I HAD A DREAM

In preparation for moving I discover the darndest things as I unpack dusty boxes stored in the attic untouched for years. This time it’s a mercury sphygmomanometer, packed in its original carton along with a “limited warranty” card that should have been filled out within ten days of purchase. Looks like I didn’t even open the box but put the blood pressure machine away for the day I would open my independent practice.

That would have been in the early 80s after I became a gerontological NP

and

after I worked in Chicago with inner city, underserved elderly

and

after I became frustrated with the lack of resources and left to become an administrator of an HMO

and

after I knew I didn’t want to be in administration

and

after going back to work as a nurse practitioner once again

and

after moving to three different states

and

after finally retiring from nursing . . .

I forgot my dream.