The following is an edited extract from Bright Shining: How Grace Changes Everything by Julia Baird (published by 4th Estate, HarperCollins).
Nurses have brought me immense comfort in the past few years.
Most of us who frequent hospitals can quickly tell the difference between a competent, caring nurse and an indifferent one (and the vast majority, in my experience, are the former). Little things give it away. Like one nurse bringing me a single ice-chip when I was not allowed to let anything pass my lips. Or another letting me sleep in the middle of a hubbub. One who looked at me without judgment when my body was malfunctioning. Another who spoke soothingly when I quietly despaired about my ability to heal and work again. A nurse who, when I started crying one day after my children visited because I was missing them so much, grabbed my arm, yelling, ‘You are okay! You are a strong and intelligent woman! Just like David Marr!’ — and I burst out laughing at this reference to my fellow writer and then colleague.
When in pain, I am inordinately grateful for both expertise and small kindnesses: an extra heated blanket tucked in over exposed toes, laughter at one of my bad jokes, an eye trained to see pain when I’m too spent to complain.
Listen to Julia Baird speak to Mia Freedman on Mamamia's No Filter podcast. Post continues after audio.
This is part of the reason I am always astonished when doctors treat nurses with disregard, or people patronise them. A couple of years ago, a friend of mine, Caitlin Brassington, was at her local shops in her scrubs after a long day at work and bumped into a friend, who said she had not realised Caitlin was ‘just a nurse’. That morning Caitlin had left three kids asleep in the hands of a babysitter who would get them to school and daycare so that she could go and do her nursing work. She came home that night and posted the following message on Facebook:
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