The Nurse's Day
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I accept that not all nurses are angels but I'd like to dedicate this poem to the many who work hard to care for others, often at great cost to their own personal and emotional well being.
A nurse has washed six patients; it's a busy day,
And now she has just watched a lovely lady die,
Next she’s going to bed-bath the woman next door,
No time for her own needs, can’t let herself cry.
Then on to talk to the new admission, a man,
Ask how he has managed for he lives alone,
Then she prepares the young man for theatre,
Is called to the desk to answer the phone.
It’s the daughter of that patient, who died,
Very gently the nurse gives her the news,
Then quickly walks back down the ward,
In her black tights and flat, silent shoes.
Her friend is back from her break and they chat,
A few words as she prepares to do a dressing,
They're both laughing with the patients
As the men their ages are guessing.
You sweet talking man says the older HCA,
While staff nurse likes the flirting young man,
Although they are both very happily married,
They distract from fear and pain if they can.
Then, quick nurse, they turn check out the bay,
See an old man sliding out of the chair,
His neighbour had called out to alert them,
They prevent his fall by rushing over there.
They pop him to bed, do a set of observations,
BP, pulse, temperature, O2 sats, he looks blue!
Then to the phone to summon the doctor,
No fuss, no panic, the nurse knows what to do.
Pops on oxygen, 2 litres, speeds up the drip,
Documents her findings for the medics to read
Time for my break thank goodness, she thinks
Realises that she feels very thirsty indeed.
Checks that all is OK, the doctor's now here,
She gets halfway to the rest room with her tea,
When a very upset lady arrives; that daughter,
Immediately she takes her into the room to see
Her dead mother. For a moment stays by her side,
Then goes and fetches, gives her own cup of tea,
For it is exactly what the daughter needs
Strong, a splash of milk and sugar spoonfuls three.
Soon the daughter leaves with the information
A bereavement pack and a hug from the nurse
Who then turns once more towards the staff-room,
Sits down, counts out the money in her purse.
She smiles, for she can just about afford it,
For if this busy, long, sad shift ever ends
She is meeting, just outside at eight o’clock,
Going for a well earned night out with friends.
Copyright © Mavis Jackson | Year Posted 2017
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