Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do (93 page)

I think what am I going to do when I get about seventy and depend on somebody. And what am I going to do if I’m laying in bed—a lot of times they aren’t conscious—you wonder, God, what am I going to do? I say, hey, when I reach seventy, here I go—I’m committing suicide. But I’m too chicken to commit suicide, no matter what treatment I get.

I’m not the same as if they were conscious and I really couldn’t get away with it. I don’t treat a patient as well as if thev were with it. We had an elderly patient, she was eighty—she claimed she had a Ph.D.—and she was deaf. Aw, she was terrible, taking everything and throwing it at the wall, hitting me in the head with her spoon, as I was feeding her. I wasn’t as nice as I should have been. I was kinda having fun, which was pretty terrible. I knew I had to feed her and she’d spit it out. So I had fun. She was getting so mad I was getting a kick out of putting the food in her mouth. I remember thinking that night, God, that was pretty rotten. I never hit a patient, even though I got slugged a couple of times. But I could have been more gentle with her. Oh, I was terrible. The nurses see me as something different, as somebody really good with patients, when in fact I’m not. I put up a front. But they wouldn’t believe. Patients are always reporting me for my attitude, but the nurses don’t see that side of me.

I do good work. A couple of times when I’ve been reported, it’s not for the care I’ve given, it’s what I say to them. And that’s not really nice. You’re supposed to be sympathetic. My attitude, it’s rotten. I stop and wonder why I don’t really care about people. I want to be accepted and them to think I’m okay, you know? It’s funny. Yet I don’t give anyone else the time of the day.

 

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I think it’s something about Maryville. There was this rigid discipline. We had this one nun, but oh, I couldn’t stand her. If you cried, you were really bad news. She literally made everybody cry. She was always yelling and never paid attention to who she was hitting. I remember walking out the door with this girl and hearing her tell this nun to go to hell. The nun called me back and said, ”What’d she say?” Oh, I’m not gonna tell her. So she made me work for her from eight thirty in the morning until ten o‘clock at at night. I had to wash all the stairs, scrub ’em. I was done about four o‘clock, I did it pretty fast. I had a system of sweeping. I thought I showed her, hmm, only four o’clock and I’m through. She made me do it all over again.

 

 

“I know! Don’t mention! (Laughs.) She had me when I was three. I could never get rid of her. Every time I moved up, she was there. Where we ate and where our dorms was was quite a distance. When we were not even five years old, we had to go from where we slept to where we ate in single file and freezing weather and not say a word. Not touch the snow. You couldn’t drop your mitten. I remember a night where I was feeling around in the snow, so she punished everybody for it. She kept you in line. If somebody got out of line, she punished everybody. She had this big paddle and she had a strap in the other hand and, boy, that was bad news. She’d spank kids and hit ’em and they’d go to bed and everybody was crying.
(
Giggles
.)

 

 

 

I don’t know any nurse’s aide who likes it. You say, “Boy, isn’t that rewarding that you’re doing something for humanity?” I say, “Don’t give me that, it’s a bunch of boloney.” I feel nothin’. I like it because I can watch the ball games in the afternoon.

That’s why if I’m a nurse, I’d go into administrative work and I’d work in surgery. The only thing you have to deal with in surgery is who you work with. You don’t have to deal with the patient—like sympathize with them and say, “Gee, we couldn’t get all the cancer out,” and stuff like that. I like working in ICU
⁷¹
because they’re all half-dead, and you can give a patient good care and not have to deal with them. I’d enjoy that. It’s terrible.

 

 

You feel kinda rotten when you see somebody else dealing with them . . .

 

 

Um . . . rarely. After I leave the hospital I forget all about it. What gets me the most is that if I was in the hospital, I’d be a pain in the neck. I know I’m very weak and that’s why I don’t get involved with patients, because I’m just like them. A lot of nurses say, “God, it’s great that you’re not able to get involved and do your work well. It’s good that you’re not sympathetic, that you could care less.”

There are a lot of good nurses who do feel something towards the patient. When someone dies they feel kinda: “Oh, so-and-so died.” So I say, “I’ll take them to the morgue.” I’ll get ’em wrapped up, because it doesn’t bother me. Usually when they die they crack all over and you have to get them cleaned up and tie their hands up and their feet and put a white sheet over their head, put them on a cart and take them to the morgue.

That really gets me, though—the morgue. It’s down in the basement, isolated from everything. It’s a long hall. They got little dark lights and it’s a funny sound from the boiler room—mmmmmm (humming). That sometimes get me. It doesn’t make me afraid of death, though I am. It doesn’t give me the creeps. You open the freezer and see all dead bodies and everything seems meaningless. Couple years and I’ll be there and someone’s gonna take me down . . .

 

 

Well, you never know. God, when it’s my turn . . . Usually orderlies do it, because it’s tough getting them into this little box. When I go down, rarely do I think I’m putting a human being, someone with a life, into this freezer. They have jars of eyes and stuff and I find it interesting, and everybody’s screaming and running out. For kicks, someone locked the door on me. But that doesn’t bother me, because I don’t get involved. There’s no fear if you’re never involved in something. I go in and look at the autopsies and stuff. Everybody’s saying, “Oh, God, I think if I was laying on that table, what if I—.” Then, boy, I got problems, because I start to think and it bugs me. I’m a very sensitive person, and if I start to think of myself as a patient, forget it. I don’t want no part of it.

 

 

I never thought of myself in terms of a machine—though that’s what I am. I don’t have no feelings. I do, but somehow I don’t have them any more. I can’t explain. It’s kinda goofy. My brother just went into the service. I got along well with him. He was really good to me. He filled out forms for me. My mother said,“Aren’t you gonna miss him?” Well, I’ll miss him ’cause I’ll have to fill out all the forms myself. And because he was a good companion. But I never let myself think about a real feeling for him.

If I daydream about him or anything, I find it a sign of weakness. Sometimes I think of the good times I had at Maryville. Sometimes I can’t even remember making a bed. I’ll know I’ve done something, but I can’t really think of when I done it.

When I’m through at three-thirty. I’m usually watching the ball game. And then I’ll ride my bike for hours, along the lake, or anyplace that you haven’t got a million people in the way. I’ll read for a couple of hours, then I’ll ride back. I do a lot of reading. I like philosophy. It’s sort of like a struggle, what I’m going through. I love Jean-Paul Sartre. I read all his books. I try to find out about myself and relate it to the world around me. I know I can’t, because I don’t relate. I always get a negative attitude about myself. But I do feel quite capable of anything I do. I was going to go into physical education. But she said, “That’s for dummies.”

 

 

The nun. But that’s dealing with people, too. You know what? I had no patience for someone who didn’t get it like this (snaps fingers), because I got it. That’s why I knew I couldn’t be a teacher. No matter what I’d do, I’d have the same attitude. And I’m trying to get rid of the attitude.

I had to coach a team a couple of months ago. To me, when you’re going to do something, it’s not for fun. Nothing’s ever for fun. They wanted to have a good time and play. I said, “Have a good time and play when you’re practicing on your own, but when you’re in a tournament, it’s not for fun. You’re working.” You have to strive and be the best. Number one. But I don’t care if you lost, if you played a good game. If they have a rotten attitude and won, I tell ’em they’ve lost.

Nurses tell me to go into sports because it’s something I enjoy. But it’s the same thing no matter what I do. I’d be detached. I’ve won trophies. I would walk up there and get the trophy and it was no big thing. Everybody’s saying, “Boy, you act like you’re mad about getting it.” I can’t stand when someone shows emotion, if someone’s excited. If I’m excited about something, I’ll keep it to myself, I repress it.

One night, Christmas Eve, I was working and a patient had a colostomy and couldn’t accept surgery. He’s fighting off the drugs. He’s such a strong guy. We heard a loud crash and this guy had taken out his IVs, thrown it against the wall, taken the TV, thrown that against the wall, threw his tables outside the window. It was all a mess. And he had been tied down, leather restraints. Everybody was panicking. They called the police, and all the patients were crying. I thought I could deal with him and I wasn’t afraid of what he was up to. But I couldn’t deal with the patients crying. The nurse told me to quiet them down. I said, “I can’t be bothered.” Everybody was nervous and I just wasn’t.

He wasn’t weak, he was fighting. He doesn’t know that he’s got strength then. I didn’t care that he was having problems. It didn’t bother me. It was a difficult task to get him settled and to straighten him out. And that I enjoyed. Because he wasn’t laying in bed, he was fighting.

I love to work with 99s, emergencies, when patients are kicking the bucket and they’re trying to save ’em. You don’t have to deal with the patient, you deal with the work. You’re trying to save his life. Though I don’t think of it as a life, I think of it as a job.

 

 

No, I really don’t. It’s not that I won’t give him my care. My attitude doesn’t affect my work. If someone’s almost dead, I’ll spend hours putting the tube through their nose, suctioning out the stuff, so they’ll live. But I don’t care. But yet I know that’s not right. I’m just trying to figure it out . . .

 

A baby nurse is one that changes diapers and loves ‘em dearly. Get up at all hours of the night to give ’em the bottle and change their pants. If the baby coughs or cries, you have to find out the need. I had my own room usually, but I slept in the same room with the baby. I would take full charge. It was twenty-four hours. I used to have one day a week off and I’d go home and see my own two little ones. It’s been so long I’ve almost forgotten what it was.

I learned how to cope with things. I have never had to look for a job, because one customer recommends me to the other one. I have taken care of a lot of children in my day. I have pictures of four hundred children.

In the morning, six o‘clock, they get their first bottle. You put them back in bed again. About eight, you pick ’im up, change his diaper, and give him his bath. Then he has another bottle. You put ‘im back in bed again. He sleeps until ten, eleven, twelve. You do the same thing again. That’s just a routine. Sometimes it’s eleven o’clock at night before you settle down. In the afternoon, you sometimes take ’em out in the buggy if the weather’s permissible, so they can get some fresh air.

I usually do the family washing, the children’s washing and their bottles, and get all the formulas ready. The mother might be resting or she might have other children she looks after or she might go out shopping. Sometimes I take a nap when the kids take a nap.