Confessions of a Male Nurse by Michael Alexander Page B

years I had spent with patients in the medical/surgical ward, I thought I’d seen it all. I had seen how high the human spirit can soar, and then how low and selfish humanity can be. But then, along would come someone new, who would set up new boundaries, whether high or low.
    One April morning I was greeted by Jenny, who had news to share: ‘Mr Holdsworth is in the emergency room.’
    ‘Organ rejection,’ I blurted out.
    ‘Oh no, it’s much worse than that’ – What could be worse than your body rejecting your new heart? – ‘He’s back to his old habits. He’s overdosed on morphine.’
    Jenny didn’t attempt to hide the scorn in her voice.
    ‘But that’s not even the worst part. When he gets out of here, he’s got an interview with the police. It seems he’s been selling it as well.’
    I guess not everyone learns from their mistakes. As I look back at some of the ambivalent feelings I had had while looking after Mr Holdsworth, I wonder if deep down I doubted that he really had changed. That heart could have gone to someone else less likely to waste it. I try not to judge, but the fact is we’re all human and we do have opinions. I just hope that as a nurse, I can always accept people for who they are and give them the best care that I can.

Making a difference
    ‘Mr Henderson has taken a turn for the worse,’ Colleen read to the assembled nurses. ‘He wouldn’t get out of bed today and his chest is sounding bad.’
    Colleen looked pretty upset about this; moisture was pooling in the corners of her eyes. Colleen was straight out of training and hadn’t lost a patient yet; everyone was wondering if Mr Henderson was going to be her first.
    All of the nurses liked Mr Henderson; he was a truly genuine, down-to-earth sort of man, with a heart of gold. At the age of 69 he should still have had some good years in front of him, but he had a bad case of pneumonia that the antibiotics couldn’t seem to get rid of.
    ‘The doc requested another chest X-ray. The infection hasn’t improved at all,’ she continued. ‘He even thought it was a bit worse. Every breath Mr Henderson takes is an effort. It’s horrible to listen to.’
    The sound of a rattling, bubbling, straining set of lungs is never nice.
    Everyone kept quiet – we had all had our first lost patient, and though Colleen might shed a few tears if Mr Henderson passed away, she would eventually recover.
    With the report over, we filed quietly out of the office, talking with muted voices about the patient, as if he had already passed.
    I was helping Colleen with Mr Henderson that day. As I entered his room, I took in his sickly grey skin. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Henderson, I hear you’ve been giving the girls a bit of trouble.’
    This brought a smile to his face. ‘Could be better, son,’ he rasped.
    That was Mr Henderson, having a joke in the face of death. I grabbed a passing nurse and together we heaved him upright in his bed to help his breathing.
    ‘I don’t think I have much time,’ Mr Henderson said to me when his coughing passed. ‘I’ve had a good life. I’m not ashamed of the life I’ve led.’
    I felt a lump in my throat.
    ‘It’s not over yet, Mr Henderson’ – I had to at least try to be optimistic – ‘The doc has just started you on a new antibiotic; you might feel like a new man tomorrow. Besides, you can’t go letting young Colleen down after all her hard work.’
    Mr Henderson managed a wry chuckle before bursting into another round of coughing.
    ‘You’re a bad liar, but you and the wee lass have done a lot for me – it would be a shame to disappoint you.’
    Still, I wished there was something more I could do. Often it’s just a case of being there for a patient, and willing to listen. Every so often, though, there’s the option of doing something extra. Later that evening I had a chat with the other nurses about how we could make Mr Henderson more comfortable.
    ‘Room 5 is free. What do you say to that?’ I