The Building as Character

 

COUNTDOWN TO PUBLICATION DATE: THREE WEEKS

This past week I promoted my book.

Monday, after a class I attended on public speaking, I collared a woman who had also attended the lecture as she exited the ladies room. “How will you use the information?” I asked. She told me she had planned to start a class for widows on ways to rebuild their lives. Then in the course of our conversation, she told me she belonged to one of the oldest book clubs—meeting over 100 years. Maybe, I said, you would want to discuss my book and I handed her one of my business cards.

Tuesday, I spent the day at a retreat for my hospital volunteer group. The facilitator was a nurse whose office was located in Chicago. Didn’t I write my book about a clinic I ran in Chicago? And am I not scheduled to give a talk at that clinic early next year? And don’t I need to schedule some more speaking engagements to make that trip worthwhile? So I approached her during a break and asked if she would she be amenable to helping me figure out what venues in Chicago that might be possible?

Wednesday, I spoke with a nurse who organizes the Jersey City Medical Center Alumni Association. Jersey City is my hometown and my first job after graduation was at the JCMC. I accepted an invitation to speak at their 2019 spring luncheon.

Thursday, I happened to be a hospital gift shop. I approached the woman who buys the merchandise and offered my book. I’m still working on that connection.

Friday, I attended the NC State Fair with my longtime friend, Carol.  We met in the second grade at Saint Aedans School in Jersey City, and reconnected when she moved to North Carolina 15 years ago. Carol is in my book. The day before, postcard-size cards advertising my book had arrived in the mail, so I gave her a handful to distribute to her Bunko friends and dropped off the rest at strategic places at the Fair.

IMG_1629

Saturday, again laden with my postcards, I handed some of them over to a friend at lunch. She, too, is a writer and supportive of my book selling efforts.

After lunch, I drove to my monthly writing workshop. I passed the cards out to the women who have heard many versions of my stories over the years.

It is not lost on me that I am fortunate to have a group of friends that encourage, support and believe in me and my story.

On Sunday, I rested.

My Book is on Amazon

Stories from the Tenth-Floor Clinic: A Nurse Practitioner Remembers 

Paperback – November 6, 2018

by Marianna Crane (Author)

Running a clinic for seniors requires a lot more than simply providing medical care. In Stories from the Tenth-Floor Clinic, Marianna Crane chases out scam artists and abusive adult children, plans a funeral, signs her own name to social security checks, and butts heads with her staff―two spirited older women who are more well-intentioned than professional―even as she deals with a difficult situation at home, where the tempestuous relationship with her own mother is deteriorating further than ever before. Eventually, however, Crane maneuvers her mother out of her household and into an apartment of her own―but only after a power struggle and no small amount of guilt―and she finally begins to learn from her older staff and her patients how to juggle traditional health care with unconventional actions to meet the complex needs of a frail and underserved elderly population.

 

Review

“Marianna Crane writes with compassion and insight about what it’s like to serve on the front lines of the medical profession―treating the most vulnerable among us. Her vivid account is moving and enlightening, a valuable contribution to the literature of social justice.”
―Philip Gerard, Professor, Department of Creative Writing, University of North Carolina, and author of The Art of Creative Research

“Nurse practitioners are well known for their willingness to be primary care providers for the ‘underserved’―those people who are waking bundles of multiple chronic and acute illness and myriad ‘social determinants’ of poor housing, little income, and almost no family or friends to call a support system. Society prefers that such patients remain invisible, because acknowledging their existence is too unsettling. It is my fervent hope that Stories from the Tenth-Floor Clinic will find a wide audience of readers who are willing to meet and care about the people nurse practitioners allow into their lives every day.”
―Marie Lindsey, PhD, FNP, health care consultant and founding member and first president of the Illinois Society for Advanced Practice Nurse

 

About the Author

Marianna Crane became one of the first gerontological nurse practitioners in the early 1980s. A nurse for over forty years, she has worked in hospitals, clinics, home care, and hospice settings. She writes to educate the public about what nurses really do. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, The Eno River Literary Journal, Examined Life Journal, Hospital Drive, Stories That Need to be Told: A Tulip Tree Anthology, and Pulse: Voices from the Heart of Medicine. She lives with her husband in Raleigh, North Carolina.

 

Note: Still waiting for the cover to be designed.

Excerpts From My Book

 

My book will be published on November 6, 2018 by She Writes Press.

I have changed the title over the course of writing the book so many times that I can’t give you a count.

The latest one, and I do hope the final one, is Stories from the Tenth-Floor Clinic: A Nurse Practitioner Remembers.

She Writes Press asked me to select three of what I felt to be the most powerful excerpts from my book (75-150 words each).

I thought I would share them with you:

When Margaret saw me, she ran to unlock the inner door before I got a chance to grab the key from my purse. Had she been waiting for me? My neck muscles tightened.

“Top of the morning to you,” Margaret sang out in her Irish brogue, exposing black, broken teeth, and a wooden expression in spite of her hearty words.

I looked for the ice pick Margaret reportedly always carried. She was empty-handed, and the pockets of her cardigan sweater weren’t bulging. Sometimes, it was said, she stashed the ice pick under Josie’s lap blanket.

*********************************************************************

“I’m going to do the dishes,” she said.

“No, you won’t. Ernie and I will do the dishes after our company leaves,” I repeated.

Annie wandered in and stopped by the stove, eyeing Mom and me with nervous concern. I wished she wasn’t present to witness our confrontation. But I was determined not to let Mom wash the dishes. The sound of water and the rattle of pans would be heard in the living room, not conducive to an after-dinner conversation with our guests. They might presume we wanted them to leave.

Mom stood facing me with one sleeve rolled up to her elbow. I held my stance.

From my peripheral vision, I watched Annie shudder, her feet rooted to the floor.

Then I peered into Mom’s angry eyes. Where did this rancor come from?

*********************************************************************

(After I told Grandma I was going to nursing school)

“Hey, whana you do? You cleana da bedpans? Huh?” She came close. Garlic breath warming my face as her waving hand grazed my ear. “Thata no gooda work. No gooda.” Her braided bun loosely fastened by hairpins wobbled as she shook her head.

Her feet, with stockings rolled down around her ankles, planted themselves firmly by my chair. The pizza she made just for me, her first granddaughter, lay warm and fragrant on the Blue Willow plate in her hand. She slid the plate in front of me.

Grandma knew as well as I that in the ’50s there were few job choices, much less careers for a woman. Those in her Italian neighborhood lived in multifamily clapboard houses. They cooked the meals, raised the children, and played a supporting role to their husbands.

Grandma expected me to get married after I graduated from high school and start making babies.

Nightingale Tales

My new project involves interviewing my classmates from nursing school. We “older nurses” are dying off. Who will be around to tell our stories?

As I gear up to start this project, I’m educating myself in the art of interviewing. In the meantime, a serendipitous thing happened. Lynn Dow, RN, wrote about her long career in nursing in a new book: Nightingale Tales: Stories from My Life as a Nurse.

Lynn Dow entered nursing school in 1956, three years before I did. She attended the diploma program at the University of Rochester, which like my diploma program at Saint Peter’s School of Nursing in New Brunswick, New Jersey was three years long without any summer vacation breaks. The stories she shares of her nursing school days entertained me the most since my experiences so mirrored hers.

In her book, she reminded me that after a patient went home we had to strip the bed and then wash it. Yes, the plastic coated mattress and exposed metal coil springs were washed by hand. When the bed dried, we made it up for the next patient. There were no housekeepers at this time. Two cranks at the foot of the bed were used to raise up the head or to “gatch” the knees so the patient wouldn’t slide down. Later, a third crank was added that raised or lowered the bed. I remember having black and blue marks on my shins from hitting the cranks that were left on the bed instead of taken off and stored somewhere, like on a window sill.

Lynn recalls when cardio-pulmonary resuscitation was still in its infancy, a surgeon might bypass this effort and “crack the chest.” This rarely was successful. Once when I worked in the recovery room my patient went into cardiac arrest. Her surgeon dragged her off the stretcher to the floor, cut her open and pumped her heart with his bare hands. She was an old woman and I felt at the time he did this for the experience rather than to revive her.

Commonly, student nurses staffed the hospitals because there was a shortage of registered nurses, and students were a cheap substitute. In the third year of school, students were put in charge of a ward on the evening or night shifts. Lynn reminds the reader that the student nurses were “teenagers, too green to realize the extent of our responsibilities.” Sometimes the students worked a “split shift,” covering baths and meds in the a.m. and returning to help with dinner trays and get the patients ready for bed in the evening. Before I graduated from nursing school this “abuse” of student nurses was no longer allowed.

Nightingale Tales goes on to cover Lynn’s long nursing career and is filled with educational information and surprising vignettes. While I am especially glad she shows us nursing in the “olden days,” her book also depicts the advancements in current nursing practice. But she feels that possibly “the nurturing aspect of nursing has given way to technology.”

Read her book and decide for yourself.

Just Say No to Nurse Angels

I just spent the morning at a table in the cafeteria in the hospital where I volunteer. I had post-it notes and pens for the staff and visitors to jot down a note of appreciation to the nursing staff and place it on a large white board on the wall–a “Gratitude Wall”. We volunteers will continue to do this between 12 and 2 p.m. today, Monday, until Friday May 12th for Nurses Week. Nurses even wrote notes of appreciation for their colleagues. I especially enjoyed hearing the patients say how grateful they were for nurses and the care and attention nurses gave to them and/or their family.
Since I retired from nursing, I generally ignored Nurses Week having experienced empty platitudes and silly gifts when I worked in the profession.. Seems things are changing as evidenced in my volunteer hospital and from the recent nursing blogs and articles written by nurses.
I am reblogging Josephine Ensign’s post “Just Say No to Nurse Angels.” I agree with her sentiments and only wish my book was published and included in her list of real books by “real nurses.”

JOSEPHINE ENSIGN

FullSizeRenderThe American Nurses Association has declared this National Nurses Week (May 6-12, 2017) theme as “Nursing: The Balance of Mind, Body, and Spirit” to accompany their designation of 2017 as “The Year of the Healthy Nurse.” To help nurses celebrate the week, a host of businesses are offering “freebies” to nurses, including 1,000 calorie cinnamon rolls. I have nothing against high-calorie baked goods, but to celebrate nurses I recommend books and inkpots. Books, as in real books by real nurses (my current favorites listed below). And inkpots? I explain that in the following excerpt from my upcoming commencement address to graduates of the Yale School of Nursing:

“Thank you for this opportunity to speak to you about a topic I am passionate about: nursing. But not traditional nursing—not the Lady with the Lamp during the Crimean War—and not the white uniform-clad nursing angel of Hallmark moments. About that nurse angel…

View original post 564 more words