at you, girlfriend" she said after one report.
Following my surgery and before starting chemotherapy, I spoke with a nurse—or, more precisely, she spoke to me. She told me two stories: the first about her mom, who had had ovarian cancer at the age of 72 and was still going strong eight years later; and the second about her own encounter with cancer some 25 years earlier. Both the nurse and her mom had gone through surgery and chemotherapy. Given my positive spirit, she was convinced that I would do well. Her predictions came true. My own experience with the side effects of chemotherapy for ovarian cancer were much like those of her mother. The nurse's confidence on that occasion gave me confidence.
Another nurse who showed confidence was Jacinthe, the nurse who runs the gynecologic oncology centre at The Ottawa Hospital. In advance of chemo #4, my neutrophils were a paltry 0.7 two days before my scheduled treatment, but needed to be at 1.0 or higher to avoid having my therapy postponed by a week. Jacinthe—a wonderful nurse—spoke to me the day before my scheduled treatment and gave me the option of postponing my chemo right away and waiting a week, or having another blood test the morning of the procedure to see whether my neutrophil level had risen to 1.0. I was skeptical that my neutrophils could rise that much in 48 hours, but Jacinthe said that it was possible. So I opted to give it a shot. It turned out that she was right. My neutrophils went from 0.7 to 1.2, and my chemotherapy proceeded on schedule. I was thrilled.
That same day, I received the encouraging news that my CA125 level—previously recorded at 920 (on the day of my unofficial diagnosis) and 862 (a month after surgery)—had dropped to 19, after three rounds of chemotherapy. I was ecstatic. As I recounted in that evening's post:
When I mentioned my result to my chemo nurse, she said, things like, "that's very good" and "that's really fantastic" and "that's like an early Christmas present" and "I love to hear stories like these."
That nurse, Kathy, was on duty for almost all of my six treatments. When I reached my final chemo, she asked whether I would ring the bell. In turn, I asked her whether everyone rang the bell. She replied, "Oh no. Lots of people choose not to ring it." But I did choose to ring it. Even without a loved one with me because of COVID restrictions, I always felt surrounded by love in the form of the nurses. That evening, I remarked:
And just like that, chemotherapy is done. In saying goodbye to Nurse Kathy and Nurse Jacinthe, I said that I hoped I would never see them again. Jacinthe said, "Well, at least not here." Out in the world, post-chemo and post-COVID, I'd love to see these lovely women, and I'd love to be able to give them a proper hug.
My most recent encounter with a nurse was with a woman named Nancy, who gave me my first dose of a COVID vaccine. As I shared in my post on that day:
Nurse Nancy, who administered my vaccine, was positive, calm and kind. She reminded me of the nurses who gave me chemotherapy. Perhaps, in both cases, their positivity stemmed from the knowledge that the needle they were sticking in me was giving me a drug that could save my life.
I hold a special place in my heart for an exceptional nurse who happens to be my niece. Not only did she listen in on most of my appointments (and commiserate with me after the calls), but she also drove me to the emergency department at The Ottawa Hospital six days before my surgery when I wasn't feeling right. She waited with me over the next six hours and then drove me home at 3:00 in the morning. She called me every few days during the early part of my cancer journey and removed the staples in my belly a few weeks after my surgery. My niece has been a steady presence throughout my treatment, a voice of wisdom and knowledge, and an extremely positive cheerleader.
Looking back at all the nurses who have played a part in my life over the past year—whether over an extended period or for only a few minutes or hours—I can't help but feel grateful and blessed. I'm especially thankful that nurses, and other health professionals, were there to treat my cancer at a time when so many of them have been on the front lines of the COVID pandemic. The coronavirus has turned a noble profession into a test of endurance. On this International Nurses Day, let's remember all the nurses who have served us so well.
