Dedicated To Crazed Nitwit

After the comment she made on my "Sentinel Events" posting...I couldn't resist posting this:

All I can say is -  don't worry - it DOES get better!  Give it a little time! Honest!

Sentinel Events

 I reworked and reposted my blog entry that I had deleted about Medication Errors....originally posted on May 11.   As you can see by the Graph nicked from Wikipedia - who obviously stole it from JCAHO,  medication errors make up a fair chunk of the Sentinel Event's pie.

Here is the Blog entry for this topic.  It tells the story of a New Nurse (me) who narrowly escaped adding to that yellow piece of the pie.......





Why doesn't this ever happen when I am out shopping???

As you can see my taste for music varies from one end of the spectrum to the other.  I would have loved to be here when this was pulled off!   (it is very close to where my sister lives! maybe she was there!)
I secretly used to spend my afternoons watching opras on tv when I was in my Late 20s/early 30s.
I am also rooting for the Opera singers on  America's Got Talent!  Love them!

So here is a Woo Hoo  for these singers who randomly popped up in every day life.....   :)

Toxemia : 1920s : A Horrible Hospital Stay


   Grandma and Grandpa were married in 1926,  and in 1927 they had their first baby.

Granum, Alberta

The marriage ceremony (one of the several!) was delayed for the funeral of the area's midwife.  She passed away right when Grandma moved to the area.  As she stated in her memoirs ....

 "People thought it natural that I would start with this work" - meaning, she would be the area's next "midwife".

The first baby she helped deliver  was September 1926 - the Roos family's second baby - a boy.  Grampa helped the father in the field while Grandma helped with the delivery and the baby.  "I stayed there for about 3 weeks, did mother and baby and all the work, housework and washing and I remember I burned two diapers by warming them at the top of the stove" she wrote in 1958.



Courtesy: Sharon Strand Sigfuson

 Most houses did not have water.  I know that G&G's house didn't.  Grandpa had to haul water by driving the democrat down to the river - into the river - then fill a great barrel.  I can't imagine what they would do in the winter.  I suppose there was enough snow to gather and melt, so they wouldn't have to make that dangerous and freezing trek to the frozen river very often.



Her story continues.  "From there I went to Mrs. Bosch who was blessed with a pair of twins, a girl and a boy.  After a couple of weeks I went home again and could do some work in my garden."  She grew vegetables for the fall harvest and got milk from their cow which they separated and then churned themselves to make butter.

 They took the butter into town and along with the eggs from their chickens - traded it for other necessities such as sugar.   The trek into town to do their shopping was 11 miles away, which is not far for us and our vehicles - but for them was an all day trip - packing their lunch for a picnic along the way.  In the summer it was so hot the butter melted, in the winter it was so cold it was unbearable...even the blankets and the hot water bottle they took along with them couldn't keep them warm.

Courtesy: Valerie Hinz painting

 That winter, besides delivering another two babies after the twins, Grandma actually helped Grandpa finish the interior of the little house- ceiling and walls, buying what lumber and beaverboard they could in town and hauling it home.  She also told of how she helped Grandpa with the machinery repairs. 

All this she did while pregnant with her own baby. 

The First December baby, she delivered on her own.  The next December baby, she did all the work during and after...and stayed with the family for several weeks once again.  In her own words: 

Tom Hamp Photographer - Granum, Alberta

 " It was harder for me because I was expecting my own first baby.  I was there over Christmas and New Year, and I was supposed to go to the next party [meaning next baby delivery], Mrs Howard who was expecting, but then I could [not] do my work any more.  I had swollen ankles and I didn't feel so good, so I had to see the Dr in Clairsholm and the Dr told me to stay right away in the hospital.  I didn't like it but the Dr told me that he wouldn't help me if I didn't wanted to stay and I had still 2 month to go yet. The hospital was 22 mile from home and this days was not so easy to go by car, and the buggie with horse took to long, we went by train."

So my grandmother was coerced into staying at the hospital with 8 more weeks left in her pregnancy.  And what did the hospital do for her? 

"I stayed in the hospital and I've got treatments hot steam baths every day and medicine*** and milk, no salted food at all for 5 weeks.  That took so long, in the first place I didn't feel sick, second so far from home, no visitors, and no English (Grandma didn't speak English at this point).  I was in a room of 3 or 4 lady's, they just came, get their babys and went again."



some of the old medicines used long ago

  Put into a room with laboring moms who came and went...it must have been discouraging to be stuck, not only in a hospital far away from family and friends....but also, not able to communicate with anyone.  I suppose some people at this point would say - "so learn English - you are in your New Country"...well it isn't that easy.  

Having just arrived  8 months previous from a country that spoke Dutch (nowadays there are plenty of people who speak English in the Netherlands)...and having a husband that spoke very little English also - because they lived in a community of mostly Dutch immigrants....how do you go about learning English in the space of a few months?  I suppose this is why I have a little more compassion for those immigrants that do not speak English very well...or at all.  I am sure, given the choice - they would give anything to be able to communicate their needs. It certainly isn't because they are stupid or ignorant......

"Some ladys try to talk with me but I didn't not a word.  Pop (Grandpa) brought me the English-Dutch dictionary but that wouldn't help.   If I wanted to ask something I took the wrong word with another meaning.  Once I asked a lady if this door was before and the other door after instead of front and back, the lady never knew what I meant so she shook her head."

Courtesy: Sharon Strand Sigfuson

  Grandpa did get to visit a couple times, but only for a very short visit and only when he could hitch a ride in with a neighbour on their way in to town for supplies.  One time the Domine (pronounced Doh-min-ay, meaning 'minister' in Dutch) came to visit her to tell her that her marriage wasn't legal.  I suppose he must have felt sorry for her in the hospital for so long - and after Grandma adamantly told him she wasn't doing the marriage over again, already having gone through it three times already....a fine of $2 was levied against the minister and it was allowed - "but with a stern warning".  

I can see why my Grandmother was frustrated.   I have taken care of women in the hospital for periods of time with PIH and preterm labor - and it isn't fun for them.  Plus -  life does go on at home - and it is difficult to maintain bed rest in the hospital - away from everyone.   But I suspect much of Grandma's problem was due to the extensive work she did around the farm, the edema was exacerbated by constantly being on her feet.   I can just imagine how swollen her poor ankles were at the point of admission to hospital.

Ten days after her baby was born, she was allowed to go home.  Ten days!  So Grandpa accompanied a neighbour with a car to pick Grandma up.....and the car broke down and had to be fixed.  Grandma was waiting and waiting all day for him to arrive......and no Grandpa.  She was frantic with worry.



Thanks to the City of Claresholm's website.  



"I couldn't understand why they didn't come, and so I asked the nurses please phone home,  I said question!  question! instead of ask what the matter was.  O I could cry!  At last the nurse told me about the car trouble and they would come the next day.  The next day came and there was Pop to bring me home, with our baby.  It was 22 miles, Pop was proud of his first daughter, so he carried her all the time.  On the way we stopped at some friends place  in Granum, so it was late in the day before we got home.  When we came home Mrs Bosch and Mrs Kroll were there to clean up the house before I came, but they were surprised that everything was so clean and tidy already.  Pop did it all by himself, before he came to pick me up.   So when at last we came home, they made coffee and stayed for a while"




How things have changed!  And to think that my Grandmother went through 5 more pregnancies, including one set of twins! 

Courtesy: cowboyup.ca

There is still more to my Grandparent's story.......

*** treatment of the day: possibly anticonvulsants/sedatives [morphine] which have been used for >80 yrs, purgatives and bowel washes-chloral and bromide per rectum.  Milk was also a "treatment" because of the calcium which was thought to help.

Who are my Readers?

I am a Student Nurse 3 (10%)

Just started - 1st year 5 (17%)

2 - 10 years of nursing - 3 (10%)

11 - 20 years of nursing - 3 (10%)

21 - 30 years of nursing - 1 (3%)

over 30 years of nursing - yikes! 4 (13%)

I am not a Nurse 9 (31%)

I wish I were a Nurse 2 (6%)

I wish I weren't a Nurse 4 (13%)

OMG: I have been a nurse in 5 decades!

Holy cow.  Or as my uncle (may he rest in peace) -  always said "Holy Mackerel!"

I can't believe that!  When did I get this old?  Where did the time go? WTFlip????

It was just yesterday that the first blush of nursing took hold of me.....and I was afraid of killing patients.  Now I just want to get through the day without killing myself.   Funny how the old body just decides to turn on me.  I used to run relays and was the Interior Provincial Javelin throwing champion. I hiked up mountains, biked where I wanted to go and walked miles and miles.....

It could be worse. At least I have all my faculties about me.  The neurons are synapsing in an orderly fashion - for me, anyway.

I was just having this convo with my Nurse Cousin from Texas.....

When I was a young thing, I used to wonder how the old people I looked after couldn't see all those hairs growing off their nose or out their nostrils or ears,  the extra huge eyebrows that were never plucked and wondered how they didn't know there were growths coming out of their face......you know, all that grooming that needs to be kept up with.....

And now, with the help of my 25X mirror.....I *know* why......

They couldn't see anything up close.  Glasses can only do so much.  When it comes right down to it....ya really need a 25X mirror to see everything .....

And..... Holy Mackerel.  FIVE DECADES...............

Where's that glass of wine.......???????

Float Nursing & Tattoos

One of my readers made a comment about Float Nursing - how the thought makes her cringe. My reply? If you start doing it at the beginning of your career....it is a lot easier.


You see, as you get more comfortable with nursing....and it becomes routine...and you stay in the same hospital, the same ward, the same shifts.....the less comfortable you feel when taken out of that comfort zone. That's only normal. I have always been the restless type (I guess that is why I have moved 10 or more times in 10 years! Since married four years ago...this is the longest I have stayed in one place!) so I suppose that is why I have always felt the need to move around. I am actually almost envious of those nurses that have been able to stay in one place. But that is just who I am. A restless soul.


Or - at least I was.


Now, I am quite content to do the same job, the same house, the same thing......OK - well - not always. Sometimes I must admit that familiar feeling of restlessness creeps up on me and I tell my husband - "Let's move....I don't want to live here anymore".....but he has learned to ignore me and just let me rant and rave.....because I will always settle down again. Back to the routine.


Old habits die hard.


AND - I am much too close to retirement at this point to start jeopardizing my pension. Meanwhile, here is my old post from May 12 :

Tattoos and Float Nursing

I gotta rush through this. It's a nice day outside - my outside thermometer says 90F - and I want to take advantage while it lasts.

When I started working casual (part time hospital, part time department store nurse) I was floated around the hospital wherever I was needed.

Floating around is fun and interesting. You get to go different places and it keeps you on your toes, you learn a lot of new things and it definitely isn't boring or routine. Problem is, though, the end of the day leaves you wondering what the heck you did. There is no assignment per say and although you know that you just took care of pretty well every dirty assignment that no one else wanted to do on almost every unit, you just feel like you accomplished nothing. The only thing that reassures you that you actually worked was your complete exhaustion at the end of your shift.

The up side was, you usually got off on time because there was no report to give and no patient assignment that you had to keep an eye out on while the oncoming staff was taking report. I really quite enjoyed the freedom to float around. There was always something to do everywhere you went and the nurses were usually really glad to see you.....and having worked in that same hospital for 12 years, there was pretty well no place I hadn't been and no one that I hadn't gotten to know. It was a social type job, in other words. For me, anyway. 

When I was a student, because I knew the RNs that were preceptoring me from my working-as-an-LPN stint, I got tons of opportunities to start IVs - even difficult ones, and I became quite proficient as a result.....so one of the things I would do as a new nurse and a float was to run around starting IVs that other RNs couldn't get. This skill would later come in handy for when I dabbled in Prison Nursing (ya that too - I will tell you about that later)

Occasionally you got to replace a staff member that called in sick and work the entire day on one unit. Telemetry was one of them. I took a course on reading strips and was starting to get pretty good at the monitors before I escaped town for California. Like I said before, I loved to learn new things. It was interesting to say the least. However, the patient that I most remembered wasn't the usual step-down-unit-type.  Here is the story:

Three kids decided they were going to get tattoos. I am not adverse to tattoos. Quite the opposite. I can appreciate a well placed tattoo and having worked OB - I've had the privilege of seeing LOTS of those-not-seen-by-others.

On the other hand, my girlfriend Jan is appalled with the appearance of that type of artwork, but I am suspecting it has a lot to do with the "connotations" in her mind (prison).  Much to my girlfriend's chagrin, her son is covered with Lovely Tattoos (yes, and even the name of his mother on his back-she should at least appreciate that! I think it's sweet...) and for a while, he owned a tattoo parlour that I would later tease her to come visit with me for matching BFF tattoos.

Esthetically, tattoos can be quite pretty. Or interesting. Or "fun".    I once had a patient on the Surgical Unit that had a tattoo of a naked woman on his arm. Interestingly enough, the only vein available that I could get at easily was right between the legs. He thought that was amusing. I was just doing my job. 

Personally, the functional tattoo is my preference. I admit at this point that I have tattoos - albeit not the traditional type - eyeliner and lip color. Sounds funny for someone that has a needle phobia to wish a tattoo on themselves - but I was desperate.

 I am a hazel eyed blonde. I naturally lack skin color where it should be. Without makeup, I look sick.  I have absolutely NO natural color in my lips.  None.  Zip.   It was a chore getting up early to put on makeup pre-shift just to keep concerned colleagues from constantly asking me - are you OK??You LOOK SICK!!! - so when I found out you could have makeup applied permanently - I jumped on it.

In my excitement to have permanent lips and liner - I was in denial as to how one gets a tattoo. For some reason, right up until I sat in the esthetician's chair, I shut out that little piece of info  -  to have a tattoo done, they have to use a needle.  Eighteen years ago I got my lips tattooed - and not just once, but Twice - because the first time didn't fully take and I had no base color to start with.

YOUTUBE TATTOO PLAYLAND AD:



I happened to have a little tube of Emla, a handy little topical anesthesia, to numb my lips. Unfortunately, my memory isn't so good for non-nursing things or self medication, and it overrode my needle phobia. Five minutes outside of Sausilito, I realized I had forgotten to apply the Emla. Coming out of the esthetician's office, I ran into another gal who *loaned* me a vicodin which I promptly washed down with a glass of white wine supplied by the esthetician. I might have well popped an M&M and washed it down with a glass of water. At this point I was questioning the irrational decision to decline the offer for an anesthesiologist's services. A second glass of wine later, I braved the worst.

I have to say, I have never felt anything so painful. Of course, I have never experienced childbirth so my experience of the pain spectrum probably isn't at it's most upper limit. But, at the time, it seemed that every single nerve ending was located in my lips. The gal used 10% lidocaine as she went along but nothing really touched that "discomfort" -a nurse's synonym for outright excruciating pain.

The stupid thing about this is...knowing how much pain is inflicted, you would think I would do anything to avoid a repeat. I guess I developed selective amnesia over the years,  and 12 months ago,  decided it would be great to have permanent eyeliner applied.   Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Ok, so now I understand some of my clients who do dumb things more than once.....

I tell you this story because, getting back to the three kids getting tattoos.....they did them themselves. Unfortunately, they decided to share the tattoo needle. Not very bright. In my time working in a prison, you see what happens when tattoo needles are shared - half the population end up with Hep C and if you are really unlucky - you get Hep B - which IMO is almost as bad as HIV.

I guess the kids thought they were safe since they were only sharing the tattoo needle between themselves. What these kids didn't realize was - it was more than the needle they shared. One kid was a diabetic. The other was healthy. The third had Hepatitis B. Not smart. We only got two of the kids because the third one, the "healthy" one - died within a week. The diabetic gal was very very sick and spent a long time recovering. I got her right near the end of her hospital stay.

 I am not sure what happened with the one that was the carrier, but I believe he was one of her many "visitors". It was interesting to see their non-reaction to the death of their friend, the constant partying and tomfoolery that went on in that room. Maybe it was denial, and I can understand that. But - It didn't seem to click that what they did was downright dangerous and why. I think it has to do with how invincible you feel when you are young. That feeling dissipates with age. The "it will never happen to me" starts to turn into "when is it going to happen to me".

Moral of the story today is, if you have kids that want to get a tattoo.....it is better to buy them a "proper" one...maybe negotiate a smaller one that they can hide or remove easily when they get older and wiser... and inspect the facilities and ensure that they are getting one that is going to not only have appropriate placement, but that the equipment used is properly sterilized.

As much as you hate it.....it will protect them from themselves. There are always people ( like me) that - no matter how much evidence is present - they're gonna do it anyway. Which - reminds me.

I have to phone my esthetician and get my permanent eyeliner touched up. I have been putting it off for a year now.

Time to pay the piper.

Posted by A NURSE at 6:52 AM

Once again, lucky for me, this time the comments were saved:


2 comments:
newnurseinthehood said...
Amen. My husband has a sleeve and half of beautiful work, and people always seem to want to talk to him about it, but the majority seem to freak when he answers about what he paid for it and then throw out the name of some nasty shop or mention that they know a guy who does it in his living room. Seriously? It's worth it to pay for good, custom work. Not only do you not want hep C, but that is going to be on you forever. Why not pay the money for an artist who is actually good?
Also- eyes- zoinks. I thought getting my ribs and side done was bad.
May 12, 2010 12:22 PM

A NURSE said...
I paid $400 for my lips. And that was almost 20 years ago. I think it was $300 for my eyeliner. What we do for "beauty" and convenience. But definitely - It pays to do it the "right" way....:)
May 12, 2010 1:23 PM

Love Story....

This video was made by a Cancer patient in Australia....for his wife's birthday.  He was diagnosed with Colon cancer October 2009.  His prognosis doesn't look good, but he is fighting it with everything he has.   The video was meant for family and friends, but it suddenly went viral and is attracting attention from all over the world.
Here is the news report that tells the story:

 It is a touching tribute of his love for his wife.  He also has a blog "There is a Crack in Everything - That's how the Light gets In".  Check it out.  As a Nurse, it gives me a patient's perspective on having to live with Cancer.   As a human being, it makes me realize that life is so short and sometimes we don't have control over what happens to us - no matter how much we would like to.  It also makes me appreciate what I have - right now.    Life. 
Here is the original video:


Rachel's Birthday Video from Kristian Anderson on Vimeo

Starry Nights - 1926 - Grandma's Television

Yes. Those were the days.  We don't really know or realize what the new settlers went through - just to live - a mere 100 years ago.   We take a lot for granted....and sometimes I wonder what it would have been like living in that dusty prairie town in Alberta....as a new immigrant - just like my Grandparents. 

It must have been painful for G&G to leave family behind, especially since - when they said their goodbyes - it may very will be the last time they saw any family again, as it was no easy feat to travel to Europe and back without a lot of planning and a month or two of time.   Trying to comfort her, my Grandmother's mama told her " Just look at the stars at night.  I will be looking at the same sky...."

There is nothing more breathtaking than the expansive vault of heaven filled with twinkling lights.   My Grandmother wrote of it in her memoirs.   Often she would beckon her new husband out to the porch to watch the night sky.  No tv.  No radio.  No telephone or cell phone.  Just the painful quietness and the sparkling celestial diamonds adorning the black curtain of nature surrounding them.

And - every summer they could see the spectacular colourful show of nature - the Northern Lights - as they danced across the expansive night sky - rolling along - fading - just to flash in multi-colours above their head.  It was awe-inspiring.   Better than any movie!

Whenever I hear this song....I think of my grandparents out on the prairie, living in that tiny 16ft by 26 ft  shack my Grandfather built himself....


Halley's Comet: When it came around in 1986 - I remember clearly seeing it's tail fly across the sky. Nineteen eighty-six was also the year my Grandmother died -  at age 91.

 The one thing she wanted  was to die at home with her husband by her side - and a view of that starry sky.  I was willing to stay with them in their apartment until the end.  As a fellow Nurse and, most importantly, her Granddaughter, I thought it the least I could do.

 The MD said there was no way he could "accommodate" this.  Dying at home was only just coming into "vogue" - and was still discouraged in most medical circles.  The cold four walls of the hospital was all she saw as she left this earth.

 It was at that moment that I realized that, with all the progress of medicine,   compassion was somehow lost along the way.

 On another note, if I live to see the next time Halley's comes around....I will be 110.
I am not holding my breath.

****

Halley Came To Jackson (lyrics)
Songwriter: Mary Chapin-Carpenter


Late one night when the wind was still
Daddy brought the baby to the window sill
To see a bit of heaven shoot across the sky
The one and only time Daddy saw it fly


It came from the east just as bright as a torch
The neighbors had a party on their porch
Daddy rocked the baby, Mother said "amen"
When Halley came to visit in nineteen ten


Now back then Jackson was a real small town
And it's not every night a comet comes around
It was almost eighty years since its last time through
So I bet your mother would've said "amen" too


As its tail stretched out like a stardust streak
The papers wrote about it every day for a week
They wondered where it's going and where it's been
When Halley came to Jackson in 1910


Now Daddy told the baby sleeping in his arms
To dream a little dream of a comet's charms
And he made a little wish as she slept so sound
In nineteen eighty-six that wish came 'round


It came from the east, just as bright as a torch
She saw it in the sky from her daddy's porch
As heavenly sent as it was back then
When Halley came to Jackson in nineteen ten
Late one night when the wind was still

A Midwife's Tale...... Unbelievable....



 On May 17 of this year,  I drove to my parent's place to look after my mom at home post op.  Having a B&B, they get all kinds of folks come knocking on their door from all over the world.   This is a story about one of their "visitors".

I always knew my Grandmother was an RN.   I had heard she had delivered some babies when they first moved to Canada....Alberta to be exact.  But until that day - up at my parents - I hadn't heard in detail  the stories of my Grandma as a Midwife in rural Alberta.  

 My cousin, who is also an R.N. - and Grandma's namesake -  was staying with me for a week.   She just left to go home a couple hours ago - back home to Texas.  I showed her this story - Our Grandma the Midwife -  and she was as amazed as myself - when I had first heard it.  


She just happens to have Grandma's old nursing pin from the 1920s.   I am hoping she sends me a photo of it.....because I have never seen it.   :)

Here is my blog entry for Monday, May 17, 2010:

Grandma R.N, or It's In the Genes.....

So I have arrived at my folks' house to help my mother around their place .....since she is only 2 weeks post operative Hip Replacement. My mother had an interesting story for me when I arrived.

My Grandparent's Engagement photo

I think I have already mentioned that my Grandparents immigrated to Canada from the Netherlands, my Grandmother following my Grandfather to this new Land of Opportunities by freighter (no planes) in May 1926. They were engaged in Holland and Grandma moved here two years after Grandpa - deciding to marry in their new country.

They visited the local courthouse to obtain their marriage license. Not understanding English, and not knowing the laws or customs, they didn't realize that not only were they handed their license, but the barrister threw in the marriage ceremony also (#1). Having not a clue that they were already wed, they made arrangements for an American Dutch minister to perform their marriage ceremony. They actually had two ceremonies at that time...one in Dutch in the Reformed Church(#2) and a second one at the Presbyterian church(#3).

A year and one baby later they discovered the marriage was invalid because the American minister was not allowed to legally marry anyone in Canada (and was fined $2!). Still not understanding that they actually were already married - in the courthouse, they arranged for another wedding....this time with a Canadian Minister(#4).

The local Dutch community and other assorted neighbors travelled from far and wide to congregate at the little shack G&G called home....no more than four walls put together by Grandpa - 2 by 4s and unfinished inside....but did they have a Wedding Celebration that apparently carried on until 4 am! (I was reading this from my Grandma's story that she handwritten herself in 1959) Three or Four Weddings. We all laughed about this years later- a family joke, but it accentuates the problems immigrants encounter adjusting to a new country and sets the scene for the story I am about to relate.

Back to present day.

Nine thirty this morning there was a knock on the door. Mom wondered.....who could be wanting to visit at this early hour? It still takes a good hour or so to get mobile in the morning with the still-mending hip ....so early morning visits are a little inconvenient, to say the least.

Strangers.

 An elderly man and his wife introduced themselves. He asked if he could come in and visit. My mother recognized the name and *thought* she might have met him 40 years ago when my Grandma and Grandpa brought them to visit when we owned the resort by the Lake. Anyone that was Dutch would be introduced around to the family. That was G&G's way.

This particular gentleman had an interesting story to tell. The story goes like this:

It was December 13, 1926 in Rural Alberta. A blizzard had blown in and most of the roads were impassible. Farms were widely spaced and the only method of transportation at that time was horse and buggy on the gravel and dirt - and now snowdrifted - roads, if you could even call them that. A harsh winter, forty below with the snow whipping around, visibility zero....made it difficult to go anywhere.

In this setting a Dutch woman goes into labor. the Doctor was sent for but the probability of him even finding the house never mind being able to get out of his own drive - was remote. The Doctor had to travel by horse buggy all the way from the next town (by the way, I have attempted, in the past, to go by horseback 5 miles to the "next town" from my place - and after one hour I gave up!) and eleven miles meant an all night trip. It was going to take hours and hours.

Someone at the laboring woman's house decides that the next best thing to the Doctor would be - a nurse! ....and since my newlywed grandparents lived next door (well, it was a little bit further than that - for creative license we will say "next door". Anyway - let's just say she lived a lot closer than the Doc - within walking distance) - and everyone knew she was an RN.  The local midwife had died, so by attrition, my Grandmother was expected to step into her shoes.   A family member was dispatched to fetch my Grandmother The Nurse (practising without a license, oh my!).

Grandma and Grandpa had only been married 7 months. There was no such thing as a reliable birth control method so Grandma had gotten pregnant right away. Not that they wanted to wait anyway since they were both in their 30s. She was 6 months along with her first baby when the knock came at their door to beg Grandma's Midwifery services.

I am pretty sure that even though Grandma had only worked in a psychiatric hospital in Holland, she must have taken some type of obstetrical training and had some sort of experience delivering a baby at some point. Nursing courses weren't quite as complicated back then. No such thing as care plans or a lot of classroom work. It was mostly practical training - or slave labor really. So, it makes sense that Grandma would have probably had a grasp on what having babies was all about.

Grandma-back row, second from left - Her Nursing Graduation picture

The labor must have been fairly easy ( easy as opposed to the difficult types I have seen- shoulder dystocia, malpresentations and the like - really - no birth is "easy" for the mother!) because the baby delivered at 4:30 am by a coal oil lamp held by one of the family -  before the MD got there at 8 am ( or perhaps the blizzard was worse than we thought).    Water boiled, cord tied, placenta delivered..... the baby was carefully dried off and placed in a box lined with blankets and set on the open oven door of the blazing wood stove - the only source of heat in the house. ***

At this point my Grandmother wrote in her diary:  "When the Dr came everything was in order mother and son the first baby were all well.  The Dr stayed for breakfast had nothing to do, but took just the same delivery money.   We slept at home and every morning I went to help mother and baby and made the meals and work inside the house washing etc.  I was there about 14 days...." (interesting to note that back then my grandmother complained about the same thing I did many years later - I did the delivery, the MD collected the money for showing up!)

Back to the elderly gentleman standing at my mother's door.

This gentleman who presented to my parent's house - was that very same baby. Eighty- four years ago - my Grandmother had delivered him - early that am in the middle of a wintry blizzard!!

My mother and father had a delightful visit with the couple before they wandered off down the road.

 Darn.

 I was sorry to have just missed him.....there were all kinds of questions I wanted to ask. And I will probably never get to meet him - The Man my Grandmother Delivered.



***(At this point of the story my mother giggles: "I wanted to comment to him that the baby went from one oven to another - but I didn't know how he would take that" )
Posted by A NURSE at 6:45 PM

Once again, thankful that the comments were saved for this blog posting:

4 comments:

newnurseinthehood said...
I don't have much to say other than- this story freaking rules.
May 18, 2010 6:20 AM

A NURSE said...
Hey thanks! I was so sad to find out I missed the guy. I love old people....maybe I hang around them too much but.....it sure is interesting........ :^S
May 18, 2010 9:10 AM

Rachedy said...
That is an awesome story!!
May 18, 2010 12:20 PM