Who Watches the Watchers?

My maternal grandmother waited until her children were married and had children of their own before she left my grandfather. I'm sure it was a long wait for her.

Grandma went to nursing school. She got her license, and cared for newborn infants in the hospital nursery until her hands got too bad to work with tiny bodies.

When she could no longer work with the newly-arrived, she nursed the soon-to-be departed.

She worked in her 50s and 60s as a live-in nurse for seniors preparing to move to the next plane of existence. She lived and worked in southeastern Michigan, near her children and grandchildren.

When her mother was ready for some company and caregiving, my grandmother moved back to Drummond Island to take care of her own.

Today I'm wondering if Grandma knew she would be the primary caregiver for Great-Grandma Tillie and that's why she got a nursing degree. My grandmother was the eldest daughter, and single, and remained single until she passed on in 1987 at 85 years old.

I wonder if she thought about what her future might hold when she was 47, and a nursing student, recently divorced. I wonder if she planned on the training, knowing she would care for her mother at the end of her life.

My great-grandmother Mariah, lived until she was 93 years old. The picture shown is at her home on Drummond Island in the summer before her birthday in 1969.

Isn't she beautiful?

In Praise of Night Nurses

Midnight shift nurses have 7 senses. The 7th sense is an action sense. It lives in that nameless place which connects heart and brain, and allows night nurses to do precisely the best thing to make their patient feel better. Beyond the palliative stuff that medical staff does anyway. Night nurses possess the sparkling essence of caregiving.

My friend Beckie has been in surgical intensive care for a month. She is heavily medicated and in and out of awareness.

The night nurse braided her hair.

Night nurses are mythological beings come to real life. Like fairies, unicorns, wizards and pixies, they practice their magic just outside the white noise of everyday living.

Most humans cannot detect their specialness.

A night nurse, years ago, rustling about her IV-checking and pulse monitoring, found my surgery bear, Paulette Goddard, had fallen off my shoulder onto the bed. Unaware she was observed, she picked up Paulette and tucked her back in the crook of my neck.

Night nurses are human beings elevated on earth to the next plane of existence.