Being a nurse, I often feel like the “scope of health” is focused on me when I’m outside of the workplace. I’m afraid I’ll be spotted by a patient as I take my children through the fast food drive-thru, the one time we have no time to grocery shop and it’s already an hour past dinner time.
I get nervous when I meet up with my coworkers for Happy Hour, once a month, and we pretend to be “regular” people. Will I see a patient, a doctor, or someone in administration? I know, a few drinks a month in the public spotlight is not a big deal. After all, I am a human being, but just a little afraid I’ll get called out on my “human” lifestyle.
I’m Human
Years ago, when I first became a nurse, an elderly patient, who was typically very friendly and sweet, gave me the cold shoulder at her appointment. When I asked her how her day was, she proceeded to tell me she was very disappointed in me.
Confused (and looking down to see that my scrubs was clean and put together), I asked her to elaborate. Turns out that she had seen me at a restaurant with my family and I was eating a steak and what looked to be some “unhealthy” appetizers (and a few refills on soda). I felt my face flush, yet still couldn’t quite pinpoint the issue.
“A little contradictory, don’t you think?”, she said. “You are always recommending… or insisting… that I cut back on fatty foods, red meat, and soda…and there YOU were doing the same.”
I felt embarrassed because she was right, but I also felt irritated that my life felt like it was constantly on display. I joked that it was my unhealthy twin and left the discussion alone.
Promoting Health
Since then, I’ve really tried to live by my own words of advice a little more often. As a nurse, I do have scheduled hours. But when someone I care about has a health question or concern, I try to help the best that I can.
One of my former colleagues told me that I should tell my friend to “Make an appointment like everyone else.” That’s easier said than done and quite honestly, not why I went into the profession. I knew that demand for my care may never have a set schedule.
As a mother, I encourage healthy eating and exercising as a family. I’m the friend who will bring the “not as fun” dish to pass at a potluck, but still “wow” some when they realize it’s a “healthy” version. I will politely lecture family and friends who still sunbath, smoke cigarettes, and drive without a seat belt. I’ve got enough horror stories and experiences to “know what I’m talking about”.
Life on the Outside
While I took a vow to promote health when I became a nurse, my father’s illness became a pivotal moment for me. About five years after I graduated nursing school, my father was starting to complain of pains in his chest, shortness of breath, and frequent nausea.
Naturally, we thought he was having a heart attack. He wasn’t the best profile of health. Although he was long and lanky, he was a former pipe smoker, never exercised on a regular basis, and had a special place in his diet for a weekly cheeseburger. After his heart checked out okay, he went through a series of tests without any solid answers.
One afternoon, as I chatted with a patient who had recently been diagnosed with mesothelioma, a light bulb went off in my head. Maybe my dad had it, too? He had worked as an electrician for decades and I know he had worked with a lot of materials and in houses that contained asbestos.
When I joined my father at his next appointment, I casually mentioned mesothelioma. A few weeks later, my father was diagnosed with malignant mesothelioma and as we nervously faced a future of unknowns, my father looked at me and said, “You are my beacon of health… lead the way.”
While I told him that he still needed to attend any and all appointments, I agreed to help him create a healthy living plan before and after his surgery and treatment. Together, we loaded up his fridge with produce, practiced yoga in the backyard (as long as the neighbors couldn’t see him), and found a used stationary bicycle. Although he lost weight and was constantly out of breath, he said he had never felt better.
My father lived only five years after his advanced diagnosis, but it was a few years longer than initially expected. When you lose someone you care about, especially when you have a medical background, there’s always guilt and self-doubt that creeps in every now and then. I knew I did what I could to help my father and knowing that he enjoyed living healthier in his last years makes me feel like I did my job as a nurse and daughter.