Job

LOCATION: UNKNOWN - I’ve read her posts for years now, found them quite by accident. I’ve shared her words with so many people, but I realize now that I’ve only given her to patients. A few family members of patients, but very few. There are so many more who need to know what she says, and for so many reasons. All those reasons are stated far more eloquently on her blog than I could attempt on this one.

She has a job, like so many others. People walk by her each day and see her in her uniform, watch her doing that which she has chosen as this career. Do they know, do you think, what she is thinking? If it’s 4 pm and she doesn’t flash a big smile at you as she passes in the hall, do you assume that she is grumpy or sullen? How difficult for us to realize what is actually happening.

She just closed the door, you see, in the conference room with that family. She paid witness to an oncologist telling that family to prepare, and prepare as quickly as they can. Hard, mercy yes. As hard as anything, I say this as formerly one of those family members. But do you know as you pass by her and make that snap judgment that this is the third such conversation she has had this week?

Her words are severe, stark, honest and pure. They are beautiful but sad. Clean but difficult. It might be hard to read on a regular basis, but I do suggest that you at least try a post or two, just so you know. She’s an oncology nurse. One of the millions of people who go to work every day and deal with things we don’t know about. So please be patient with everyone you see who doesn’t give you a glowing smile all the time. You have no idea what door they just had to close.

“It is that hope perched so delicately in the souls of patients that guides and humbles and sometimes saves those of us entrusted to care for them.”

Recognition

ANYWHERE, USA - Someone sent me a link to a photo last night, and although I didn’t know one single person in the shot I knew immediately where it was taken. It’s not a iconic landmark or monument or anything like that; it was taken in an infusion center at an army hospital. Suddenly it was if I was standing right there, with the sounds, smells, images all around me. Infusion centers can do that to a person.

Please understand, these are not bad emotions. As a matter of fact, this photo made me quite happy. The nurses pictured, while they were not on duty when I spoke at this military base a few years ago, were smiling broadly and I know I’d love to meet them someday. Much like every other oncology nurse I know, they look just exactly like the kind of person you would want to hang around with if you had to sit somewhere confined in a chair for hours at a time. The walls looked exactly the same as when I had visited and met the staff and patients, the windows were streaming with the same bright sunshine as the day I came and hugged all of our military heros holding the hands of their loved ones with cancer.

It has been a singular honor and privilege for me to have spoken at some of our military hospitals and bases. It is also just as special for me when I go to civilian centers across the nation. It’s funny, I can’t tell you what I had for lunch today, but I know an infusion center when I see one, even if I haven’t been there for awhile. And in a good way, too. These are places of hope. Strength. Determination. Fortitude. Sometimes, humor and sass as well! If you are interested in seeing just how far we have come with therapy research, go visit an infusion center. Better yet, share some photos of your wonderful nurses in your center with us at foundation@verabradley.com and we'll share them on our facebook wall of honor.