“What time is it?” I asked the nurse. It was still dark out, but by that day, it could have been 9pm, 5am or anywhere in between. “It’s 4:30.” Oh, so I was close.
You see, I had spent the last 3 days in the hospital with my five month old. As a mom of three kids in just over three years, I was familiar with illnesses, doctor visits, my “mom gut” and all things #momlife. But that weekend threw me for a loop.
It all started on a Friday.
We had been keeping an eye on a fever my 5-month-old had for a couple days. He was young, but it was low grade and we had been down this road twice before in very recent history. Things were always fine.
Except this time.
This time his fever shot up to over 104. I called the nurse line immediately. I was gathering our things to go to the ER before a nurse even got on the phone. She agreed we should take him in, given his age and temperature.
*before this takes too dramatic of a turn, my son is now fine and healthy.
After running tests, okay, after seeing his urine (because 5 month olds have to pee into a clear bag OR get a catheter), the doctor declared he had a UTI. When the results of the urinalysis God I hate the word urine…and now I can’t stop thinking about it, and obviously have to keep typing it. Urine urine urine.
Anyway, when the doctor got the results of the urinalysis (there I go again), she changed the official diagnosis to “Raging urinary tract infection.”
A wave of guilt washed over me. I had made a calculated decision for my infant son based on my knowledge and experience, but I was wrong. And my sweet baby suffered because of it.
Yes, he is completely recovered and at the end of the day it was a minor experience, but that doesn’t change the feelings I had in the moment of realization.
Just like that, we were admitted to the hospital. We all know how great hospitals are for sleep, right? Throw a sick, fussy baby into the mix and you’re lucky if you get 2 hours of sleep a night.
During the day, my two other kids would come to visit. And as much as I loved having them, they were like bulls in a china shop, or toddlers in a confined space, and it drove all of us crazy.
You had a really sick tiny baby and an exhausted, guilt-ridden mom.
You took care of us.
You made sure my son was responding to his meds, and that his little body was staying healthy. You made sure I had food.
Since I was breastfeeding, I was his food, so I was entitled to a meal from the hospital cafeteria. I thought that was a really great provision the hospital had for breastfeeding moms. I could have had my husband bring me food each day (this was before Uber); I wouldn’t have been surprised if I had been expected to, after all, I was not a patient. And in that moment, you were not a nurse.
You came in just as breakfast was being delivered. I was really hungry, really tired, and really out of my element. You asked your round of questions as another nurse took my son’s vitals. As you wrapped up, I had just taken my first bite of food, and that’s where my mind was fixated. When you said, “Do you need anything else?” and I replied with, “Yes, butter please.” I forgot you were a nurse. All I was thinking was “man these grits would be so good with butter.” Not because I’m a grits snob; no way.
I just, in my sleep deprived mind, I was talking to the person who brought my food…which wasn’t even what I would’ve normally done in a hospital, even to the person delivering the food!
I gave a programmed response. And I was embarrassed as soon as I saw the “Did she really just ask me for butter?” I 👏 AM 👏A👏NURSE!” look on your face. I didn’t have my wits about me to apologize, and I didn’t see you again.
I might be off base, but I’m guessing my son’s nurse isn’t the only nurse to have to deal with things like this. Sure, it might not be over butter for someone’s grits, but all nurses probably experience people who treat them like anything but nurses. And on behalf of sick patients (and their exhausted parents), I am sorry.
Why am I thinking about, much less writing about this incident which took place over five years ago?
I realized you got me the butter.
I’ve always felt guilty for asking for that damn butter. But tonight, when on a random thought train, I stopped here. I knew nurses shouldn’t be asked to cater to a fleeting want of mine. I recently came to the realization not everyone knows that, and I know from experience, even the people who do know, can momentarily forget given the right circumstances. And when those people inevitably treat nurses in ways they don’t deserve, the nurses get the butter.
To be clear because this is the internet and all, I don’t mean nurses should accept abuse from patients. And I am not saying they need to accept inconveniences or requests based on ignorance, exhaustion or even an illness, but I am grateful that they do.
I’m here to say I’m sorry and thank you.
Thank you for getting me the butter.
Thank you for all that you do for your patients.
Thank you for caring for people, all too many of whom are at their least deserving of being cared for.
Thank you for choosing nursing as your profession, and thank you for sticking with the job even after some mom asks you to bring her butter!
