Back in the ‘80s I ran a clinic for the elderly that was housed in an apartment on the tenth floor of a Chicago high rise. My patients came to see me, a nurse practitioner, in the office but in many instances I would later check up on them in their apartments in the building… Continue reading CARING AND THE MALE NURSE
It’s a soup day. Well, okay, it’s 76 degrees outside on this August morning in Chapel Hill but it’s dark and dreary. The sound of the rain hitting the roof makes me think of soup. Thoughts of the warm aroma of Grandma’s bean soup and the sweet, earthy taste of Mom’s chicken soup, made with the… Continue reading WHAT DOES PEA SOUP HAVE TO DO WITH WRITING?
When I worked in the home care program at a VA hospital in Illinois, medical students sometimes came along with us nurse practitioners while we made our visits. I enjoyed showing them the reality of delivering care in the patient’s home—where we were guests—the subtle line between suggestion and decree, education and instruction, doing for… Continue reading THE WEIRDEST HOME VISIT
The first chapter of my book opens with my grandmother telling me in her fractured English I shouldn’t be a nurse. Her garlicky breath still resonates in my olfactory recollection. This chapter has been critiqued once in a master class at an annual writer’s conference and work-shopped at least twice in writing groups. So when… Continue reading SELECTIVE STUBBORNESS