Works Hard For the Money

“God won’t forget the love you’ve shown His people." ~ Hebrews 6:10

She was generous, even when they thought she wasn’t.  She always put others above hers.  Children felt comforted by her voice, parents leaned on her for advice, spouses cried openly in her presence.  They trusted my Mom, a complete stranger who didn’t just open her heart, but gave it unfailingly to anyone who needed it.

I never understood her.  I didn’t get why she put up with the abuse: patients demanding pain meds, doctors treating them like minions rather than peers, the system crippling her with oceans of paperwork.  Overworked and underpaid.

Yet Nurse Millie was a person of uncommon talents.  Like a bird in flight, she made something so impossible for others appear easy and natural.  On the ward she calmed patients deemed "difficult" by other nurses.  Her cheerful smile had the warmth of freshly baked cookies; her voice deep yet honeyed.

Millie never hurt them, never became belittled their aches, never dampened their hopes.  She spoke to them like they were real people, people who mattered, not just withered old bones too stubborn to die.  With just her presence their appetites improved, prescriptions worked faster, and they slept more peacefully.

It was only after she’d been diagnosed with end-stage cancer that her life outside of our family started making sense to me.  Her colleagues (also her best friends) seemed rattled to see one of their own on the opposite side; they saw a bit of themselves in my mother.

They asked me questions and I replied.  “Yes, she ate on the run, slept weird hours and after tending to endless family matters, she sank fully clothed into bed.”

When I recanted our family story, they nodded self-consciously as though it was more than just acknowledging what I’d said.  It also described their lives in detail.

Even then, my mother felt an obligation to her nurse friends, training me on simple things that could help reduce their workload.  It didn’t seem like much, but they seemed grateful for every little bit.  They communicated with Mom in what seemed to me a secret language, and acted just like her.  Each day they gave 100 percent of themselves and asked for zilch in return.

We spent every waking moment together during those final days before her death.  I saw families gathered in the lounge suffering in silence, pastors who provided the only companionship to many terminal patients, doctors who appeared briefly during rounds, case workers who seemed emotionally drained . . . and NURSES who filled EVERY void in between.

My heart goes out to all those who have chosen this profession of improving the lives of others – there must be a special wing in heaven reserved for these angels.

Thank you Lord, for all nurses – those unique souls who regularly put us and ours above theirs.   A beacon of compassion is their lone reward, and one that they embrace enthusiastically because they see the world both at its worst and its best.  Amen