Irene just left my house.
Before Irene left she said, "I'll never hurt you. I will do it until I get it right."
Irene arrives just after my bath aide has helped me shower, wash my hair, and get dressed for the day. Usually, Irene arrives while the bath aide is still with me in the big bathroom. Irene sits at the dining room table, charts into her computer while waiting for me to exit the big bathroom. I also have a separate powder room, in the hallway off the living room, with a toilet, sink, and towels that have "Guten Morgan" embroidered on them, that Irene is welcome to use. Irene's husband drives her to see her patients. He's a retired teacher. He stays in the car reading the morning papers.
While Irene attends to me: doing a physical assessment, vital signs, listening to my heart and lungs; we chat amicably mostly about nursing. Irene spends alot of time with a clip on her ear, talking on her cell-phone to my doctors, nurses and therapists, describing my 'clinical' condition and waiting for their input and orders.
Irene was not my choice for a wound care nurse. I already had a homehealth-care team in place: doctors, nurses, aids, physical & occupational therapists, phlebotomists; that are superb.
Irene, I was told, was an 'older' nurse, but 'highly skilled and kind'.
Jeunism the correct term, not Ageism, for the attitude that older adults are less able to do things because of their chronologic age.
I fought to keep my usual wound care nurse, Ana, in place. Not because she was young, but because she's an excellent clinician. I do judge my homehealth team on how well they perform. I am an RN and I worked up-the-ladder to become a Hospital Administrator before I became disabled due to autoimmune disease.
When I was told that Ana would not be in-serviced on my new wound care therapy, I called the homehealth company management and complained bitterly about the change.
"It's been a good experience with my current team, I want to keep Ana". "How could you not consult me, I'm a licensed professional, just like you. I should have been consulted."
So I called Ana at home. I asked her how much I should fight for her, Ana, to continue to treat my wounds. Ana assured me that her replacement, Irene, was an older but excellent RN and that I would be well taken care of. I felt that Ana was towing/toe-ing the healthcare company's line. Ana asked me to please give Irene a chance. Ana told me that Irene had been her mentor when she came to the homehealth company.
So, I met Irene while she being inserviced at the hospital's wound care clinic, on the procedure for healing my wound.
There were 3 additional wound care RNs in the treatment room along with Irene. And there was a technician who circulated between the treatment room and the supply area. My 4 RNs, including Irene, washed their hands, gowned-up, masked and gloved.
I already knew the others on the team, but this was the first time I met Irene.
She was a thin fit woman, younger-looking than her chronological age, with professional comportment. She was nice but distant. She asked alot of questions, took copious notes. I noticed her 'bag' held strewn-about contents and her little note-book which she was writing in was not tidy but had dog-earred and greying pages. I wasn't impressed what Irene had when no-one was looking. Purses are like that, their contents reveal character, or who we are when we think no one is watching. What was behind the profesional tone. I wondered how she would perform as an RN in the privacy-aloneness of my home. I was resistant to her coming to see me at home.
I kept saying to myself that I trusted my prior nurse Ana and Ana trusted Irene.
I sat still while the hospital's wound care nurses photographed and compared the new photos with prior photos. Irene continued to take notes. When my wound photo was enlarged and compared, Irene joined the hospital's nurses in gauging the dimensions of the wound and what progress the wound healing had made.
Therapies were tossed about, this product or that. This technique or that. Irene listened and kept taking notes.
Finally, the theraputic course was divined and we were done. The wound was dressed and I could leave. I was at the wound care clinic for about 3 hours. Irene, silent and stoic, was there with me all the time.
When Irene came to my home the following day, I was still skeptical about her being able to do the work that 3 young RNs had done the prior day.
Irene was very focused. Her brows were knitted together as she removed the wound dressing. She had the ear-clip on and called the hospital's wound care clinic to describe the wound, wound's drainage, and awaited further instruction. Irene was with me for a couple of hours. Irene did an excellent job.
I don't know if Irene had been told that I too, was an RN. I don't know if Irene was told that I initially objected to her being my wound care nurse.
I only know, that I was guilty of having pre-judged her performance, solely because of her age.
As a former Hospital Administrator and RN, I looked for staff that was old-enough to know enough to do the job and young enough to have the stamina to perform.
Irene may be old, but she's younger-looking and fitter than most RNs.
I love my nurse Irene. Now we chat about many things, including nursing.
This weekend Irene and her husband went birding on the North Shore. Birding is birdwatching with binoculars and telescopes. I hope Irene will share this weekend's birding experience with me. It's overcast, cold and intermittently drizzly today in Chicago. I know this weather won't deter my nurse Irene from birding.