Confessions of a Male Nurse. Michael Alexander
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corners of her eyes. Colleen was straight out of training and hadn’t lost a patient yet; everyone was wondering if Mr Henderson was going to be her first.
All of the nurses liked Mr Henderson; he was a truly genuine, down-to-earth sort of man, with a heart of gold. At the age of 69 he should still have had some good years in front of him, but he had a bad case of pneumonia that the antibiotics couldn’t seem to get rid of.
‘The doc requested another chest X-ray. The infection hasn’t improved at all,’ she continued. ‘He even thought it was a bit worse. Every breath Mr Henderson takes is an effort. It’s horrible to listen to.’
The sound of a rattling, bubbling, straining set of lungs is never nice.
Everyone kept quiet – we had all had our first lost patient, and though Colleen might shed a few tears if Mr Henderson passed away, she would eventually recover.
With the report over, we filed quietly out of the office, talking with muted voices about the patient, as if he had already passed.
I was helping Colleen with Mr Henderson that day. As I entered his room, I took in his sickly grey skin. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Henderson, I hear you’ve been giving the girls a bit of trouble.’
This brought a smile to his face. ‘Could be better, son,’ he rasped.
That was Mr Henderson, having a joke in the face of death. I grabbed a passing nurse and together we heaved him upright in his bed to help his breathing.
‘I don’t think I have much time,’ Mr Henderson said to me when his coughing passed. ‘I’ve had a good life. I’m not ashamed of the life I’ve led.’
I felt a lump in my throat.
‘It’s not over yet, Mr Henderson’ – I had to at least try to be optimistic – ‘The doc has just started you on a new antibiotic; you might feel like a new man tomorrow. Besides, you can’t go letting young Colleen down after all her hard work.’
Mr Henderson managed a wry chuckle before bursting into another round of coughing.
‘You’re a bad liar, but you and the wee lass have done a lot for me – it would be a shame to disappoint you.’
Still, I wished there was something more I could do. Often it’s just a case of being there for a patient, and willing to listen. Every so often, though, there’s the option of doing something extra. Later that evening I had a chat with the other nurses about how we could make Mr Henderson more comfortable.
‘Room 5 is free. What do you say to that?’ I asked Rose.
‘The poor fella is in a four-bedded room. It’s not nice for him, or for the others in the room. Let’s move him,’ Colleen added.
This was the same Rose who’d been with me during my first patient death. She was the acting charge nurse for the late shift. She had as much experience as most of us on the ward put together, but she would never be a full-time ward manager. For her, nursing was a hands-on profession. Hands on patients, not hands on pen and paper. Once you started to move up the nursing ranks to managing you lost a lot of that daily contact with your patients.
Thankfully, Rose approved the move.
What’s so great about room number 5? Just ask Mr Henderson.
‘I never get bored with the view,’ he told Colleen and I as we gave him his bed sponge.
It was early summer and the view from his window was pretty spectacular. It was on the top floor, and looked out over the local gardens and playground. From room 5 you could see mums and dads playing with their children; you could watch as young couples strolled through the rose garden; and, best of all, room 5 was at the end of the ward and had windows on both sides, so it was possible to watch both the sun rise and the sun set.
‘It sure is lovely,’ Colleen said. ‘I don’t think I would get bored either.’
Still, Mr Henderson had been in room 5 for over a week now, but had only slightly improved.
‘I guess it must be frustrating to be so close, yet so far,’ I added.
I don’t often make such shrewd observations, but I just knew that Mr Henderson would give anything to be outside in the fresh air. He didn’t reply, though; he had dozed off to sleep, but little did I know how much my comment had affected Colleen.
It was a gorgeous, early summer Sunday afternoon and now Mr Henderson’s fourth week in hospital. Unfortunately, he had taken another slight turn for the worse. It’s not uncommon for a patient’s health to have its ups and downs. The infection in his lungs had spread throughout his body. The doctors were using terms like sepsis and triple antibiotic therapy, but nothing we administered seemed to make any difference.
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